(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.