The Beggar's Opera
By
John Gay
See Source Texts for information about the digital edition. Proofreading,
markup, and editorial commentary are original to this Literature in Context
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Virginia, Tonya Howe
[TP]
THE
BEGGAR'S
OPERA.
As it is Acted at the
THEATRE-ROYAL
IN
LINCOLNS-INN-FIELDS
Written by Mr. GAY.
--Nos haec novimus esse nibil.Mart.
The SECOND EDITION:
To which is Added
The OUVERTURE in SCORE;
And the MUSICK prefix'd to each SONG. LONDON:
Printed for JOHN WATTS, at the Printing-Office
in Wild-Court, near Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
MDCCXXVIII.
[Price 1s. 6d.] [i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v] Dramatis Personae. MEN.
WOMEN.
[vi]
[Introduction]
INTRODUCTION.
BEGGAR. PLAYER.
Exeunt.
OVERTURE
[1]
[2]
[3]
[4]
[5]
[6]
[7]
[8]
[1]
ACT I.
SCENE I
Scene, Peachum’s House. Peachum sitting at a Table with a large Book of
Accounts before him.
AIR I. An old Woman clothed in Gray, &c.
Through all the Employments of Life
Each Neighbour abuses his Brother;
Whore and Rogue they call Husband and Wife:
All Professions be-rogue one another:
The Priest calls the Lawyer a Cheat,
The Lawyer be-knaves the Divine:
And the Statesman, because he’s so great,
Thinks his Trade as honest as mine.
A Lawyer is an honest Employment, so is mine. Like me too he acts in a double
Capacity, both against Rogues and for ’em;
[2]
for ’tis but fitting that we should
protect and encourage Cheats, since we live by them.
Enter Filch.
[3]
AIR II. The bonny gray-ey’d Morn, &c.
Filch
’Tis Woman that seduces all Mankind,
By her we first were taught the wheedling Arts:
Her very Eyes can cheat; when most she’s kind,
She tricks us of our Money with our Hearts.
For her, like Wolves by Night we roam for Prey,
And practise ev’ry Fraud to bribe her Charms;
For Suits of Love, like Law, are won by Pay,
And Beauty must be fee’d into our Arms.
[5]
AIR III. Cold and raw, &c.
If any Wench Venus’s Girdle wear,
Though she be never so ugly;
Lilies and Roses will quickly appear,
And her Face look wond’rous smugly.
Beneath the left Ear so fit but a Cord,
(A Rope so charming a Zone is!)
The Youth in his Cart hath the Air of a Lord,
And we cry, There dies an Adonis!
AIR IV. Why is your faithful Slave disdain’d? &c.
If Love the Virgin’s Heart invade,
How, like a Moth, the simple Maid
Still plays about the Flame!
If soon she be not made a Wife,
Her Honour’s sing’d, and then for Life,
She’s--what I dare not name.
[7]
Exit Peachum.
[8]
AIR V. Of all the simple Things we do, &c.
A Maid is like the Golden Ore,
Which hath Guineas intrinsical in’t,
Whose Worth is never known before
It is try’d and imprest in the Mint.
A Wife’s like a Guinea in Gold,
Stampt with the Name of her Spouse;
Now here, now there; is bought, or is sold;
And is current in every House.
Enter Filch.
[9]
Exeunt.
Enter Peachum, Polly.
[10]
AIR VI. What shall I do to shew how much I love her,
&c.
Virgins are like the fair Flower in its Lustre,
Which in the Garden enamels the Ground;
Near it the Bees in play flutter and cluster,
And gaudy Butterflies frolick around.
But, when once pluck’d, ’tis no longer alluring,
To Covent-Garden ’tis sent
(as yet sweet),
There fades, and shrinks, and grows past all enduring,
Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod under feet.
Enter Mrs. Peachum, in a very great Passion.
[11]
AIR VII. Oh London is a fine Town.
Our Polly is a sad Slut! nor heeds what we have taught her.
I wonder any Man alive will ever rear a Daughter!
For she must have both Hoods and Gowns, and Hoops to swell her
Pride,
With Scarfs and Stays, and Gloves and Lace; and she will have Men
beside;
And when she’s drest with Care and Cost, all tempting, fine and
gay,
As Men should serve a Cucumber, she flings herself away.
Our Polly is a sad Slut! &c.
[12]
Pinches her.
Screaming.
AIR VIII. Grim King of the Ghosts, &c.
Polly.
Can Love be control’d by Advice?
Will Cupid our Mothers obey?
Though my Heart were as frozen as Ice,
At his Flame ’twould have melted away.
When he kist me so closely he prest,
’Twas so sweet that I must have comply’d:
So I thought it both safest and best
To marry, for fear you should chide.
[13]
Faints.
AIR IX. O Jenny, O Jenny, where hast thou been.
O Polly, you might have toy’d and kist.
By keeping Men off, you keep them on.
Polly.
But he so teaz’d me,
And he so pleas’d me,
What I did, you must have done.
[14]
AIR X. Thomas, I cannot, &c.
Polly.
I, like a Ship in Storms, was tost;
Yet afraid to put in to Land:
For seiz’d in the Port the Vessel’s lost,
Whose Treasure is contreband
The Waves are laid,
My Duty’s paid.
O Joy beyond Expression!
Thus, safe a-shore,
I ask no more,
My All is in my Possession.
Exit Polly.
[15]
AIR XI. A Soldier and a Sailor.
A Fox may steal your Hens, Sir,
A Whore your Health and Pence, Sir,
Your Daughter rob your Chest, Sir,
Your Wife may steal your Rest, Sir.
A Thief your Goods and Plate.
[16]
But this is all but picking,
With Rest, Pence, Chest and Chicken;
It ever was decreed, Sir,
If Lawyer’s Hand is fee’d, Sir,
He steals your whole Estate.
The Lawyers are bitter Enemies to those in our Way. They don’t care that any body
should get a clandestine Livelihood but themselves.
Enter Polly.
[17]
AIR XII. Now ponder well, ye Parents dear.
Polly.
O ponder well! be not severe;
So save a wretched Wife!
For on the Rope that hangs my Dear
Depends poor Polly’s Life.
]18]
AIR XIII. Le printems rapelle aux armes.
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Her Lover dying,
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Laments her Dove.
Down she drops quite spent with Sighing.
Pair’d in Death, as pair’d in Love.
Thus, Sir, it will happen to your poor Polly.
Exit Polly.
Re-enter Polly, and listens behind column.
[19]
Exeunt severally.
Exit, and returns with Macheath.
[20]
AIR XIV. Pretty Parrot, say--
Macheath.
Pretty Polly, say,
When I was away,
Did your fancy never stray
To some newer Lover?
Polly.
Without Disguise,
Heaving Sighs,
Doting Eyes,
My constant Heart discover.
Fondly let me loll!
Macheath.
O pretty, pretty Poll.
[21]
AIR XV. Pray, Fair one, be kind--
Macheath.
My Heart was so free,
It rov’d like the Bee,
’Till Polly my Passion requited;
I sipt each Flower,
I chang’d every Hour,
But here every Flower is united.
AIR XVI. Over the Hills and far away.
Were I laid on Greenland’s Coast,
And in my Arms embrac’d my Lass;
Warm amidst eternal Frost,
Too soon the Half Year’s Night would pass.
[22]
Polly.
Were I sold on Indian Soil,
Soon as the burning Day was clos’d,
I could mock the sultry Toil
When on my Charmer’s Breast repos’d.
Macheath.
And I would love you all the Day,
Polly.
Every Night would kiss and play,
Macheath.
If with me you’d fondly stray
Polly.
Over the Hills and far away.
AIR XVII. Gin thou wert mine awn thing--
Oh what Pain it is to part!
Can I leave thee, can I leave thee?
O what pain it is to part!
Can thy Polly ever leave thee?
But lest Death my Love should thwart,
And bring thee to the fatal Cart,
Thus I tear thee from my bleeding Heart!
Fly hence, and let me leave thee.
[23]
AIR XVIII. O the Broom, &c.
Macheath.
The Miser thus a Shilling sees,
Which he’s oblig’d to pay,
With sighs resigns it by degrees,
And fears ’tis gone for ay.
Parting, and looking back at each other with fondness; he at one
Door, she at the other.
Polly.
The Boy, thus, when his Sparrow’s flown,
The Bird in Silence eyes;
But soon as out of Sight ’tis gone,
Whines, whimpers, sobs and cries.
[24]
ACT II
SCENE I.
A TAVERN near Newgate.
Jemmy Twitcher, Crook-finger’d Jack, Wat Dreary, Robin of Bagshot,
Nimming Ned, Henry Paddington, Matt of the Mint, Ben Budge, and the rest of
the Gang, at the Table, with Wine, Brandy and Tobacco.
[25]
AIR XIX. Fill every Glass, &c.
Matt.
Fill every Glass, for Wine inspires us,
And fires us
With Courage, Love and Joy.
Women and Wine should life employ.
Is there ought else on Earth desirous?
Chorus.
Fill every Glass, &c.
To them enter Macheath.
[26]
Sits down melancholy at the Table.
AIR XX. March in Rinaldo, with Drums
and Trumpets.
Matt
Let us take the Road.
Hark! I hear the Sound of Coaches!
The Hour of Attack approaches,
To your Arms, brave Boys, and load.
[27]
See the Ball I hold!
Let the Chymists toil like Asses,
Our Fire their Fire surpasses,
And turns all our Lead to Gold.
The Gang, rang’d in the Front of the Stage, load their Pistols, and
stick them under their Girdles; then go off singing the first Part in
Chorus.
AIR XXI. Would you have a young Virgin, &c.
If the Heart of a Man is deprest with Cares,
The Mist is dispell’d when a Woman appears;
Like the Notes of a Fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly
Raises the Spirits, and charms our Ears,
Roses and Lilies her Cheeks disclose,
But her ripe Lips are more sweet than those.
[28]
Press her,
Caress her,
With Blisses,
Her Kisses
Dissolve us in Pleasure, and soft Repose.
I must have Women. There is nothing unbends the Mind like them. Money is not
so strong a Cordial for the Time. Drawer--
Enter Drawer.
Is the Porter gone for all the Ladies according to my Directions?
AIR XXII. Cotillon.
Youth’s the Season made for Joys,
Love is then our Duty,
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her Beauty.
Let’s be gay,
While we may,
Beauty’s a Flower, despis’d in Decay.
Youth’s the Season, &c.
Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow.
Love with Youth flies swift away,
Age is nought but Sorrow.
Dance and sing,
Time’s on the Wing
Life never knows the Return of Spring.
Chorus.
Let us drink, &c.
[30]
AIR XXIII. All in a misty Morning, &c.
Before the Barn-Door crowing,
The Cock by Hens attended,
His Eyes around him throwing,
Stands for a while suspended.
[31]
Then One he singles from the Crew,
And cheers the happy Hen;
With how do you do, and how do you do,
And how do you do again.
[32]
They take him about the Neck and make signs to Peachum and Constables, who
rush in upon him.
AIR XXIV. When first I laid Siege to my Chloris, &c.
Macheath
At the Tree I shall suffer with Pleasure,
At the Tree I shall suffer with Pleasure,
Let me go where I will,
In all kinds of Ill,
I shall find no such Furies as these are.
[33]
Exit Macheath, guarded with Peachum and Constables.
Exeunt with great Ceremony.
SCENE II. Newgate.
Lockit, Turnkeys, Macheath, Constables.
[34]
Exeunt leaving Macheath solus.
AIR XXV. Courtiers, Courtiers, think it no Harm,
&c.
Man may escape from Rope and Gun;
Nay, some have out liv’d the Doctor’s Pill;
Who takes a Woman must be undone,
That Basilisk is sure to kill
The Fly that sips Treacle is lost in the Sweets,
So he that tastes Woman, Woman, Woman,
He that tastes Woman, ruin meets.
