POLLY. Then I must love you! (_Then they embrace, kiss and dance. The whole scene, barring the dancing, seems modelled upon the interview between Richard III. and Lady Anne. PUNCH sings._) I love you so, I love you so, I never will leave you; no, no, no: If I had all the wives of wise King Sol, I would kill them all for my pretty Poll. [_Exeunt dancing._ _Enter PUNCH, with a large sheep-bell, which he rings violently, and dances about the stage, shaking the bell and his head at the same time, and accompanying the music with his voice;--tune, "_Morgiana in Ireland_."_ Mr. Punch is a very gay man, He is the fellow the ladies for winning, oh; Let them do whatever they can, They never can stand his talking and grinning, oh. _Enter a SERVANT, in a foreign livery._ SERVANT. Mr. Punch, my master, he say he no like dat noise. PUNCH (_with surprise, and mocking him_). Your master, he say he no like that noise! What noise? SERVANT. Dat nasty noise. PUNCH. Do you call music a noise? SERVANT. My master he no lika de music, Mr. Punch, so he'll have no more noise near his house. PUNCH. He don't, don't he? Very well. (_PUNCH runs about the stage, ringing his bell as loudly as he can._) SERVANT. Get away, I say, wid dat nasty bell. PUNCH. What bell? SERVANT. That bell. (_striking it with his hand._) PUNCH. That's a good one. Do you call this a bell? (_patting it_) It is an organ. SERVANT. I say it is a bell, a nasty bell. PUNCH. I say it is an organ. (_striking him with it_) What you say it is now? SERVANT. An organ, Mr. Punch. PUNCH. An organ? I say it is a fiddle. Can't you see? (_offers to strike him again._) [Illustration] SERVANT. It is a fiddle. PUNCH. I say it is a drum. SERVANT. It is a drum, Mr. Punch. PUNCH. I say it is a trumpet. SERVANT. Well, so it is a trumpet. But bell, organ, fiddle, drum or trumpet, my master, he say he no lika de music. PUNCH. Then bell, organ, fiddle, drum or trumpet, Mr. Punch, he say your master is a fool. SERVANT. And he say, too, he will not have it near his house. PUNCH. He's a fool, I say, not to like my sweet music. Tell him so: be off. (_hits him with the bell_) Get along. (_driving the SERVANT round the stage, backwards, and striking him often with the bell_) Be off, be off. (_knocking him off the stage. Exit SERVANT. PUNCH continues to ring the bell as loudly as before, while he sings and dances._) _Re-enter SERVANT, slyly, with a stick._