IRISH. Well, on comes his wife, and says: "Did it kiss you back, my dear?" "No," says he. "Then," saith his wife, "how can it be like me?" (_IRISHMAN commences to dance, singing_) I'm o'er young to marry yet, to marry yet, to---- PUNCH (_hitting him a terrific blow with his stick says_). So I think--you are o'er young to marry yet. (_he counts the dead bodies up_) One, two and three. _Enter NEGRESS._ NEGRESS. Oh, Mr. Punch, I've been looking for you. PUNCH. Well, my Julia, what can I do for you? NEGRESS. I want you, Mr. Punch, to introduce me to the proprietor of this show. PUNCH. Well, Miss Julia, I'm the proprietor. What do you wish? NEGRESS. What! Are you the proprietor? PUNCH. Yes, I am. NEGRESS. Mr. Punch, I'm an opera singer, and I want to sing to the ladies and gentlemen here assembled. PUNCH. You an uproar singer? NEGRESS. No, an opera. PUNCH. Yes; I said an uproar singer. NEGRESS. Opera. PUNCH. Yes, yes, an uproar. NEGRESS. Well, then, an uproar, if you will have it so. PUNCH. Well, what are you going to sing? NEGRESS. Well, I can sing politics, sentimental, or on love. PUNCH. Then let's have it on love. NEGRESS (_sings_). Two lovers wandering in a wood-- What can be more delightful? Just as they whisper, "Be my own," Should some one overhear them, Can mortal be more spiteful? Two, not three, are company-- This proverb pray remember. PUNCH (_strikes her down with a blow from his stick, and says_). If that is uproar singing, we will have no more of that. (_he counts the bodies up_) One, two, three and four.