To what a woful Plight have I brought myself! Here must I (all Day long,
’till I am hang’d) be confin’d to hear the Reproaches of a Wench who lays
her Ruin at my Door--I am in the Custody of her Father, and to be sure, if
he knows of the matter, I shall have a fine time on’t betwixt this and my
Execution.--But I promis’d the Wench Marriage--What signifies a Promise to a
Woman? Does not Man in Marriage itself promise a hundred things that he
never means to perform? Do all we can, Women will believe us; for they look
upon a Promise as an Excuse for following their own Inclinations.--But here
comes Lucy, and I cannot get from her.--Wou’d I were
deaf!
Enter Lucy.
[35]
AIR XXVI. A lovely Lass to a Friar came, &c.
Thus when a good Housewife sees a Rat
In her Trap in the Morning taken,
With Pleasure her Heart goes pit-a-pat,
In Revenge for her Loss of Bacon.
Then she throws him
To the Dog or Cat,
To be worried, crush’d and shaken.
[36]
AIR XXVII. ’Twas when the Sea was roaring, &c.
How cruel are the Traitors,
Who lye and swear in jest,
To cheat unguarded Creatures
Of Virtue, Fame, and Rest!
Whoever steals a Shilling,
Through Shame the Guilt conceals:
In Love the perjur’d Villain
With Boasts the Theft reveals.
[37]
AIR XXVIII. The Sun had loos’d his weary Teams,
&c.
The first time at the Looking-glass
The Mother sets her Daughter,
The Image strikes the smiling Lass
With Self-love ever after,
Each time she looks, she, fonder grown,
Thinks ev’ry Charm grows stronger
But alas, vain Maid, all Eyes but your own
Can see you are not younger.
Exeunt.
Enter Peachum and Lockit with an Account-Book.
[38]
AIR XXIX. How happy are we, &c.
When you censure the Age,
Be cautious and sage,
Lest the Courtiers offended should be:
If you mention Vice or Bribe,
’Tis so pat to all the Tribe;
Each cries--That was levell’d at me.
[39]
Collaring each other.
Exit Peachum.
Enter Lucy.
[40]
AIR XXX. Of a noble Race was Shenkin.
Lucy
Is then his Fate decreed, Sir?
Such a Man can I think of quitting?
When first we met, so moves me yet,
O see how my Heart is splitting!
AIR XXXI.
You’ll think ere many Days ensue
This Sentence not severe;
I hang your Husband, Child, ’tis true,
But with him hang your Care.
Twang dang dillo dee.
Exit Lockit.
Enter Macheath.
[41]
AIR XXXII. London Ladies.
If you at an Office solicit your Due,
And would not have Matters neglected;
You must quicken the Clerk with the Perquisite too,
To do what his Duty directed.
Or would you the Frowns of a Lady prevent,
She too has this palpable Failing,
The Perquisite softens her into Consent;
That Reason with all is prevailing.
Enter Polly.
[42]
AIR XXXIII. All in the Downs, &c.
Thus when the Swallow seeking Prey,
Within the Sash is closely pent,
His Consort, with bemoaning Lay,
Without sits pining for th’ Event
Her chatt’ring Lovers all around her skim;
She heeds them not (poor Bird!) her Soul’s with him.
[43]
AIR XXXIV. Have you heard of a frolicksome Ditty,
&c.
Macheath
How happy could I be with either,
Were t’other dear Charmer away!
But while you thus teaze me together,
To neither a Word will I say;
But tol de rol, &c.
[44]
AIR XXXV. Irish Trot.
Polly
I am bubbled.
Lucy
I am bubbled.
Polly
O how I am troubled!
Lucy
Bambouzled, and bit!
Polly
>My Distresses are doubled.
Lucy
When you come to the Tree, should the Hangman refuse,
These Fingers, with Pleasure, could fasten the Noose.
Polly
I’m bubbled, &c.
[45]
AIR XXXVI.
Polly.
Cease your Funning;
Force or Cunning
Never shall my Heart trapan.
All these Sallies
Are but Malice
To seduce my constant Man.
’Tis most certain,
By their flirting
Women oft’ have Envy shown.
Pleas’d, to ruin
Others wooing;
Never happy in their own.
[46]
AIR XXXVII. Good-morrow, Gossip Joan.
Lucy
Why how now, Madam Flirt?
If you thus must chatter;
And are for flinging Dirt,
Let’s try who best can spatter;
Madam Flirt.
Polly
Why how now, saucy Jade;
Sure the Wench is tipsy!
How can you see me made
To him.
The Scoff of such a Gipsy?
Saucy Jade!
To her.
Enter Peachum.
[47]
AIR XXXVIII. Irish Howl.
Polly
No Power on Earth can e’er divide
The Knot that sacred Love hath ty’d
When Parents draw against our Mind,
The True-Love’s Knot they faster bind.
Oh, oh ray, oh Amborah--oh, oh, &c.
Holding Macheath, Peachum pulling her.
SCENE III. The Same.
Lucy, Macheath.
AIR XXXIX. The Lass of Patie’s
Mill, &c.
Lucy
I like the Fox shall grieve,
Whose Mate hath left her Side,
Whom Hounds from Morn to Eve,
Chase o’er the Country wide
Where can my Lover hide?
Where cheat the wary Pack?
If Love be not his Guide,
He never will come back!
Exeunt.
[49]
ACT III.
SCENE I.
SCENE, Newgate.
Lockit, Lucy.
[50]
AIR XL. If Love’s a sweet Passion, &c.
When young at the Bar you first taught me to score,
And bid me be free of my Lips, and no more;
I was kiss’d by the Parson, the Squire, and the Sot,
When the Guest was departed, the Kiss was forgot
But his Kiss was so sweet, and so closely he prest,
That I languish’d and pin’d till I granted the rest.
[51]
AIR XLI. South-Sea Ballad.
My Love is all Madness and Folly,
Alone I lie,
Toss, tumble, and cry,
What a happy Creature is Polly!
Was e’er such a Wretch as I!
With rage I redden like Scarlet,
That my dear inconstant Varlet,
Stark blind to my Charms,
Is lost in the Arms
Of that Jilt, that inveigling Harlot!
Stark blind to my Charms,
Is lost in the Arms
Of that Jilt, that inveigling Harlot!
This, this my Resentment alarms.
AIR XLII. Packington’s Pound.
Thus Gamesters united in Friendship are found,
Though they know that their Industry all is a Cheat;
They flock to their Prey at the Dice-Box’s Sound,
And join to promote one another’s Deceit.
But if by mishap
They fail of a Chap,
To keep in their Hands, they each other entrap
Like Pikes, lank with Hunger, who miss of their Ends,
They bite their Companions, and prey on their Friends.
Now, Peachum, you and I, like honest Tradesmen, are to
have a fair Trial which of us two can over-reach the other.
[53]
SCENE II. A Gaming-House.
Macheath in a fine tarnish’d Coat, Ben Budge, Matt of the Mint.
[54]
AIR XLIII. Lillibullero.
The Modes of the Court so common are grown,
That a true Friend can hardly be met;
Friendship for Interest is but a Loan,
Which they let out for what they can get.
’Tis true, you find
Some Friends so kind,
Who will give you good Counsel themselves to defend.
In sorrowful Ditty,
They promise, they pity,
But shift for your Money, from Friend to Friend.
[55]
SCENE III. Peachum’s Lock.
A Table with Wine, Brandy, Pipes and Tobacco.
Peachum, Lockit.
[56]
AIR XLIV. Down in the North Country, &c.
Lockit
What Gudgeons are we Men!
Ev’ry Woman’s easy Prey
Though we have felt the Hook, agen
We bite and they betray.
The Bird that hath been trapt,
When he hears his calling Mate,
To her he flies, again he’s clapt
Within the wiry Grate.
Enter a Servant.
AIR XLV. A Shepherd kept Sheep, &c.
In the Days of my Youth I could bill like a Dove, fa, la, la,
&c
Like a Sparrow at all times was ready for Love, fa, la, la,
&c
The Life of all Mortals in Kissing should pass,
Lip to Lip while we’re young--then the Lip to the Glass, fa,
la, &c.
[59]
SCENE IV.
Newgate.
AIR XLVI. One Evening, having lost my Way, &c.
I’m like a Skiff on the Ocean tost,
Now high, now low, with each Billow born,
With her Rudder broke, and her Anchor lost,
Deserted and all forlorn
While thus I lie rolling and tossing all Night,
That Polly lies sporting on Seas of Delight!
Revenge, Revenge, Revenge,
Shall appease my restless Spirit.
[60]
Enter Filch.
AIR XLVII. Now Roger, I’ll tell thee
because thou ’rt my Son.
When a Wife’s in her Pout,
(As she’s sometimes, no doubt;)
The good Husband as meek as a Lamb,
Her Vapours to still,
First grants her her Will,
And the quieting Draught is a Dram. Poor Man!
And the quieting Draught is a Dram.
[61]
[62]
AIR XLVIII. O Bessy Bell.
Polly
A Curse attend that Woman’s Love,
Who always would be pleasing.
Lucy
The Pertness of the billing Dove,
Like Tickling, is but teazing.
Polly
What then in Love can Woman do:
Lucy.
If we grow fond they shun us.
Polly
And when we fly them, they pursue:
Lucy.
But leave us when they’ve won us.
[63]
AIR XLIX. Would Fate to me Belinda
give.
Among the Men, Coquettes we find,
Who court by turns all Woman-kind;
And we grant all their Hearts desir’d,
When they are flatter’d, and admir’d.
AIR L. Come, sweet Lass.
Come, sweet Lass,
Let’s banish Sorrow
’Till To-morrow;
Come, sweet Lass,
Let’s take a chirping Glass.
[64]
Wine can clear
The Vapours of Despair
And make us light as Air;
Then drink, and banish Care.
Re-enter Lucy, with Strong-Waters.
Drops the Glass of Liquor on the Ground.
[65]
Enter Lockit, Macheath, Peachum.
AIR LI. The last time I went o’er the Moor.
Polly
Hither, dear Husband, turn your Eyes.
Lucy.
Bestow one Glance to cheer me.
Polly
Think with that Look, thy Polly dies.
Lucy.
O shun me not--but hear me.
Polly
’Tis Polly sues.
Lucy
’Tis Polly sues.
’Tis Lucy speaks.
Polly.
Is thus true Love requited?
Lucy
My Heart is bursting.
Polly
My Heart is bursting.
Mine too breaks.
Lucy.
Must I
Polly.
Must I
Must I be slighted?
[66]
AIR LII. Tom Tinker’s my true
Love.
Macheath
Which way shall I turn me--How can I decide?
Wives, the Day of our Death, are as fond as a Bride
One Wife is too much for most Husbands to hear,
But two at a time there’s no mortal can bear
This way, and that way, and which way I will,
What would comfort the one, t’ other Wife would take ill.
[67]
AIR LIII. I am a poor Shepherd undone.
When my Heroe in Court appears,
And stands arraign’d for his Life;
Then think of poor Polly’s Tears;
For Ah! poor Polly’s his Wife
Like the Sailor he holds up his hand,
Distrest on the dashing Wave
To die a dry Death at Land,
Is as bad as a watery Grave.
And alas, poor Polly!
Alack, and well-a-day!
Before I was in Love,
Oh! every Month was May.
Kneeling.
[68]
AIR LIV. Ianthe the lovely,
&c.
When he holds up his Hand arraign’d for his Life,
O think of your Daughter, and think I’m his Wife!
What are Canons, or Bombs, or clashing of Swords?
For Death is more certain by Witnesses Words
Then nail up their Lips; that dread Thunder allay;
And each Month of my Life will hereafter be May.
AIR LV. A Cobler there was, &c.
Ourselves, like the Great, to secure a Retreat,
When Matters require it, must give up our Gang:
And good reason why,
Or, instead of the Fry,
Ev’n Peachum and I
[69]
Like poor petty Rascals, might hang, hang;
Like poor petty Rascals, might hang.
AIR LVI. Bonny Dundee.
Macheath
The Charge is prepar’d; the Lawyers are met,
The Judges all rang’d (a terrible Show!)
