Punch. Thank you, Mr. Ketch, I don’t take ice now; it is too cold.
J. Ketch. Then come and have a good supper.
Punch. I never eat suppers; they are not wholesome.
J. Ketch. Then step this way and be hanged.
Punch. I’ll be hanged if I will.
J. Ketch. Come directly.
Punch. I can’t; I’ve got one bone in my leg.
J. Ketch. And you’ve got one bone in your neck which must soon be broken; but no more delay, Mr. Punch; put your head through this loop.
Punch. Through there? What for?