THE THIRD SCENE.
THE ENERGIES OF PROGRESS.
The scene opens again as at the close of the first scene with a suggestion of the Will-o'-the-wisp light and a tripping ecstatic music. The Imps of Progress tumble on to the stage in a fantastic and frolicsome dance.
ALL. We're the sting in the tail and the trick up the sleeve,
The crab in the apple, the make-believe,
Not wicked exactly, nor quite understood,
Not modest, and certainly none of us good;
But a pique in the passion, a joy in the pain,
And we cloy the fine appetite ventured again,
Or ventured too often, for shall not a drouth,
Or hunger surcharged leave taste in the mouth?
To our father the mighty Negation we owe
The best of the mischief we practise below.
Yet in spite of the prigs and the preachers that flout us,
The earth were a woe-begone region without us.
They run out with great laughter, and return dragging in a large cauldron or melting pot on wheels, and with it a number of strange objects, symbols, images, dummy figures, and men of straw. In the cauldron is a great spoon.
ALL. Ho, ho, for the melting pot!
Bubbling, seething, simmering hot,
Flame and fury, powder and shot,
What have ye got? What have ye got?
Lost ideals, distrust and doubt,
What have ye got? What have ye got?
Green-eyed jealousy, grey dry rot,
It goes in thus, and it comes out what?
Relics and rags and things worn out,
What have ye got? What have ye got?
Sham and pretence and disbelief,
The jeer that is flung at the penitent thief,
Broken trust and belated grief,
Leaping, lathering, flaming hot,
What have ye got? What have ye got?
All goes into the melting pot!
While they thus madly sing they fling things into the pot, making a mighty pother, whereupon Self-Complacency, the eminently British Imp, struts to the centre and seizes the spoon.
SELF-COMPLACENCY: Stop! There's
enough and to spare,
Self-Complacency takes the chair!
Fill it too full, the brew won't churn,
Progress is orderly! Speak in turn!
Stand to attention and if you please,
Speak in the spirit of journalese,
Speak first you, cross, crooked, and lissom,
You of the ragged witticism,
What have you brought us, Criticism?
CRITICISM: In an age when creation is chary and dark,
The critic slimes forth like a slug on the bark,
In a zig-zag he crawls up the walls to the eaves,
He soddens the rosebuds, he nibbles the leaves;
With his pip, and his pitiful, pale palinodes,
Aesthetic, dramatic, bis paunch like a toads
That be puffs and puffs out till one day he explodes.
Progress is acid, and Progress corrodes,
Mine's a career misunderstood,
Bitter!
SELF-COM.: Fling in of your sourest mood.
CRITIC.: Genius misjudged, reviewer reviewed!
ALL: Ho, ho, for the melting pot,
Bubbling, seething, simmering hot,
It goes in thus and it comes out what?
SELF-COM.: You of the restless ruby eyes,
What have you brought us Enterprise?
ENTERPRISE: What have I brought to fling in the hash?
I am Enterprise, riotous, reckless and rash;
Of infinite credit and limited cash,
One day I am drunken, flushed shallow with wine,
While another I'm floated like shares on a mine.
In England we stick, we compete and we fume,
Grow grey in the race,—there's no room, there's no room!
But away at the ends of the earth it is breezier,
We can shoot, ride &,—raid be it said,—in Rhodesia,
Quit of 'caste mark' and 'slum' and 'desirable mansion,'
We indulge in what's commonly known as expansion,
We dump down the rubbish, give up the grimaces,
And enjoy ourselves, i.e., kick over the traces.
Is there trouble ahead, is there danger, we bluff it!
And is there a war;—why there's Kipling to puff it!
Even Progress may sometimes be born on a bubble,
Be as smoke in the wind, or as flame in the stubble.
SELF-COM.: Into the pot with it, leave your lies,
What have you brought us, Enterprise?
Be of your puff and pretence more chary!
ENTER.: A gunboat and a missionary.
SELF-COM.: Tut! that's commonplace, stir the brine.
ENTER.: A bull & a bear and a Wall Street mine.
ALL: Ho, ho, for the melting pot,
Bubbling, simmering, seething hot,
It goes in thus, and it comes out, what?
SELF-COM.: Put your deposit in solution,
What have you brought us, Evolution?
EVOLUTION: I, the unknown, on every one's tongue,
To bewilder the old and betray the young,
With my modern gospel of pits and gins,
The cultured excuse for a number of sins,