I go, undismay’d.--For Death is a Debt,
A Debt on Demand.--So take what I owe
Then farewell, my Love--Dear Charmers, adieu
Contented I die--’Tis the better for you
Here ends all Disputes the rest of our Lives,
For this way at once I please all my Wives.
Exeunt Macheath, Lockit, and Peachum.
Enter Filch.
Exeunt.
A Dance of Prisoners in Chains, &c.
SCENE V.
The Condemn’d Hold.
Macheath, in a melancholy Posture.
AIR LVII. Happy Groves.
O cruel, cruel, cruel Case!
Must I suffer this Disgrace?
AIR LVIII. Of all the Girls that are so smart.
Of all the Friends in time of Grief,
When threatning Death looks grimmer,
Not one so sure can bring Relief,
As this best Friend, a Brimmer.
Drinks.
AIR LIX. Britons strike home.
Since I must swing,--I scorn, I scorn to wince or whine.
Rises.
AIR LX. Chevy Chase.
But now again my Spirits sink;
I’ll raise them high with Wine.
Drinks a Glass of Wine.
[71]
AIR LXI. To old Sir Simon the
King.
But Valour the stronger grows,
The stronger Liquor we’er drinking;
And how can we feel our Woes,
When we’ve lost the Trouble of Thinking?
Drinks.
AIR LXII. Joy to Great Cæsar.
If thus--A Man can die
Much bolder with Brandy.
Pours out a Bumper of Brandy.
AIR LXIII. There was an old Woman.
So I drink off this Bumper.--And now I can stand the
Test,
And my Comrades shall see, that I die as brave as the
Best.
Drinks.
AIR LXIV. Did you ever hear of a gallant Sailor.
But can I leave my pretty Hussies,
Without one Tear, or tender Sigh?
[72]
AIR LXV. Why are mine Eyes still flowing.
Their Eyes, their Lips, their Busses
Recall my Love,--Ah must I die!
AIR LXVI. Green Sleeves.
Since Laws were made for ev’ry Degree,
To curb Vice in others, as well as me,
I wonder we han’t better Company,
Upon Tyburn Tree!
But Gold from Law can take out the Sting;
And if rich Men like us were to swing,
’Twou’d thin the Land, such Numbers to string
Upon Tyburn Tree!
Enter Ben Budge, Matt of the Mint.
[73]
Exeunt Ben Budge and Matt.
Enter Lucy and Polly.
AIR LXVII. All you that must take a Leap, &c.
Lucy
Would I might be hang’d!
Polly
Would I might be hang’d!
And I would so too!
Lucy
To be hang’d with you.
Polly
To be hang’d with you.
My Dear, with you.
[74]
Macheath
O leave me to Thought! I fear! I doubt!
I tremble! I droop!--See, my Courage is out.
Turns up the empty Bottle.
Polly
No Token of Love?
Macheath
No Token of Love?
See, my Courage is out.
Turns up the empty Pot.
Lucy
No Token of Love?
Polly
No Token of Love?
Adieu.
Lucy
No Token of Love? Adieu.
Farewell.
Macheath
But hark! I hear the Toll of the Bell.
Chorus
Tol de rol lol, &c.
Enter Women and Children.
Exit Macheath guarded.
To them, Enter Player and Beggar.
To them, Macheath with Rabble, &c.
A DANCE.
[76]
AIR LXVIII. Lumps of Pudding, &c.
Thus I stand like the Turk, with his Doxies around;
From all Sides their Glances his Passion confound;
For Black, Brown, and Fair, his Inconstancy burns,
And the different Beauties subdue him by turns:
Each calls forth her Charms to provoke his Desires:
Though willing to all, with but one he retires
But think of this Maxim, and put off your Sorrow,
The Wretch of To-day, may be happy To-morrow.
Chorus
But think of this Maxim, &c.
FINIS.
BEGGAR'S
OPERA.
As it is Acted at the
THEATRE-ROYAL
IN
LINCOLNS-INN-FIELDS
Written by Mr. GAY.
--Nos haec novimus esse nibil.Mart.
The SECOND EDITION:
To which is Added
The OUVERTURE in SCORE;
And the MUSICK prefix'd to each SONG. LONDON:
Printed for JOHN WATTS, at the Printing-Office
in Wild-Court, near Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.
MDCCXXVIII.
[Price 1s. 6d.] [i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v] Dramatis Personae. MEN.
- Mr. Hippisley.
- Peachum.
- Mr. Hall.
- Lockit.
- Mr. Walker.
- Macheath.
- Mr. Clark.
- Filch.
- Mr. H. Bullock.
- Jemmy Twitcher.
- Mr. Houghton.
- Crook-finger'd Jack.
- Mr. Smith.
- Wat Dreary.
- Mr. Lacy.
- Robin of Bagshot.
- Mr. Pit.
- Nimming Ned.
- Mr. Eaton.
- Harry Paddington.
- Mr. Spiller.
- Mat of the Mint.
- Mr. Morgan.
- Ben Budge.
- Mr. Chapman.
- Beggar.
- Mr. Milward.
- Player.
- Constables, Drawer, Turnkey, &c.
- Mrs. Martin.
- Mrs. Peachum.
- Miss Fenton.
- Polly Peachum.
- Mrs. Egleton.
- Lucy Lockit.
- Mrs. Martin.
- Diana Trapes.
- Mrs. Holiday.
- Mrs. Coaxer.
- Mrs. Lacy.
- Dolly Trull.
- Mrs. Rice.
- Mrs. Vixen.
- Mrs. Rogers.
- Betty Doxy.
- Mrs. Clarke.
- Jenny Diver.
- Mrs. Morgan.
- Mrs. Slammekin.
- Mrs. Palin.
- Suky Tawdry.
- Mrs. Sallee.
- Molly Brazen.
Beggar.
If Poverty be a Title to Poetry, I am sure no-body can dispute mine. I own
myself of the Company of Beggars; and I make one at their Weekly Festivals
at St. Giles’s. I have a small Yearly Salary for my
Catches, and am welcome to a Dinner there whenever I please, which is more
than most Poets can say.
Player.
As we live by the Muses, it is but Gratitude in us to encourage Poetical
Merit wherever we find it. The Muses, contrary to all other Ladies, pay no
Distinction to Dress, and never partially mistake the Pertness of Embroidery
for Wit, nor the Modesty of Want for Dulness. Be the Author who he will, we
push his Play as far as it will go. So (though you are in Want) I wish you
success heartily.
Beggar.
This piece I own was originally writ for the celebrating the Marriage of James Chaunter and Moll Lay,
two most excellent Ballad-Singers. I have introduced the Similes that are in
all your celebrated Operas: The Swallow, the Moth, the Bee, the Ship, the Flower, &c. Besides, I have a Prison-Scene, which the
Ladies always reckon charmingly pathetic. As to the Parts, I have observed
such a nice Impartiality to our two Ladies, that it is impossible for either
of them to take Offence. I hope I may be forgiven, that I have not made my
Opera throughout unnatural, like those in vogue; for I have no Recitative;
excepting this, as I have consented to have neither Prologue nor Epilogue,
it must be allowed an Opera in all its Forms. The Piece indeed hath been
heretofore frequently represented by ourselves in our Great Room at St. Giles’s, so that I cannot too often acknowledge
your Charity in bringing it now on the Stage.
Player.
But I see it is time for us to withdraw; the Actors are preparing to begin.
Play away the Overture.
Filch.
Sir, Black Moll hath sent word her Trial comes on in
the Afternoon, and she hopes you will order Matters so as to bring her off.
Peachum.
As the Wench is very active and industrious, you may satisfy her that I’ll
soften the Evidence.
Filch.
Tom Gagg, Sir, is found guilty.
Peachum.
A lazy Dog! When I took him the time before, I told him what he would come
to if he did not mend his Hand. This is Death without Reprieve. I may
venture to Book him writes. For Tom
Gagg, forty Pounds. Let Betty Sly know that
I’ll save her from Transportation, for I can get more by her staying in England.
Filch.
Betty hath brought more Goods into our Lock to-year
than any five of the Gang; and in truth, ’tis a pity to lose so good a
Customer.
Peachum.
If none of the Gang take her off, she may, in the common course of Business,
live a Twelve-month longer. I love to let Women scape. A good Sportsman
always lets the Hen Partridges fly, because the Breed of the Game depends
upon them. Besides, here the Law allows us no Reward; there is nothing to be
got by the Death of Women--except our Wives.
Filch.
Without dispute, she is a fine Woman! ’Twas to her I was obliged for my
Education, and (to say a bold Word) she hath trained up more young Fellows
to the Business than the Gaming table.
Peachum.
Truly, Filch, thy Observation is right. We and the
Surgeons are more beholden to Women than all the Professions besides.
Peachum.
But make haste to Newgate, Boy, and let my Friends
know what I intend; for I love to make them easy one way or other.
Filch.
When a Gentleman is long kept in suspence, Penitence may break his Spirit
ever after. Besides, Certainty gives a Man a good Air upon his Trial, and
makes him risk another without Fear or Scruple. But
I’ll away, for ’tis a Pleasure to be the Messenger of
Comfort to Friends in Affliction. Exit Filch.
Peachum.
But ’tis now high time to look about me for a decent Execution against next
Sessions. I hate a lazy Rogue, by whom one can get nothing ’till he is
hang’d. A Register of the Gang, Crook-finger’d Jack. A Year and a half in the
Service; Let me see how much the Stock owes to his industry; one, two,
three, four, five Gold Watches, and seven Silver ones. A mighty clean-handed
Fellow! Sixteen Snuff-boxes, five of them of true Gold. Six Dozen of
Handkerchiefs, four silver-hilted Swords, half a Dozen of Shirts, three
Tye-Periwigs, and a Piece of Broad-Cloth. Considering these are only the
Fruits of his leisure Hours, I don’t know a prettier Fellow, for no Man
alive hath a more engaging Presence of Mind upon the Road. Wat Dreary, alias Brown Will, an irregular
Dog, who hath an underhand way of disposing of his Goods. I’ll try him only
for a Sessions or two longer upon his Good-behaviour. Harry Paddington, a poor petty-larceny Rascal, without the least
Genius; that Fellow, though he were to live these six Months, will never
come to the Gallows with any Credit. Slippery Sam; he
goes off the next Sessions, for the Villain hath the Impudence to have Views
of following his Trade as a Tailor, which he calls an honest Employment. Mat of the Mint; listed not above a Month ago, a
promising sturdy Fellow, and diligent in his way; somewhat too bold and
hasty, and may raise good Contributions on the Public, if he does not cut
himself short by Murder. Tom Tipple, a guzzling
soaking Sot, who is always too drunk to stand himself, or to make others
stand. A Cart is absolutely necessary for him. Robin of
Bagshot, alias Gorgon, alias Bluff Bob, alias Carbuncle,
alias Bob Booty.
Mrs. Peachum.
What of Bob Booty, Husband? I hope nothing bad hath
betided him. You know, my Dear, he’s a favourite Customer of mine. ’Twas he
made me a present of this Ring.
Peachum.
I have set his Name down in the Black List, that’s all, my Dear; he spends
his Life among Women, and as soon as his Money is gone, one or other of the
Ladies will hang him for the Reward, and there’s forty Pound lost to us
for-ever.
Mrs. Peachum.
You know, my Dear, I never meddle in matters of Death; I always leave those
Affairs to you. Women indeed are bitter bad Judges in these cases, for they
are so partial to the Brave that they think every Man handsome who is going
to the Camp or the Gallows.
But really, Husband, you should not be too hard-hearted, for you never had a
finer, braver set of Men than at present. We have not had a Murder among
them all, these seven Months. And truly, my Dear, that is a great
Blessing.
Peachum.
What a dickens is the Woman always a whimpring about Murder for? No
Gentleman is ever look’d upon the worse for killing a Man in his own
Defence; and if Business cannot be carried on without it, what would you
have a Gentleman do?
