FITCH _a Pelter of Railrogues_ PICKERING _his Partner, an Enemy to Sin_ OLD NICK _a General Blackwasher_ DEAD CAT _a Missile_ ANTIQUE EGG _Another_ RAILROGUES, DUMP-CARTERS. NAVVIES and Unassorted SHOVELRY in the Lower Distance
_Scene_--The Brink of a Railway Cut, a Mile Deep.
_Time_--1875.
FITCH:
Gods! what a steep declivity! Below I see the lazy dump-carts come and go, Creeping like beetles and about as big.
The delving Paddies--
PICKERING:
Case of _infra dig._
FITCH:
Loring, light-minded and unmeaning quips Come with but scant propriety from lips Fringed with the blue-black evidence of age.
'Twere well to cultivate a style more sage, For men will fancy, hearing how you pun, Our foulest missiles are but thrown in fun.
(_Enter Dead Cat._)
Here's one that thoughtfully has come to hand; Slant your fine eye below and see it land.
(_Seizes Dead Cat by the tail and swings it in act to throw._)
DEAD CAT (_singing_):
Merrily, merrily, round I go-- Over and under and at.
Swing wide and free, swing high and low The anti-monopoly cat!
O, who wouldn't be in the place of me, The anti-monopoly cat?
Designed to admonish, Persuade and astonish The capitalist and--
FITCH _(letting go):_
Scat!
_(Exit Dead Cat.)_
PICKERING:
Huzza! good Deacon, well and truly flung!
Pat Stanford it has grassed, and Mike de Young.
Mike drives a dump-cart for the villains, though 'Twere fitter that he pull it. Well, we owe The traitor one for leaving us!--some day We'll get, if not his place, his cart away.
Meantime fling missiles--any kind will do.
_(Enter Antique Egg.)_ Ha! we can give them an _ovation_, too!
ANTIQUE EGG:
In the valley of the Nile, Where the Holy Crocodile Of immeasurable smile Blossoms like the early rose, And the Sacred Onion grows-- When the Pyramids were new And the Sphinx possessed a nose, By a storkess I was laid In the cool papyrus shade, Where the rushes later grew, That concealed the little Jew, Baby Mose.
Straining very hard to hatch, I disrupted there my yolk; And I felt my yellow streaming Through my white; And the dream that I was dreaming Of posterity was broke In a night.
Then from the papyrus-patch By the rising waters rolled, Passing many a temple old, I proceeded to the sea.
Memnon sang, one morn, to me, And I heard Cambyses sass The tomb of Ozymandias!
FITCH:
O, venerablest orb of all the earth, God rest the lady fowl that gave thee birth!
Fit missile for the vilest hand to throw-- I freely tender thee mine own. Although As a bad egg I am myself no slouch, Thy riper years thy ranker worth avouch.
Now, Pickering, please expose your eye and say If--whoop!-- _(Exit egg.)_ I've got the range.
PICKERING: Hooray! hooray!
A grand good shot, and Teddy Colton's down: It burst in thunderbolts upon his crown!
Larry O'Crocker drops his pick and flies, And deafening odors scream along the skies!
Pelt 'em some more.
FITCH:
There's nothing left but tar-- wish I were a Yahoo.
PICKERING:
Well, you are.
But keep the tar. How well I recollect, When Mike was in with us--proud, strong, erect-- _Mens conscia recti_--flinging mud, he stood, Austerely brave, incomparably good, Ere yet for filthy lucre he began To drive a cart as Stanford's hired man, That pitch-pot bearing in his hand, Old Nick Appeared and tarred us all with the same stick.
_(Enter Old Nick)_.
I hope he won't return and use his arts To make us part with our immortal parts.
OLD NICK:
Make yourself easy on that score my lamb; For both your souls I wouldn't give a damn!
I want my tar-pot--hello! where's the stick?
FITCH:
Don't look at _me_ that fashion!--look at Pick.
PICKERING:
Forgive me, father--pity my remorse!
Truth is--Mike took that stick to spank his horse.
It fills my pericardium with grief That I kept company with such a thief.
(_Endeavoring to get his handkerchief, he opens his coat and the tar-stick falls out. Nick picks it up, looks at the culprit reproachfully and withdraws in tears._)
FITCH (_excitedly_):
O Pickering, come hither to the brink-- There's something going on down there, I think!
With many an upward smile and meaning wink The navvies all are running from the cut Like lunatics, to right and left--