ACT III: _The Ants_ 44

EPILOGUE: _Death and Life_ 63

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

(IN THE ORDER OF THEIR APPEARANCE)

A TRAMP A LEPIDOPTERIST CLYTIE ─┐ OTTO │ FELIX ├─ _Butterflies_ IRIS │ VICTOR ─┘ A CHRYSALIS MR. BEETLE MRS. BEETLE ANOTHER BEETLE ICHNEUMON FLY HIS DAUGHTER MR. CRICKET MRS. CRICKET A PARASITE OTHER CREEPERS AND CRAWLERS THE BLIND TIMEKEEPER ─┐ THE CHIEF ENGINEER │ THE SECOND ENGINEER │ AN INVENTOR │ A MESSENGER ├─ _Ants_ A SIGNAL OFFICER │ A JOURNALIST │ A PHILANTHROPIST │ THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE YELLOWS, &C. ─┘ FIRST ─┐ SECOND ├─ _Moths_ THIRD ─┘ FIRST SNAIL SECOND SNAIL A WOODCUTTER A WOMAN SCHOOL CHILDREN

PROLOGUE

THE TRAMP _is discovered, stretched out in sleep; a bottle at his side_. BUTTERFLIES _flutter across the scene_.

_Enter a_ LEPIDOPTERIST _with a net_.

_Lepidopterist._ There they go, there they go! Fine specimens! _Apatura Iris_—_Apatura Clythia_—light-blue butterflies and the Painted Lady. Wait a minute—I’ll get you! That’s just it—they won’t wait, the silly creatures. Off again.... Hullo—somebody here. They’re settling on him. Now! Carefully. Slowly. Tiptoe! One, two, three!

[_A butterfly settles on the tip of the_ TRAMP’S _nose. The_ LEPIDOPTERIST _makes a dab with his net_.

_Tramp._ ‘Ullo! What yer doin’? Ketchin’ butterflies?

_Lepidopterist._ Don’t move! Careful now! They’re settling again. Funny creatures—they’ll settle on mud, on any sort of garbage, and now they’re settling on you.

_Tramp._ Let ’em go. They’re ’appy.

_Lepidopterist._ Idiot! I’ve lost them, confound you! There they go, there they go!

_Tramp._ It’s a shime—it is, reely.

[_The_ LEPIDOPTERIST _rushes out_, R. _The_ TRAMP _stretches his arms, takes a pull at the emptied bottle, yawns, staggers to his feet and drops down again_.

(_Speaking to the audience_) All right—all right! Don’t you worry. I ’aven’t ’urt myself! I know what you think—you think I’m screwed—some of you! Rotten observation—low visibility—that’s what you’re suffering from. You didn’t catch me staggering, did you? I fell like a tree—like a hero! I was rehearsing, that’s what I was doing—the fall of man! The fall of man! There’s a picture for yer! Ah, you little flowers—_you_ didn’t think I was drunk, did you? You’ve too much respect for me! I’m a man, that’s what I am—a lord of creation! A great thing to be, I tell yer! ‘Now then, pass along there, my man!’ That’s what they say to me. It’s wonderful! ‘Clear up that rubbish heap, my man, and I’ll give you a tanner, my man.’ It’s a fine thing to be a man. (_He succeeds in getting his balance._)

_Enter the_ LEPIDOPTERIST, R.

_Lepidopterist._ Two,—splendid Nymphalidae!

_Tramp._ No offence, mister, but why’jer catch them when they’re all so ’appy playing?

_Lepidopterist._ Playing, you call it. I’m afraid you haven’t the scientific mind, my friend. It’s the overture to the natural system by which Nature keeps up the balance of the population—that’s what you call ‘playing’. The male pursues the female; the female allures, avoids—selects—the eternal round of sex!

_Tramp._ What will you do with them when you catch them?

_Lepidopterist._ What shall I do? Well, each insect must be identified, recorded and assigned a place in my collection. The butterfly must be carefully killed, and then carefully pinned, and properly dried, and care must be taken that the powder is not rubbed off. And it must be protected against dust and draught. A little cyanide of potassium.

_Tramp._ And what’s it all for?

_Lepidopterist._ Love of nature—if you loved nature as much as I did, my man—Careful—didn’t I tell you—they’re off again. Never mind, I’ll get you, see if I don’t. [_Exit._

_Tramp._ ’E’s clever, that there bloke. And as for me, P’raps I am screwed; but if I _am_, ’oo cares? That ain’t the only reason why I see Everythink double, everythink in pairs.

Them little birds up there ... I see yer plain! Tweet-weety-weet ... Lord! ’ow they bill and coo, As yer might say. Them butterflies again, What sport they ’ave—’ow prettily they woo!

Love’s what they want. Some day they’ll get it, p’raps: Everythink does—or mostways everythink ... (S’pose _you’d_ a girl who loved all kinds of chaps— Wouldn’t _you_ damn yerself, and take to drink?)

Well, ’ere’s the world, and though I’m down and out, It’s worth while learnin’ what it’s all about.