Mrs. Peachum.
If I am in the wrong, my Dear, you must excuse me, for no body can help the
Frailty of an over-scrupulous Conscience.
Peachum.
Murder is as fashionable a Crime as a Man can be guilty of. How many fine
Gentlemen have we in Newgate every Year, purely upon
that Article! If they have wherewithal to persuade the Jury to bring it in
Manslaughter, what are they the worse for it? So, my Dear, have done upon
this Subject. Was Captain Macheath here this Morning,
for the Bank-Notes he left with you last Week?
Mrs. Peachum.
Yes, my Dear; and though the Bank hath stopt Payment, he was so chearful and
so agreeable! Sure there is not a finer Gentleman upon the Road than the
Captain! if he
[6]
comes from Bagshot at any reasonable
Hour, he hath promis’d to make one this Evening with Polly and me, and Bob Booty at a Party of
Quadrille. Pray, my Dear, is the Captain rich?
Peachum.
The Captain keeps too good Company ever to grow rich. Marybone and the Chocolate-houses are his Undoing. The Man that
proposes to get Money by play should have the Education of a fine Gentleman,
and be train’d up to it from his Youth.
Mrs. Peachum.
Really, I am sorry upon Polly’s Account the Captain
hath not more Discretion. What Business
hath he to keep Company with Lords and Gentlemen? he should
leave them to prey upon one another.
Peachum.
Upon Polly’s Account! What, a Plague, does the Woman
mean?--Upon Polly’s Account!
Mrs. Peachum.
Captain Macheath is very fond of the Girl.
Peachum.
And what then?
Mrs. Peachum.
If I have any Skill in the Ways of Women, I am sure Polly thinks him a very pretty Man.
Peachum.
And what then? You would not be so mad to have the Wench marry him!
Gamesters and Highwaymen are generally very good to their Whores, but they
are very Devils to their Wives.
Mrs. Peachum.
But if Polly should be in Love, how should we help
her, or how can she help herself? Poor Girl, I am in the utmost Concern
about her.
Peachum.
Look ye, Wife. A handsome Wench in our way of Business is as profitable as
at the Bar of a Temple Coffee-House, who looks upon
it as her livelihood to grant every Liberty but one. You see I would indulge
the Girl as far as prudently we can. In any thing, but Marriage! After that,
my Dear, how shall we be safe? Are we not then in her Husband’s Power? For a
Husband hath the absolute Power over all a Wife’s Secrets but her own. If
the Girl had the Discretion of a Court-Lady, who can have a Dozen young
Fellows at her Ear without complying with one, I should not matter it; but
Polly is Tinder, and a Spark will at once set her
on a Flame. Married! If the Wench does not know her own Profit, sure she
knows her own Pleasure better than to make herself a Property! My Daughter
to me should be, like a Court-Lady to a Minister of State, a Key to the
whole Gang. Married! If the Affair is not already done, I’ll terrify her
from it, by the Example of our Neighbours.
Mrs. Peachum.
May-hap, my Dear, you may injure the Girl. She loves to imitate the fine
Ladies, and she may only allow the Captain Liberties in the view of
Interest.
Peachum.
But ’tis your Duty, my Dear, to warn the Girl against her Ruin, and to
instruct her how to make the most of her Beauty. I’ll go to her this moment,
and sift her. In the meantime, Wife, rip out the Coronets and Marks of these
Dozen of Cambric Handkerchiefs, for I can dispose of them this Afternoon to
a Chap in the City.
Mrs. Peachum.
Never was a Man more out of the way in an Argument than my Husband! Why must
our Polly, forsooth, differ from her Sex, and love
only her Husband? And why must Polly’s Marriage,
contrary to all Observations, make her the less followed by other
Men? All Men are Thieves in Love, and like a Woman the
better for being another’s Property.
Mrs. Peachum.
Come hither, Filch. I am as fond of this Child, as
though my Mind misgave me he were my own. He hath as fine a Hand at picking
a Pocket as a Woman, and is as nimble-finger’d as a Juggler. If an unlucky
Session does not cut the Rope of thy Life, I pronounce, Boy, thou wilt be a
great Man in History. Where was your Post last Night, my Boy?
Filch.
I ply’d at the Opera, Madam; and considering ’twas neither dark nor rainy,
so that there was no great Hurry in getting Chairs and Coaches, made a
tolerable Hand on’t. These seven Handkerchiefs, Madam.
Mrs. Peachum.
Colour’d ones, I see. They are of sure Sale from our Warehouse at Redriff among the Seamen.
Filch.
And this Snuff-box.
Mrs. Peachum.
Set in Gold! A pretty Encouragement this to a young Beginner.
Filch.
I had a fair Tug at a charming Gold Watch. Pox take the Tailors for making
the Fobs so deep and narrow! It stuck by the way, and I was forc’d to make
my Escape under a Coach. Really, Madam, I fear I shall be cut off in the
Flower of my Youth, so that every now and then (since I was pumpt) I have
Thoughts of taking up and going to Sea.
Mrs. Peachum.
You should go to Hockley in the Hole, and to Marybone, Child, to learn Valour. These are the
Schools that have bred so many brave Men. I thought, Boy, by this time, thou
hadst lost Fear as well as Shame. Poor Lad! how little does he know as yet
of the Old Baily! For the first Fact I’ll insure thee
from being hang’d; and going to Sea, Filch, will come
time enough upon a Sentence of Transportation. But now, since you have
nothing better to do, ev’n go to your Book, and learn your Catechism; for
really a Man makes but an ill Figure in the Ordinary’s Paper, who cannot
give a satisfactory Answer to his Questions. But, hark you, my Lad. Don’t
tell me a Lye; for you know I hate a Liar. Do you know of anything that hath
pass’d between Captain Macheath and our Polly?
Filch.
I beg you, Madam, don’t ask me; for I must either tell a Lye to you or to
Miss Polly; for I promis’d her I would not tell.
Mrs. Peachum.
But when the Honour of our Family is concern’d--
Filch.
I shall lead a sad Life with Miss Polly, if ever she
comes to know that I told you. Besides, I would not willingly forfeit my own
Honour by betraying any body.
Mrs. Peachum.
Yonder comes my Husband and Polly. Come, Filch, you shall go with me into my own Room, and
tell me the whole Story. I’ll give thee a Glass of a most delicious Cordial
that I keep for my own drinking.
Polly.
I know as well as any of the fine Ladies how to make the most of myself and
of my Man too. A Woman knows how to be mercenary, though she hath never been
in a Court or at an Assembly. We have it in our Natures, Papa. If I allow
Captain Macheath some trifling Liberties, I have this
Watch and other visible Marks of his Favour to shew for it. A Girl who
cannot grant some Things, and refuse what is most material, will make but a
poor hand of her Beauty, and soon be thrown upon the Common.
Peachum.
You know, Polly, I am not against your toying and
trifling with a Customer in the way of Business, or to get out a Secret, or
so. But if I find out that you have play’d the Fool and are married, you
Jade you, I’ll cut your Throat, Hussy. Now you know my Mind.
Mrs. Peachum.
You Baggage! you Hussy! you inconsiderate Jade! had you been hang’d, it would
not have vex’d me, for that might have been your Misfortune; but to do such
a mad thing by Choice; The Wench is married, Husband.
Peachum.
Married! the Captain is a bold Man, and will risk any thing for Money; to be
sure he believes her a Fortune. Do you think your Mother and I should have
liv’d comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!
Mrs. Peachum.
I knew she was always a proud Slut; and now the Wench hath play’d the Fool
and Married, because forsooth she would do like the Gentry. Can you support
the Expence of a Husband, Hussy, in Gaming, Drinking and Whoring? Have you
Money enough to carry on the daily Quarrels of Man and Wife about who shall
squander most? There are not many Husbands and Wives, who can bear the
Charges of plaguing one another in a handsom way. If you must be married,
could you introduce no body into our Family but a Highwayman? Why, thou
foolish Jade, thou wilt be as ill-us’d, and as much neglected, as if thou
hadst married a Lord!
Peachum.
Let not your Anger, my Dear, break through the Rules of Decency, for the
Captain looks upon himself in the Military Capacity, as a Gentleman by his
Profession. Besides what he hath already, I know he is in a fair way of
getting, or of dying; and both these ways, let me tell you, are most
excellent Chances for a Wife. Tell me, Hussy, are you ruin’d or no?
Mrs. Peachum.
With Polly’s Fortune, she might very well have gone
off to a Person of Distinction. Yes, that you might, you pouting Slut!
Peachum.
What is the Wench dumb? Speak, or I’ll make you plead by squeezing out an
Answer from you.
Are you really bound Wife to him, or are you only upon
liking?
Polly.
Oh!
Mrs. Peachum.
How the Mother is to be pitied who hath handsom Daughters! Locks, Bolts,
Bars, and Lectures of Morality are nothing to them: They break through them
all. They have as much Pleasure in cheating a Father and Mother, as in
cheating at Cards.
Peachum.
Why, Polly, I shall soon know if you are married, by
Macheath’s keeping from our House.
Mrs. Peachum.
Then all the Hopes of our Family are gone for ever and ever!
Peachum.
And Macheath may hang his Father and Mother-in-law,
in hope to get into their Daughter’s Fortune.
Polly.
I did not marry him (as ’tis the Fashion) coolly and deliberately for Honour
or Money. But, I love him.
Mrs. Peachum.
Love him! worse and worse! I thought the Girl had been better bred. Oh
Husband, Husband! her Folly makes me mad! my Head swims! I’m distracted! I
can’t support myself--Oh!
Peachum.
See, Wench, to what a Condition you have reduc’d your poor Mother! a Glass
of Cordial, this instant. How the poor Woman takes it to heart!
Polly goes out, and returns with it. Ah, Hussy, now this is the
only Comfort your Mother has left!
Polly.
Give her another Glass, Sir! my Mama drinks double the Quantity whenever she
is out of Order. This, you see, fetches her.
Mrs. Peachum.
The Girl shews such a Readiness, and so much Concern, that I could almost
find in my Heart to forgive her.
Mrs. Peachum.
Not with a Highwayman.--You sorry Slut!
Peachum.
A Word with you, Wife. ’Tis no new thing for a Wench to take Man without
Consent of Parents. You know ’tis the Frailty of Women, my Dear.
Mrs. Peachum.
Yes, indeed, the Sex is frail. But the first time a Woman is frail, she
should be somewhat nice methinks, for then or never is the time to make her
Fortune. After that, she hath nothing to do but to guard herself from being
found out, and she may do what she pleases.
Peachum.
Make yourself a little easy; I have a Thought shall soon set all Matters
again to rights. Why so melancholy, Polly? since what
is done cannot be undone, we must all endeavour to make the best of it.
Mrs. Peachum.
Well, Polly; as far as one Woman can forgive another,
I forgive thee.--Your Father is too fond of you, Hussy.
Polly.
Then all my Sorrows are at an end.
Mrs. Peachum.
A mighty likely Speech in troth, for a Wench who is just married!
Peachum.
I hear Customers in t’other Room: Go, talk with ’em, Polly; but come to us again, as soon as they are gone.--But, hark
ye, Child, if ’tis the Gentleman who was here Yesterday about the Repeating
Watch; say, you believe we can’t get Intelligence of it ’till to-morrow. For
I lent it to Suky Straddle, to make a figure with it
to-night at a Tavern in Drury-Lane. If t’other
Gentleman calls for the Silver-hilted Sword; you know Beetle-brow’d Jemmy hath it on, and he doth not come from Tunbridge ’till Tuesday Night;
so that it cannot be had ’till then.
Peachum.
Dear Wife, be a little pacified, Don’t let your Passion run away with your
Senses. Polly, I grant you, hath done a rash thing.
Mrs. Peachum.
If she had only an Intrigue with the Fellow, why the very best Families have
excus’d and huddled up a Frailty of that sort. ’Tis Marriage, Husband, that
makes it a Blemish.
Peachum.
