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punch: Where is that? scaramouche: (obligingly bends head forward.) Here, in my head. punch: Ah! Well, I think I'll send that air mail. (Strikes head with club and sends it sailing. Scaramouche runs around headless, finally topples over on the edge of the stage. Punch lines the body up neatly with the rest, singing.) One, two, three, four, every moment brings one more. Root-ity-toot-ity-toot! Enter Jack Ketch the Hangman. j. ketch: Mr. Punch, you are my prisoner. punch: What for? j. ketch: For having broken the laws of the land. punch: But I never touched them, j. ketch: Anyhow, you are to be hanged. punch: Hanged! Oh dear! |
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