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 Hella, 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.
Pages:
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187