But Money, Wife, is the true Fuller’s Earth for Reputations, there is not a
Spot or a Stain but what it can take out. A rich Rogue now-a-days is fit
Company for any Gentleman; and the World, my Dear, hath not such a Contempt
for Roguery as you imagine. I tell you, Wife, I can make this Match turn to
our Advantage.
Mrs. Peachum.
I am very sensible, Husband, that
Captain Macheath is worth Money, but
I am in doubt whether he hath not two or three Wives already, and then if he
should die in a Session or two, Polly’s Dower would
come into Dispute.
Peachum.
That, indeed, is a Point which ought to be consider’d.
Polly.
’Twas only Nimming Ned. He brought in a Damask
Window-Curtain, a Hoop-Petticoat, a pair of Silver Candlesticks, a Periwig,
and one Silk Stocking, from the Fire that happen’d last Night.
Peachum.
There is not a Fellow that is cleverer in his way, and saves more Goods out
of the Fire than Ned. But now, Polly, to your Affair; for Matters must not be left as they are.
You are married then, it seems?
Polly.
Yes, Sir.
Peachum.
And how do you propose to live, Child?
Polly.
Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband.
Mrs. Peachum.
What, is the Wench turn’d Fool? A Highwayman’s Wife, like a Soldier’s, hath
as little of his Pay, as of his Company.
Peachum.
And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in your Marriage, Polly?
Polly.
I don’t know what you mean, Sir.
Peachum.
Of a Jointure, and of being a Widow.
Polly.
But I love him, Sir; how then could I have Thoughts of parting with him?
Peachum.
Parting with him! Why, this is the whole Scheme and Intention of all
Marriage-Articles. The comfortable Estate of Widow-hood, is the only Hope
that keeps up a Wife’s Spirits. Where is the Woman who would scruple to be a
Wife, if she had it in her Power to be a Widow, whenever she pleas’d? If you
have any Views of this sort, Polly, I shall think the
Match not so very unreasonable.
Polly.
How I dread to hear your Advice! Yet I must beg you to explain yourself.
Peachum.
Secure what he hath got, have him peach’d the next Sessions, and then at
once you are made a rich Widow.
Polly.
What, murder the Man I love! The Blood runs cold at my Heart with the very
thought of it.
Peachum.
Fie, Polly! What hath Murder to do in the Affair?
Since the thing sooner or later must happen, I dare say, the Captain himself
would like that we should get the Reward for his Death sooner than a
Stranger. Why, Polly, the Captain knows, that as ’tis
his Employment to rob, so ’tis ours to take Robbers; every Man in his
Business. So that there is no Malice in the Case.
Mrs. Peachum.
Ay, Husband, now you have nick’d the Matter. To have him peach’d is the only
thing could ever make me forgive her.
Mrs. Peachum.
But your Duty to your Parents, Hussy, obliges you to hang him. What would
many a Wife give for such an Opportunity!
Polly.
What is a Jointure, what is Widow-hood to me? I know my Heart. I cannot
survive him.
Mrs. Peachum.
What, is the Fool in Love in earnest then? I hate thee for being particular:
Why, Wench, thou art a Shame to thy very Sex.
Polly.
But hear me, Mother.--If you ever lov’d--
Mrs. Peachum.
Those cursed Play-Books she reads have been her Ruin. One Word more, Hussy,
and I shall knock your Brains out, if you have any.
Peachum.
Keep out of the way, Polly, for fear of Mischief, and
consider of what is proposed to you.
Mrs. Peachum.
Away, Hussy. Hang your Husband, and be dutiful.
Mrs. Peachum.
The Thing, Husband, must and shall be done. For the sake of Intelligence we
must take
other measures, and have him peached the next Session
without her Consent. If she will not know her Duty, we know ours.
Peachum.
But really, my Dear, it grieves one’s Heart to take off a great Man. When I
consider his Personal Bravery, his fine Stratagem, how much we have already
got by him, and how much more we may get, methinks I can’t find in my Heart
to have a hand in his Death. I wish you could have made Polly undertake it.
Mrs. Peachum.
But in a Case of Necessity--our own Lives are in danger.
Peachum.
Then, indeed, we must comply with the Customs of the World, and make
Gratitude give way to Interest.--He shall be taken off.
Mrs. Peachum.
I’ll undertake to manage Polly.
Peachum.
And I’ll prepare Matters for the Old-Baily.
Polly.
Now I’m a Wretch, indeed.--Methinks I see him already in the Cart, sweeter
and more lovely than the Nosegay in his Hand!--I hear the Crowd extolling
his Resolution and Intrepidity!--What Vollies of Sighs are sent from the
Windows of Holborn, that so comely a Youth should be
brought to Disgrace!--I see him at the Tree! The whole Circle are in
Tears!--even Butchers weep!--Jack Ketch himself
hesitates to perform his Duty, and would be glad to lose his Fee, by a
Reprieve. What then will become of Polly!--As yet I
may inform him of their Design, and aid him in his Escape.--It shall be
so--But then he flies, absents himself, and I bar myself from his dear dear
Conversation! That too will distract me.--If he keep out of the way, my Papa
and Mama may in time relent, and we may be happy.--If he stays, he is
hang’d, and then he
is lost for ever!--He intended to lie conceal’d in my Room,
’till the Dusk of the Evening: If they are abroad I’ll this Instant let him
out, lest some Accident should prevent him.
Macheath
Polly.
And are you as fond as ever, my Dear?
Macheath.
Suspect my Honour, my Courage, suspect any thing but my Love.--May my
Pistols miss Fire,
and my Mare slip her Shoulder while I am pursu’d, if I ever
forsake thee!
Polly.
Nay, my Dear, I have no Reason to doubt you, for I find in the Romance you
lent me, none of the great Heroes were ever false in Love.
Polly.
Were you sentenc’d to Transportation, sure, my Dear, you could not leave me
behind you--could you?
Macheath.
Is there any Power, any Force that could tear me from thee? You might sooner
tear a Pension out of the Hands of a Courtier, a Fee from a Lawyer, a pretty
Woman from a Looking-glass, or any Woman from Quadrille.--But to tear me
from thee is impossible!
Polly.
Yes, I would go with thee. But oh!--how shall I speak it? I must be torn
from thee. We must part.
Macheath.
How! Part!
Polly.
We must, we must.--My Papa and Mama are set against thy Life. They now, even
now are in Search after thee. They are preparing Evidence against thee. Thy
Life depends upon a moment.
One Kiss and then--one Kiss--be gone--farewel.
Macheath.
My Hand, my Heart, my Dear, is so riveted to thine, that I cannot unloose my
Hold.
Polly.
But my Papa may intercept thee, and then I should lose the very glimmering
of Hope. A few Weeks, perhaps, may reconcile us all. Shall thy Polly hear from thee?
Macheath.
Must I then go?
Polly.
And will not Absence change your Love?
Macheath.
If you doubt it, let me stay--and be hang’d.
Polly.
O how I fear! how I tremble!--Go--but when Safety will give you leave, you
will be sure to see me again; for ’till then Polly is
wretched.
Ben.
But pr’ythee, Matt, what is become of thy Brother
Tom? I have not seen him since my Return from
Transportation.
Matt.
Poor Brother Tom had an Accident this time
Twelve-month, and so clever a made fellow he was, that I could not save
him from those fleaing Rascals the Surgeons; and now, poor Man, he is
among the Otamys at Surgeons Hall.
Ben.
So it seems, his Time was come.
Jemmy.
But the present Time is ours, and no body alive hath more. Why are the
Laws levell’d at us? are we more dishonest than the rest of Mankind?
What we win, Gentlemen, is our own by the Law of Arms, and the Right of
Conquest.
Crook.
Where shall we find such another Set of Practical Philosophers, who to a
Man are above the Fear of Death?
Wat.
Sound Men, and true!
Robin.
Of try’d Courage, and indefatigable Industry!
Ned.
Who is there here that would not die for his Friend?
Harry.
Who is there here that would betray him for his Interest?
Matt.
Shew me a Gang of Courtiers that can say as much.
Ben.
We are for a just Partition of the World, for every Man hath a Right to
enjoy Life.
Matt.
We retrench the Superfluities of Mankind. The World is avaritious, and I
hate Avarice. A covetous fellow, like a Jackdaw, steals what he was
never made to enjoy, for the sake of hiding it. These are the Robbers of
Mankind, for Money was made for the Free-hearted and Generous, and where
is the Injury of taking from another, what he hath not the Heart to make
use of?
Jemmy.
Our several Stations for the Day are fixt. Good luck attend us all. Fill
the Glasses.
Macheath.
Gentlemen, well met. My Heart hath been with you this Hour; but an
unexpected Affair hath detain’d me. No Ceremony, I beg you.
Matt.
We were just breaking up to go upon Duty. Am I to have the Honour of
taking the Air with you, Sir, this Evening upon the Heath? I drink a
Dram now and then with the Stagecoachmen in the way of Friendship and
Intelligence; and I know that about this Time there will be Passengers
upon the Western Road, who are worth speaking with.
Macheath.
I was to have been of that Party--but--
Matt.
But what, Sir?
Macheath.
Is there any Man who suspects my Courage?
Matt.
We have all been Witnesses of it.
Macheath.
My Honour and Truth to the Gang?
Matt.
I’ll be answerable for it.
Macheath.
In the Division of our Booty, have I ever shewn the least Marks of
Avarice or Injustice?
Matt.
By these Questions something seems to have ruffled you. Are any of us
suspected?
Macheath.
I have a fixed Confidence, Gentlemen, in you all, as Men of Honour, and
as such I value and respect you. Peachum is a Man
that is useful to us.
Matt.
Is he about to play us any foul Play? I’ll shoot him through the Head.
Macheath.
I beg you, Gentlemen, act with Conduct and Discretion. A Pistol is your
last Resort.
Matt.
He knows nothing of this Meeting.
Macheath.
Business cannot go on without him. He is a Man who knows the World, and
is a necessary Agent to us. We have had a slight Difference, and ’till
it is accommodated I shall be oblig’d to keep out of his way.
Any private Dispute of mine shall be of no ill consequence to my
Friends. You must continue to act under his Direction, for the moment we
break loose from him, our Gang is ruin’d.
Matt.
As a Bawd to a Whore, I grant you, he is to us of great Convenience.
Macheath.
Make him believe I have quitted the Gang, which I can never do but with
Life. At our private Quarters I will continue to meet you. A Week or so
will probably reconcile us.
Matt.
Your Instructions shall be observ’d. ’Tis now high time for us to repair
to our several Duties; so ’till the Evening at our Quarters in
Moor-Fields we bid you farewel.
Macheath.
I shall wish myself with you. Success attend you.
Macheath.
What a Fool is a fond Wench! Polly is most
confoundedly bit.--I love the Sex. And a Man who loves Money, might as
well be contented with one Guinea, as I with one Woman. The Town perhaps
have been as much obliged to me, for recruiting it with free-hearted
Ladies, as to any Recruiting Officer in the Army. If it were not for us,
and the other Gentlemen of the Sword, Drury-Lane
would be uninhabited.
Drawer.
I expect him back every Minute. But you know, Sir, you sent him as far
as Hockley in the Hole for three of the Ladies,
for one in Vinegar-Yard, and for the rest of them
somewhere about Lewkner’s-Lane. Sure some of them
are below, for I hear the Bar-Bell. As they come I will shew them up.
Coming, Coming.
Macheath.
Dear Mrs. Coaxer, you are welcome. You look
charmingly to-day. I hope you don’t want the Repairs of Quality, and lay
on Paint.--Dolly Trull! kiss me, you Slut; are
you as amorous as ever, Hussy? You are always so taken up with stealing
Hearts, that you don’t allow yourself Time to steal any thing else.--Ah
Dolly, thou wilt ever be a Coquette! Mrs. Vixen, I’m yours, I always lov’d a Woman of Wit
and Spirit; they make charming Mistresses, but plaguy Wives--Betty Doxy! Come hither, Hussy. Do you drink as
hard as ever? You had better stick to good wholesom Beer; for in troth,
Betty, Strong-Waters will in time ruin your
Constitution. You should leave those to your Betters.--What! and my
pretty Jenny Diver too! As prim and demure as ever!
