Why, bless your souls! I've got no money; I but came to see What all this noisy babble is about, Make a report and file the same away. NOZZLE, RINGDIVVY, FEEGOBBLE, HAYSEED: How'll that help _us_? Reports are not our style Of provender! JUNKET: Well, you can gnaw the file. (_Curtain._) "PEACEABLE EXPULSION" DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. 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 they're hurt. 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. Wretched apology, Shame of ethnology, Monster unspeakably low! Fit to be buckshotted-- Be you 'steboycotted. 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: