Insec’s won’t work together. Man
Will. ’E can form a general plan.
There ’s something great in ’im what fights
And perishes for the nation’s rights.
Chrysalis. My wings are coming. See, they spread
Beyond the vast suns overhead!
Tramp. I’ve ’it it! That ’s what makes men great—
Givin’ their lives up for the State! . . .
Man’s not ’alf noble—put it straight!
’Ere what ’s that bitin’ me? Blimey, there ’s another of ’em—S’truth, I’ve sat on an Ant heap—’undreds and thousands—that ’s what they are playing at—’undreds and thousands!
[In the meanwhile the Curtain rises and displays the Ant Heap. In the Centre sits a Blind Ant who counts continuously: Ants with sacks, beans, shovels, &c., run across in time to his counting.
Blind Ant. One, two, three, four—one, two, three, four.
Tramp. What ’s that? What yer counting for, old boy?
Blind Ant. One, two, three, four—
Tramp. What ’s this ’ere? A, warehouse or a factory, isn’t it? Hi, what ’s it for?
Blind Ant. One, two, three, four—
Tramp. What ’s this factory for, I’m asking—why ’s this blind feller countin’? Ah, he ’s giving them the time. They all move in time as he counts,