There is not any Prude, though ever so
high bred, hath a more sanctify’d Look, with a more mischievous Heart.
Ah! thou art a dear artful Hypocrite.--Mrs. Slammekin! as careless and genteel as ever! all you fine
Ladies, who know your own Beauty, affect an Undress.--But see, here’s
Suky Tawdry come to contradict what I was
saying. Every thing she gets one way she lays out upon her Back. Why,
Suky, you must keep at least a Dozen
Tallymen. Molly Brazen! That’s well done. I
[29]
love a free-hearted Wench. Thou hast a most
agreeable Assurance, Girl, and art as willing as a Turtle.--But hark! I
hear Music. The Harper is at the Door. If Music be the
Food of Love, play on. Ere you seat yourselves, Ladies, what
think you of a Dance? Come in.Play the French Tune, that Mrs. Slammekin was so fond of.
Macheath.
Now, pray Ladies, take your Places. Here Fellow. Bid the Drawer bring us more Wine. If any of the Ladies choose Ginn, I hope they will be so free to call for
it.
Jenny.
You look as if you meant me. Wine is strong enough for me. Indeed, Sir, I
never drink Strong-Waters, but when I have the Cholic.
Macheath.
Just the Excuse of the fine Ladies! Why, a Lady of Quality is never without
the Cholic. I hope, Mrs. Coaxer, you have had good
Success of late in your Visits among the Mercers.
Mrs. Coaxer.
We have so many Interlopers--Yet with Industry, one may still have a little
Picking. I carried a silver-flowered Lutestring, and a Piece of black
Padesoy to Mr. Peachum’s Lock but last Week.
Mrs. Vixen.
There’s Molly Brazen hath the Ogle of a Rattle-Snake.
She rivetted a Linen-Draper’s Eye so fast upon her, that he was nick’d of
three Pieces of Cambric before he could look off.
Brazen.
Oh dear Madam!--But sure nothing can come up to your handling of Laces! And
then you have such a sweet deluding Tongue! To cheat a Man is nothing; but
the Woman must have fine Parts indeed who cheats a Woman.
Mrs. Vixen.
Lace, Madam, lies in a small Compass, and is of easy Conveyance. But you are apt, Madam, to think
too well of your Friends.
Mrs. Coaxer.
If any woman hath more Art than another, to be sure, ’tis Jenny Diver. Though her Fellow be never so agreeable, she can pick
his Pocket as coolly, as if money were her only Pleasure. Now that is a
Command of the Passions uncommon in a Woman!
Jenny.
I never go to the Tavern with a Man, but in the View of Business. I have
other Hours, and other sort of Men for my Pleasure. But had I your Address,
Madam--
Macheath.
Have done with your Compliments, Ladies; and drink about: You are not so
fond of me, Jenny, as you use to be.
Jenny.
’Tis not convenient, Sir, to shew my Fondness among so many Rivals. ’Tis
your own Choice, and not the Warmth of my Inclination that will determine
you.
Macheath.
Ah Jenny! thou art a dear Slut.
Jenny.
A Man of Courage should never put any thing to the Risk but his Life. These
are the Tools of a Man of Honour. Cards and Dice are only fit for cowardly
Cheats, who prey upon their Friends.
Tawdry.
This, Sir, is fitter for your Hand. Besides your Loss of Money, ’tis a Loss
to the Ladies. Gaming takes you off from Women. How fond could I be of you!
but before Company ’tis ill bred.
Macheath.
Wanton Hussies!
Jenny.
I must and will have a Kiss to give my Wine a Zest.
Peachum.
I seize you, Sir, as my Prisoner.
Macheath.
Was this well done, Jenny?--Women are Decoy Ducks;
who can trust them! Beasts, Jades, Jilts, Harpies, Furies, Whores!
Peachum.
Your Case, Mr. Macheath, is not particular. The
greatest Heroes have been ruin’d by Women. But, to do them Justice, I must
own they are a pretty sort of Creatures, if we could trust them. You must
now, Sir, take your Leave of the Ladies, and if they have a mind to make you
a Visit, they will be sure to find you at home. This Gentleman, Ladies,
lodges in Newgate. Constables, wait upon the Captain
to his Lodgings.
Peachum.
Ladies, I’ll take care the Reckoning shall be discharged.
Mrs. Vixen.
Look ye, Mrs. Jenny, though Mr. Peachum may have made a private Bargain with you and Suky Tawdry for betraying the Captain, as we were all
assisting, we ought all to share alike.
Mrs. Coaxer.
I think Mr. Peachum, after so long an Acquaintance,
might have trusted me as well as Jenny Diver.
Mrs. Slammekin.
I am sure at least three Men of his hanging, and in a Year’s time too (if he
did me Justice) should be set down to my Account.
Trull.
Mrs. Slammekin, that is not fair. For you know one of
them was taken in Bed with me.
Jenny.
As far as a Bowl of Punch or a Treat, I believe Mrs. Suky will join with me.--As for any thing else, Ladies, you cannot
in Conscience expect it.
Mrs. Slammekin.
Dear Madam--
Trull.
I would not for the World--
Mrs. Slammekin.
’Tis impossible for me--
Trull.
As I hope to be sav’d, Madam--
Mrs. Slammekin.
Nay, then I must stay here all Night--
Trull.
Since you command me.
Lockit.
Noble Captain, you are welcome. You have not been a Lodger of mine this
Year and half. You know the Custom, Sir. Garnish, Captain, Garnish. Hand
me down those Fetters there.
Macheath.
Those, Mr. Lockit, seem to be the heaviest of the
whole Set. With your Leave, I should like the further Pair better.
Lockit.
Look ye, Captain, we know what is fittest for our Prisoners. When a
Gentleman uses me with Civility, I always do the best I can to please
him.--Hand them down I say.--We have them of all Prices, from one Guinea
to ten, and ’tis fitting every Gentleman should please himself.
Macheath.
I understand you, Sir. Gives Money. The Fees here are so
many, and so exorbitant, that few Fortunes can bear the Expence of
getting off handsomly, or of dying like a Gentleman.
Lockit.
Those, I see, will fit the Captain better--Take down the further Pair.
Do but examine them, Sir.--Never was better work.--How genteely they are
made!--They will fit as easy as a Glove, and the nicest Man in England might not be asham’d to wear them. If I had the best Gentleman in the Land in my Custody I could not equip
him more handsomly. And so, Sir--I now leave you to
your private Meditations.
Macheath.
Lucy.
You base Man you,--how can you look me in the Face after what hath
passed between us?--See here, perfidious Wretch, how I am forc’d to bear
about the Load of Infamy you have laid upon me--O Macheath! thou hast robb’d me of my Quiet--to see thee
tortur’d would give me Pleasure.
Macheath.
Have you no Bowels, no Tenderness, my dear Lucy,
to see a Husband in these Circumstances?
Lucy.
A Husband!
Macheath.
In ev’ry Respect but the Form, and that, my Dear, may be said over us at
any time.--Friends should not insist upon Ceremonies. From a Man of
Honour, his Word is as good as his Bond.
Lucy.
’Tis the Pleasure of all you fine Men to insult the Women you have
ruin’d.
Macheath.
The very first Opportunity, my Dear, (have but Patience) you shall be my
Wife in whatever manner you please.
Lucy.
Insinuating Monster! And so you think I know nothing of the Affair of
Miss Polly Peachum.--I could tear thy Eyes out!
Macheath.
Sure, Lucy, you can’t be such a Fool as to be
jealous of Polly!
Lucy.
Are you not married to her, you Brute, you.
Macheath.
Married! Very good. The Wench gives it out only to vex thee, and to ruin
me in thy good Opinion. ’Tis true, I go to the House; I chat with the
Girl, I kiss her, I say a thousand things to her (as all Gentlemen do)
that mean nothing, to divert myself; and now the silly Jade hath set it
about that I am married to her, to let me know what she would be at.
Indeed, my dear Lucy, these violent Passions may
be of ill consequence to a Woman in your Condition.
Lucy.
Come, come, Captain, for all your Assurance, you know that Miss Polly hath put it out of your Power to do me the
Justice you promis’d me.
Macheath.
A jealous Woman believes every thing her Passion suggests. To convince
you of my Sincerity, if we can find the Ordinary, I shall have no
Scruples of making you my Wife; and I know the Consequence of having two
at a time.
Lucy.
That you are only to be hang’d, and so get rid of them both.
Macheath.
I am ready, my dear Lucy, to give you
Satisfaction--if you think there is any in Marriage.--What can a Man of
Honour say more?
Lucy.
So then, it seems, you are not married to Miss Polly.
Macheath.
You know, Lucy, the Girl is prodigiously
conceited. No Man can say a civil thing to her, but (like other fine
Ladies) her Vanity makes her think he’s her own for ever and ever.
When Women consider their own Beauties, they are all alike unreasonable
in their Demands; for they expect their Lovers should like them as long
as they like themselves.
Lucy.
Yonder is my Father--perhaps this way we may light upon the Ordinary,
who shall try if you will be as good as your Word.--For I long to be
made an honest Woman.
Lockit.
In this last Affair, Brother Peachum, we are
agreed. You have consented to go halves in Macheath.
Peachum.
We shall never fall out about an Execution--But as to that Article, pray
how stands our last Year’s Account?
Lockit.
If you will run your Eye over it, you’ll find ’tis fair and clearly
stated.
Peachum.
This long Arrear of the Government is very hard upon us! Can it be
expected that we would hang our Acquaintance for nothing, when our
Betters will hardly save theirs without being paid for it. Unless the
People in Employment pay better, I promise them for the future, I shall
let other Rogues live besides their own.
Lockit.
Perhaps, Brother, they are afraid these Matters may be carried too far.
We are treated too by them with Contempt, as if our Profession were not
reputable.
Peachum.
In one respect indeed our Employment may be reckon’d dishonest, because,
like Great Statesmen, we encourage those who betray their Friends.
Lockit.
Such Language, Brother, any where else, might turn to your Prejudice.
Learn to be more guarded, I beg you.
Peachum.
Here’s poor Ned Clincher’s Name, I see. Sure,
Brother Lockit, there was a little unfair
Proceeding in Ned’s Case: for he told me in the
Condemn’d Hold, that for Value receiv’d, you had promis’d him a Session
or two longer without Molestation.
Lockit.
Mr. Peachum--this is the first time my Honour was
ever call’d in Question.
Peachum.
Business is at an end--if once we act dishonourably.
Lockit.
Who accuses me?
Peachum.
You are warm, Brother.
Lockit.
He that attacks my Honour, attacks my Livelihood.--And this Usage--Sir--is not to be borne.
Peachum.
Since you provoke me to speak--I must tell you too, that Mrs. Coaxer charges you with defrauding her of her
Information-Money, for the apprehending of curl-pated Hugh. Indeed, indeed, Brother, we must punctually pay our
Spies, or we shall have no Information.
Lockit.
Is this Language to me, Sirrah,--who have sav’d you from the Gallows,
Sirrah!
Peachum.
If I am hang’d, it shall be for ridding the World of an arrant Rascal.
Lockit.
This Hand shall do the Office of the Halter you deserve, and throttle
you--you Dog!--
Peachum.
Brother, Brother--We are both in the Wrong--We shall be both Losers in
the Dispute--for you know we have it in our Power to hang each other.
You should not be so passionate.
Lockit.
Nor you so provoking.
Peachum.
’Tis our mutual Interest; ’tis for the Interest of the World we should
agree. If I said any thing, Brother, to the Prejudice of your Character,
I ask pardon.
Lockit.
Brother Peachum--I can forgive as well as
resent.--Give me your Hand. Suspicion does not become a Friend.
Peachum.
