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Methought I heard a murmuring of tongues Sound through the ceiling of the hollow earth, As if the anti-coolie ques----ha! friends, Well met. You see I keep my ancient word: Where two or three are gathered in my name, There am I in their midst.
MOUNTWAVE:
O monstrous thief!
To quote the words of Shakespeare as your own.
I know his work.
HARDHAND:
Who's Shakespeare?--what's his trade?
I've heard about the work o' that galoot Till I'm jest sick!
TOK BAK:
Go Sunny school--you'll know Mo' Bible. Bime by pleach--h.e.l.l-talkee. Tell 'Bout Abel--mebby so he live too cheap.
He mebby all time dig on lanch--no dlink, No splee--no go plocession fo' make vote-- No sendee money out of clunty fo'
To helpee Ilishmen. Cain killum. Josh He catchee at it, an' he belly mad-- Say: "Allee Melicans boycottee Cain."
Not muchee--you no pleachee that: You all same lie.
MOUNTWAVE:
This cuss must be expelled.
(_Draws pistol_.)
MOUNTWAVE, HARDHAND, SATAN (_singing_):
For Chinese expulsion, hurrah!
To mobbing and murder, all hail!
Away with your justice and law-- We'll make every pagan turn tail.
CHORUS OF FOREIGN VOTERS:
Bedad! oof dot tief o'ze vorld-- Zat Ivan Tchanay vos got hurled In h.e.l.la, da debil he say: "Wor be yer return pairmit, hey?"
Und gry as 'e shaka da boot: "Zis haythen haf nevaire been oot!"
HARDHAND:
Too many cooks are working at this broth-- I think, by thunder, t'will be mostly froth!
I'm cussed ef I can sarvy, up to date, What good this dern fandango does the State.
MOUNTWAVE:
The State's advantage, sir, you may not see, But think how good it is for me.
SATAN:
And me.
(_Curtain_.)
ASPIRANTS THREE
DRAMATIS PERSONae.
_QUICK_: DE YOUNG _a Brother to Mushrooms_
_DEAD_: SWIFT _an Heirloom_ ESTEE _a Relic_
_IMMORTALS_: THE SPIRIT OF BROKEN HOPES. THE AUTHOR.
_MISCELLANEOUS_: A TROUPE OF COFFINS. THE MOON. VARIOUS COLORED FIRES.
_Scene_--The Political Graveyard at Bone Mountain.
DE YOUNG:
This is the spot agreed upon. Here rest The sainted statesman who upon the field Of honor have at various times laid down Their own, and ended, ignominious, Their lives political. About me, lo!
Their silent headstones, gilded by the moon, Half-full and near her setting--midnight. Hark!
Through the white mists of this portentous night (Which throng in moving shapes about my way, As they were ghosts of candidates I've slain, To fray their murderer) my open ear, s.p.a.cious to maw the noises of the world, Engulfs a footstep.
(_Enter Estee from his tomb._) Ah, 'tis he, my foe, True to appointment; and so here we fight-- Though truly 'twas my firm belief that he Would send regrets, or I had not been here.
ESTEE:
O moon that hast so oft surprised the deeds Whereby I rose to greatness!--tricksy orb, The type and symbol of my politics, Now draw my ebbing fortunes to their flood, As, by the magic of a poultice, boils That burn ambitions with defeated fires Are lifted into eminence.
(_Sees De Young._) What? you!
Faith, if I had suspected you would come From the fair world of politics wherein So lately you were whelped, and which, alas, I vainly to revisit strive, though still Rapped on the rotting head and bidden sleep Till Resurrection's morn,--if I had thought You would accept the challenge that I flung I would have seen you d.a.m.ned ere I came forth In the night air, shroud-clad and s.h.i.+vering, To fight so mean a thing! But since you're here, Draw and defend yourself. By gad, we'll _see_ Who'll be Postmaster-General!
DE YOUNG:
We will-- I'll fight (for I am lame) with any blue And redolent remain that dares aspire To wreck the Grand Old Grandson's cabinet.
Here's at you, nosegay!
(_They draw tongues and are about to fight, when from an adjacent whited sepulcher, enter Swift._)
SWIFT:
Hold! put up your tongues!
Within the confines of this sacred spot Broods such a holy calm as none may break By clash of weapons, without sacrilege.
(_Beats down their tongues with a bone._) Madmen! what profits it? For though you fought With such heroic skill that both survived, Yet neither should achieve the prize, for I Would wrest it from him. Let us not contend, But friendliwise by stipulation fix A slate for mutual advantage. Why, Having the pick and choice of seats, should we Forego them all but one? Nay, we'll take three, And part them so among us that to each Shall fall the fittest to his powers. In brief, Let us establish a Portfolio Trust.
ESTEE:
Agreed.
