Black Beetles in Amber

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:

                           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