I only meant to give you Occasion to justify yourself: But I must now
step home, for I expect the Gentleman about this Snuff-box, that Filch nimm’d two Nights ago in the Park. I
appointed him at this Hour.
Lockit.
Whence come you, Hussy?
Lucy.
My Tears might answer that Question.
Lockit.
You have then been whimpering and fondling, like a Spaniel, over the
Fellow that hath abus’d you.
Lucy.
One can’t help Love; one can’t cure it. ’Tis not in my Power to obey
you, and hate him.
Lockit.
Learn to bear your Husband’s Death like a reasonable Woman. ’Tis not the
fashion, now-a-days, so much as to affect Sorrow upon these Occasions.
No Woman would ever marry, if she had not the Chance of Mortality for a
Release. Act like a Woman of Spirit, Hussy, and thank your Father for
what he is doing.
Lockit.
Look ye, Lucy--There is no saving him.--So, I
think, you must ev’n do like other Widows--buy yourself Weeds, and be
chearful.
Like a good Wife, go moan over your dying Husband. That, Child is your
Duty--Consider, Girl, you can’t have the Man and the Money too--so make
yourself as easy as you can, by getting all you can from him.
Lucy.
Though the Ordinary was out of the way to-day, I hope, my Dear, you
will, upon the first Opportunity, quiet my Scruples--Oh Sir!--my
Father’s hard heart is not to be soften’d, and I am in the utmost
Despair.
Macheath.
But if I could raise a small Sum--Would not twenty Guineas, think you,
move him?--Of all the Arguments in the way of Business, the Perquisite
is the most prevailing--Your Father’s Perquisites for the Escape of
Prisoners must amount to a considerable Sum in the Year. Money well
tim’d, and properly apply’d, will do any thing.
Lucy.
What Love or Money can do shall be done: for all my Comfort depends upon
your Safety.
Polly.
Where is my dear Husband?--Was a Rope ever intended for this Neck!--O
let me throw my Arms about it, and throttle thee with Love!--Why dost
thou turn away from me? ’Tis thy Polly--’Tis thy
Wife.
Macheath.
Was ever such an unfortunate Rascal as I am!
Lucy.
Was there ever such another Villain!
Polly.
O Macheath! was it for this we parted? Taken!
Imprisoned! Try’d! Hang’d--cruel Reflection! I’ll stay with thee ’till
Death--no Force shall tear thy dear Wife from thee now.--What means my
Love?--Not one kind Word! not one kind Look! think what thy Polly suffers to see thee in this Condition.
Macheath.
I must disown her. The Wench is distracted.
Lucy.
Am I then bilk’d of my Virtue? Can I have no Reparation? Sure Men were
born to lie, and Women to believe them! O Villain! Villain!
Polly.
Am I not thy Wife?--Thy Neglect of me, thy Aversion to me too severely
proves it.--Look on me.--Tell me, am I not thy Wife?
Lucy.
Perfidious Wretch!
Polly.
Barbarous Husband!
Lucy.
Hadst thou been hang’d five Months ago, I had been happy.
Polly.
And I too--If you had been kind to me ’till Death, it would not have
vexed me--And that’s no very unreasonable Request, (though from a Wife)
to a Man who hath not above seven or eight Days to live.
Lucy.
Art thou then married to another? Hast thou two Wives, Monster?
Macheath.
If Women’s Tongues can cease for an Answer--hear me.
Lucy.
I won’t.--Flesh and Blood can’t bear my Usage.
Polly.
Shall I not claim my own? Justice bids me speak.
Polly.
Sure, my Dear, there ought to be some Preference shewn to a Wife! At
least she may claim the Appearance of it. He must be distracted with his
Misfortunes, or he could not use me thus.
Lucy.
O Villain, Villain! thou hast deceiv’d me.--I could even inform against
thee with Pleasure. Not a Prude wishes more heartily to have Facts
against her intimate Acquaintance, than I now wish to have Facts against
thee. I would have her Satisfaction, and they should all out.
Macheath.
Be pacified, my dear Lucy--This is all a Fetch of
Polly’s, to make me desperate with you in
case I get off. If I am hang’d, she would fain have the Credit of being thought my Widow--Really, Polly, this is no time for a Dispute of this sort; for
whenever you are talking of Marriage, I am thinking of Hanging.
Polly.
And hast thou the Heart to persist in disowning me?
Macheath.
And hast thou the Heart to persist in persuading me that I am married?
Why, Polly, dost thou seek to aggravate my
Misfortunes?
Lucy.
Really, Miss Peachum, you but expose yourself.
Besides, ’tis barbarous in you to worry a Gentleman in his
Circumstances.
Polly.
Decency, Madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some
Reserve with the Husband, while his Wife is present.
Macheath.
But seriously, Polly, this is carrying the Joke a
little too far.
Lucy.
If you are determin’d, Madam, to raise a Disturbance in the Prison, I
shall be obliged to send for the Turnkey to shew you the Door. I am
sorry, Madam, you force me to be so ill-bred.
Polly.
Give me leave to tell you, Madam: These forward Airs don’t become you in
the least, Madam. And my Duty, Madam, obliges me to stay with my
Husband, Madam.
Peachum.
Where’s my Wench? Ah Hussy! Hussy!--Come you home, you Slut; and when
your Fellow is hang’d, hang yourself, to make your Family some Amends.
Polly.
Dear, dear Father, do not tear me from him--I must speak; I have more to
say to him--Oh! twist thy Fetters about me, that he may not haul me from
thee!
Peachum.
Sure all Women are alike! If ever they commit the Folly, they are sure
to commit another by exposing themselves--Away--Not a Word more--You are
my Prisoner, now, Hussy.
Macheath.
I am naturally compassionate, Wife; so that I could not use the
Wench as she deserv’d; which made you at first suspect there was
something in what she said.
Lucy.
Indeed, my Dear, I was strangely puzzled.
Macheath.
If that had been the Case, her Father would never have brought me
into this Circumstance--No, Lucy,--I had
rather die than be false to thee.
Lucy.
How happy am I, if you say this from your Heart! For I love thee so,
that I could sooner bear to see thee hang’d than in the Arms of
another.
Macheath.
But could’st thou bear to see me hang’d?
Lucy.
O Macheath, I can never live to see that Day.
Macheath.
You see, Lucy; in the Account of Love you are
in my Debt, and you must now be convinc’d, that I rather choose to
die than be another’s.--Make me, if possible, love thee more, and
let me owe my Life to thee--If you refuse to as
[48]
sist me, Peachum and your Father will immediately put
me beyond all means of Escape.
Lucy.
My Father, I know, hath been drinking hard with the Prisoners: and I
fancy he is now taking his Nap in his own Room--If I can procure the
Keys, shall I go off with thee, my Dear?
Macheath.
If we are together, ’twill be impossible to lie conceal’d. As soon
as the Search begins to be a little cool, I will send to thee--’Till then my
Heart is thy Prisoner.
Lucy.
Come then, my dear Husband--owe thy Life to me--and though you love
me not--be grateful,--but that Polly runs in
my Head strangely.
Macheath.
A moment of Time may make us unhappy for ever.
Lockit.
To be sure, Wench, you must have been aiding and abetting to help him to
this Escape.
Lucy.
Sir, here hath been Peachum and his Daughter Polly, and to be sure they know the Ways of Newgate as well as if they had been born and bred
in the Place all their Lives. Why must all your Suspicion light upon me?
Lockit.
Lucy, Lucy, I will have
none of these shuffling Answers.
Lucy.
Well then--If I know any thing of him I wish I may be burnt!
Lockit.
Keep your Temper, Lucy, or I shall pronounce you
guilty.
Lucy.
Keep yours, Sir,--I do wish I may be burnt. I do--And what can I say
more to convince you?
Lockit.
Did he tip handsomly?--How much did he come down with? Come, Hussy,
don’t cheat your Father; and I shall not be angry with you--Perhaps, you
have made a better Bargain with him than I could have done--How much, my
good Girl?
Lucy.
You know, Sir, I am fond of him, and would have given Money to have kept
him with me.
Lockit.
Ah Lucy! thy Education might have put thee more
upon thy Guard; for a Girl in the Bar of an Ale-house is always
besieg’d.
Lucy.
Dear Sir, mention not my Education--for ’twas to that I owe my Ruin.
If you can forgive me, Sir, I will make a fair Confession, for to be sure
he hath been a most barbarous Villain to me.
Lockit.
And so you have let him escape, Hussy--Have you?
Lucy.
When a Woman loves; a kind Look, a tender Word can persuade her to any
thing--And I could ask no other Bribe.
Lockit.
Thou wilt always be a vulgar Slut, Lucy.--If you
would not be look’d upon as a Fool, you should never do any thing but
upon the foot of Interest. Those that act otherwise are their own
Bubbles.
Lucy.
But Love, Sir, is a Misfortune that may happen to the most discreet
Women, and in Love we are all Fools alike--Notwithstanding all he swore,
I am now fully convinc’d that Polly Peachum is
actually his Wife.--Did I let him escape, (Fool that I was!) to go to
her?--Polly will wheedle herself into his
Money, and then Peachum will hang him, and cheat
us both.
Lockit.
So I am to be ruin’d, because, forsooth, you must be in Love!--a very
pretty Excuse!
Lucy.
I could murder that impudent happy Strumpet:--I gave him his Life, and
that Creature enjoys the Sweets of it.--Ungrateful Macheath!
Lockit.
And so, after all this Mischief, I must stay here to be entertain’d with
your Catterwauling, Mrs. Puss!--Out of my Sight, wanton Strumpet! you
shall fast and mortify yourself into Reason, with now and then a little
handsom Discipline to bring you to your Senses.--Go. Exit
Lucy.
Peachum then intends to outwit me in this Affair;
but I’ll be even with him.--The Dog is leaky in his Liquor, so I’ll ply
him that way, get the Secret from him, and turn this Af
[52]
fair to my own
Advantage.--Lions, Wolves, and Vultures don’t live together in Herds,
Droves or Flocks.--Of all Animals of Prey, Man is the only sociable one.
Every one of us preys upon his Neighbour, and yet we herd together.--Peachum is my Companion, my Friend.--According to
the Custom of the World, indeed, he may quote thousands of Precedents
for cheating me--And shall not I make use of the Privilege of Friendship
to make him a Return.
Macheath.
I am sorry, Gentlemen, the Road was so barren of Money. When my Friends
are in Difficulties, I am always glad that my Fortune can be serviceable
to them. Gives them Money. You see, Gentlemen, I am not a
mere Court Friend, who professes every thing and will do nothing.
But we, Gentlemen, have still Honour enough to break through the
Corruptions of the World.--And while I can serve you, you may command
me.
Ben.
It grieves my Heart that so generous a Man should be involv’d in such
Difficulties, as oblige him to live with such ill Company, and herd with
Gamesters.
Matt.
See the Partiality of Mankind!--One Man may steal a Horse, better than
another look over a Hedge.--Of all Mechanics, of all servile
Handicrafts-men, a Gamester is the vilest. But yet, as many of the
Quality are of the Profession, he is admitted amongst the politest
Company. I wonder we are not more respected.
Macheath.
There will be deep Play to-night at Mary-bone,
and consequently Money may be pick’d up upon the Road. Meet me there,
and I’ll give you the Hint who is worth Setting.
Matt.
The Fellow with a brown Coat with a narrow Gold Binding, I am told, is
never without Money.
Macheath.
What do you mean, Matt?--Sure you will not think
of meddling with him!--He’s a good honest kind of a Fellow, and one of
us.
Ben.
To be sure, Sir, we will put ourselves under your Direction.
Macheath.
Have an Eye upon the Money-Lenders.--A Rouleau,
or two, would prove a pretty sort of an Expedition. I hate Extortion.
Matt.
Those Rouleaus are very pretty Things.--I hate your Bank Bills.--There
is such a Hazard in putting them off.
Macheath.
There is a certain Man of Distinction, who in his Time hath nick’d me out of a great deal of
the Ready. He is in my Cash, Ben;--I’ll point him out to you this
Evening, and you shall draw upon him for the Debt.--The Company are met;
I hear the Dice-Box in the other Room. So, Gentlemen, your Servant.
