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THE TWO CAVEES

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

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.