The Plutocrats 
Chorus. — Charon and Devil's Own
Charon and Devil's Own.
All hail Oh Mash Etc.
(Mr. Sausage And Mr. Mash descend the steps. The Devil's Own exit)Mr. Sausage.
And what is the meaning of this idyllic scene?Charon.
We were teaching Daisy to dance the Hula, Your Worship.Mr. Mash.
I didn't know Daisy was a disciple of Terpsichore.Charon.
(Indignantly) She isn't your worship! Are you Daisy? (Daisy bellows) You see she isn't. I won't have my bull called nasty names.Mr. Mash.
I'm afraid, Captain, that if the food supplies get any lower, we'll have to have Daisy for dinner!
(Daisy looks vicious and paws the ground)Mr Sausage.
The supply of oily rags is getting very scanty.Charon.
But Daisy is such a tough bull! I don't think she'd like the idea. Would you Daisy, love? (Daisy bellows frantically.)Charon.
(Going, his arm round Daisy) Come Daisy, let us away! Did the nasty men say nasty things about him then?
(They exit Charon consoling Daisy)
(Enter Lord Vere De Vere, Mr. Tight, Mr. Flee, the Rev. Scrounger and Profsssor Belly.)Rev. Scrounger.
Something must be done or we'll be ruined.Vere de Vere.
For some unknown reason the people don't seem page break to like us.Mr. Sausage.
Have we not legislated, and legislated and legislated?Mr. Flee.
I wonder what it can be that has upset them? Perhaps it's the wireless programmes. Professor, have they been up to scratch lately?Prof. Belly.
They have been superlative. We have averaged s'x symphonies and three concertos daily.Mr. Sausage.
And yet they rise against us. Its incredible!Mr. Flee.
Perhaps they're getting to know us too well. When we took over, they were used to mysticism - a sort of incomprehensible dictatorship. And now they can understand our every action.Rev. Scrounger.
Well, if that's the case, let us become incomprehensible.Vere de Vere.
How can we do that?Rev. Scrounger.
Let us turn aesthetic.Mr. Mash.
Good Gracious - what's that? does it hurt?Mr. Sausage.
Is it infectious?Rev. Scrounger.
All you have to do is to gaze at the lilies with rapt admiration - thus. (Attitude.) And the populace will bow before you.Vere de Vere.
I should think they'd faint if you looked like that.Rev. Scrounger.
You must murmur airy nothings and make them sound super intellectual.Mr. Sausage.
Oh, we're awfully good at that.Rev. Scrounger.
Well, let us go and pick lilies and start right away.Vere de Vere.
To think that I should be reduced to languishing over lilies. (They all exit hurriedly, right.)
(The piano strikes several melodramatic chords as Mr. Nemesis & Messalina enter left, very cautiously. Mr. Nemesis is dressed in a tight fitting woman's evening dress, high-heeled shoes and a preposterous hat. They advance in a stealthy fashion to the centre of the stage.)page break Vere de Vere.
In what capacity may I ask?Mr. Nemesis.
(Relapsing into his ordinary voice) As a singing girl, Your Lordship. (Remembering and in a falsetto voice) Your Lordship.Vere de Vers.
What's the matter with you?Mr. Nemesis.
(Confused.) I have a cold, a very bad cold, (He sniffs, blows his nose violently on a large red hankerchief, and sneezes.Mr. Tight.
(Solicitously) It is a bad cold.Mr. Mash.
And what is your name, my little girl?Mr. Nemesis.
My name is Superfluous.Vere de Vere.
And a very nice name too. Sue Perfluous, eh?Mr. Sausage.
Will you sing us something Sue? Something wanton?Mr. Nemesis.
(Looking him over scornfully) Yes - there's something wantin' alright.