“Peaceful Expulsion”
Mountwave, a politician
Hardhand, a workingman
Tok Bak, a chinaman
Satan, a friend to mountwave
Chorus of Foreign Voters
Mountwave
My friend, I beg that you will lend your ears
(I know ’tis asking a good deal of you)
While I for your instruction nominate
Some certain wrongs you suffer. Men like you
Imperfectly are sensible of all
The miseries they actually feel.
Hence, Providence has prudently raised up
Clear-sighted men like me to diagnose
Their cases and inform them where it hurts.
The wounds of honest workingmen I’ve made
A specialty, and probing them’s my trade.
Hardhand
Well, Mister, s’pose you let yer bossest eye
Camp on my mortal part awhile; then you
Jes’ toot my sufferin’s an’ tell me what’s
The fashionable caper now in writhes—
The very swellest wiggle.
Mountwave
Well, my lad,
’Tis plain as is the long, conspicuous nose
Borne, ponderous and pendulous, between
The elephant’s remarkable eye-teeth Enter Tok Bak.
That Chinese competition’s what ails you.
Both
Singing.
O pig-tail Celestial,
O barbarous, bestial,
Abominable Chinee!
Simian fellow man,
Primitive yellow man,
Joshian devotee!
Shoe-and-cigar machine,
Oleomargarine
You are, and butter are we—
Fat of the land are we,
Salt of the earth;
In God’s image planned to be—
Noble in birth!
You, on the contrary,
Modeled upon very
Different lines indeed,
Show in conspicuous,
Base and ridiculous
Ways your inferior breed.
Freak of biology,
Shame of ethnology,
Monster unspeakably low!
Fit to be buckshotted,
Brickbatted, boycotted—
Vanish—vamoose—mosy—go!
Tok Bak
You listen me! You beatee the big dlum
An’ tell me go to Flowly Kingdom Come.
You all too muchee fool. You chinnee heap.
Such talkee like my washee—belly cheap! Enter Satan.
You dlive me outee clunty towns all way;
Why you no tackle me Safflisco, hay?
Satan
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—hell-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 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, ’twill 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.