You’ll meet me at Mary-bone.
Lockit.
The Coronation Account, Brother Peachum, is of so
intricate a nature, that I believe it will never be settled.
Peachum.
It consists indeed of a great Variety of Articles.--It was worth to our
People, in Fees of different kinds, above ten Instalments.--This is part
of the Account, Brother, that lies open before us.
Lockit.
A Lady’s Tail of rich Brocade.--that, I see, is dispos’d of.
Peachum.
To Mrs. Diana Trapes, the Tally-Woman, and she
will make a good Hand on’t in Shoes and Slippers, to trick out young
Ladies, upon their going into Keeping.--
Lockit.
But I don’t see any Article of the Jewels.
Peachum.
Those are so well known that they must be sent abroad--You’ll find them
enter’d under the Article of Exportation.--As for the Snuff-Boxes,
Watches, Swords, &c.--I thought it best to enter them under their
several Heads.
Lockit.
Seven and twenty Women’s Pockets complete; with the several things
therein contain’d; all Seal’d, Number’d, and Enter’d.
Peachum.
But, Brother, it is impossible for us now to enter upon this Affair,--We
should have the whole Day before us.--Besides, the Account of the last Half
Year’s Plate is in a Book by itself, which lies at the other Office.
Lockit.
Bring us then more Liquor--To-day shall be for Pleasure--To-morrow for
Business--Ah, Brother, those Daughters of ours are two slippery
Hussies--Keep a watchful Eye upon Polly, and Macheath in a Day or two shall be our own again.
Peachum.
But what signifies catching the Bird, if your Daughter Lucy will set open the Door of the Cage?
Lockit.
If men were answerable for the Follies and Frailties of their Wives and
Daughters, no Friends could keep a good Correspondence together for two
Days.--This in unkind of you, Brother; for among good Friends, what they
say or do goes for nothing.
Servant.
Sir, here’s Mrs. Diana Peachum.Shall we admit
her, Brother Lockit?
Lockit.
By all means,--She’s a good Customer, and a fine-spoken Woman--And a
Woman who drinks and talks so freely, will enliven the Conversation.
Peachum.
Desire her to walk in.
Peachum.
Dear Mrs. Dye, your Servant--One may know by your
Kiss, that your Ginn is excellent.
Mrs. Trapes.
I was always very curious in my Liquors.
Lockit.
There is no perfum’d Breath like it--I have been long acquainted with
the Flavour of those Lips--Han’t I, Mrs. Dye.
Mrs. Trapes.
Fill it up--I take as large Draughts of Liquor, as I did of Love.--I
hate a Flincher in either.
But now, Mr. Peachum, to our Business.--If you
have Blacks of any kind, brought in of late; Mantoes--Velvet
Scarfs--Petticoats--Let it be what it will--I am your Chap--for all my
Ladies are very fond of Mourning.
Peachum.
Why, look ye, Mrs. Dye--you deal so hard with us,
that we can afford to give the Gentlemen, who venture their Lives for
the Goods, little or nothing.
Mrs. Trapes.
The hard Times oblige me to go very near in my Dealing.--To be sure, of
late Years I have been a great Sufferer by the Parliament.--Three
thousand Pounds would hardly make me amends.--The Act for destroying the
Mint, was a severe Cut upon our Business--’Till then, if a Cu
[58]
stomer
stept out of the way--we knew where to have her--No doubt you know Mrs.
Coaxer--there’s a Wench now (’till to-day)
with a good Suit of Clothes of mine upon her Back, and I could never set
Eyes upon her for three Months together.--Since the Act too against
Imprisonment for small Sums, my Loss there too hath been very
considerable, and it must be so, when a Lady can borrow a handsom
Petticoat, or a clean Gown, and I not have the least Hank upon her! And,
o’ my Conscience, now-a-days most Ladies take a Delight in cheating,
when they can do it with Safety.
Peachum.
Madam, you had a handsom Gold Watch of us ’tother Day for seven
Guineas.--Considering we must have our Profit.--To a Gentleman upon the
Road, a Gold Watch will be scarce worth the taking.
Mrs. Trapes.
Consider, Mr. Peachum, that Watch was remarkable,
and not of very safe Sale.--If you have any black Velvet Scarfs--they
are a handsom Winter-wear, and take with most Gentlemen who deal with my
Customers.--’Tis I that put the Ladies upon a good Foot. ’Tis not Youth
or Beauty that fixes their Price. The Gentlemen always pay according to their Dress, from
half a Crown to two Guineas; and yet those Hussies make nothing of
bilking of me.--Then too, allowing for Accidents.--I have eleven fine
Customers now down under the Surgeon’s Hands--what with Fees and other
Expenses, there are great Goings-out, and no Comings in, and not a
Farthing to pay for at least a Month’s Clothing.--We run great
Risques--great Risques indeed.
Peachum.
As I remember, you said something just now of Mrs. Coaxer.
Mrs. Trapes.
Yes, Sir.--To be sure I stript her of a Suit of my own Clothes about two
Hours ago; and have left her as she should be, in her Shift, with a
Lover of hers at my House. She call’d him up Stairs, as he was going to
Mary-bone in a Hackney Coach.--And I hope,
for her own sake and mine, she will persuade the Captain to redeem her,
for the Captain is very generous to the Ladies.
Lockit.
What Captain?
Mrs. Trapes.
He thought I did not know him--An intimate Acquaintance of yours, Mr.
Peachum--Only Captain Macheath--as fine as a Lord.
Peachum.
To-morrow, dear Mrs. Dye, you shall set your own
Price upon any of the Goods you like--We have at least half a Dozen
Velvet Scarfs, and all at your Service. Will you give me leave to make
you a Present of this Suit of Night-clothes for your own wearing?--But
are you sure it is Captain Macheath.
Mrs. Trapes.
Though he thinks I have forgot him; no body knows him better. I have
taken a great deal of the Captain’s Money in my Time at second-hand, for
he always lov’d to have his Ladies well drest.
Peachum.
Mr. Lockit and I have a little Business with the Captain;--You understand me--and we will satisfy
you for Mrs. Coaxer’s Debt.
Lockit.
Depend upon it--we will deal like Men of Honour.
Mrs. Trapes.
I don’t enquire after your Affairs--so whatever happens, I wash my Hands
on’t--It hath always been my Maxim, that one Friend should assist
another--But if you please--I’ll take one of the Scarfs home with me.
’Tis always good to have something in Hand.
Lucy.
Jealousy, Rage, Love and Fear are at once tearing me to pieces, How I am
weather-beaten and shatter’d with Distresses!
I have the Rats-bane ready.--I run no Risque; for I can lay her Death
upon the Ginn, and so many die of that naturally that I shall never be
call’d in question.--But say, I were to be hang’d.--I never could be
hang’d for any thing that would give me greater Comfort, than the
poisoning that Slut.
Filch.
Madam, here’s Miss Polly come to wait upon you.
Lucy.
Show her in.Dear Madam, your Servant.--I hope you will pardon my Passion, when I was
so happy to see you last.--I was so over-run with the Spleen, that I was
perfectly out of myself. And really when one hath the Spleen, every
thing is to be excus’d by a Friend.
--I wish all our Quarrels might have so comfortable a Reconciliation.
Polly.
I have no Excuse for my own Behaviour, Madam, but my Misfortunes.--And
really, Madam, I suffer too upon your Account.
Lucy.
But, Miss Polly--in the way of Friendship, will
you give me leave to propose a Glass of Cordial to you?
Polly.
Strong-Waters are apt to give me the Head-ache--I hope, Madam, you will
excuse me.
Lucy.
Not the greatest Lady in the Land could have better in her Closet, for
her own private drinking.--You seem mighty low in Spirits, my Dear.
Polly.
I am sorry, Madam, my Health will not allow me to accept of your
Offer.--I should not have left you in the rude manner I did when we met
last, Madam, had not my Papa haul’d me away so unexpectedly--I was
indeed somewhat provok’d, and perhaps might use some Expressions that
were disrespectful.--But really, Madam, the Captain treated me with so
much Contempt and Cruelty, that I deserv’d your Pity, rather than your
Resentment.
Lucy.
But since his Escape, no doubt all Matters are made up again.--Ah Polly! Polly! ’tis I am
the unhappy Wife; and he loves you as if you were only his Mistress.
Polly.
Sure, Madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your
Jealousy.--A Man is always afraid of a Woman who loves him too well--so
that I must expect to be neglected and avoided.
Lucy.
Then our Cases, my dear Polly, are exactly alike.
Both of us indeed have been too fond.
Lucy.
Love is so very whimsical in both Sexes, that it is impossible to be
lasting.--But my Heart is particular, and contradicts my own
Observation.
Polly.
But really, Mistress Lucy, by his last Behaviour,
I think I ought to envy you.--When I was forc’d from him, he did not shew the least Tenderness.--But
perhaps, he hath a Heart not capable of it.
The Coquettes of both Sexes are Self-lovers, and that is a Love no other
whatever can dispossess. I hear, my dear Lucy,
our Husband is one of those.
Lucy.
Away with these melancholy Reflections,--indeed, my dear Polly, we are both of us a Cup too low--Let me
prevail upon you to accept of my Offer.
I can’t bear, Child, to see you in such low Spirits.--And I must persuade
you to what I know will do you good. I shall now soon be even with the hypocrytical Strumpet.
Polly.
All this Wheedling of Lucy cannot be for
nothing.--At this time too! when I know she hates me!--The Dissembling
of a Woman is always the Forerunner of Mischief.--By pouring
Strong-Waters down my Throat, she thinks to pump some Secrets out of
me,--I’ll be upon my Guard, and won’t taste a Drop of her Liquor, I’m
resolv’d.
Lucy.
Come, Miss Polly.
Polly.
Indeed, Child, you have given yourself trouble to no purpose.--You must,
my Dear, excuse me.
Lucy.
Really, Miss Polly, you are as squeamishly
affected about taking a Cup of Strong-Waters as a Lady before Company. I
vow, Polly, I shall take it monstrously ill if
you refuse me.--Brandy and Men (though Women love them ever so well) are
always taken by us with some Reluctance--unless ’tis in private.
Polly.
I protest, Madam, it goes against me.--What do I see! Macheath again in
Custody!--Now every Glimm’ring of Happiness is lost.
Lucy.
Since things are thus, I’m glad the Wench hath escap’d: for by this
Event, ’tis plain, she was not happy enough to deserve to be
poison’d.
Lockit.
Set your Heart to rest, Captain.--You have neither the Chance of Love or
Money for another Escape,--for you are order’d to be call’d down upon
your Trial immediately.
Peachum.
Away, Hussies!--This is not a Time for a Man to be hamper’d with his
Wives.--You see, the Gentleman is in Chains already.
Lucy.
O Husband, Husband, my Heart long’d to see thee; but to see thee thus
distracts me?
Polly.
Will not my dear Husband look upon his Polly? Why
hadst thou not flown to me for Protection? with me thou hadst been safe.
Macheath.
What would you have me say, Ladies?--You see this affair will soon be at
an end, without my disobliging either of you.
Peachum.
But the settling this Point, Captain, might prevent a Law-Suit between
your two Widows.
Polly.
But if his own Misfortunes have made him insensible to mine--A Father sure will be more
compassionate--Dear, dear Sir, sink the material Evidence, and bring him
off at his Trial--Polly upon her Knees begs it of
you.
Lucy.
If Peachum’s Heart is harden’d; sure you, Sir,
will have more Compassion on a Daughter.--I know the Evidence is in your
Power.--How then can you be a Tyrant to me?
Lockit.
Macheath’s Time is come, Lucy.--We know our own Affairs, therefore let us have no more
Whimpering or Whining.
Peachum.
Set your Heart at rest, Polly.--Your Husband is
to die to-day.--Therefore if you are not already provided, ’tis high
time to look about for another. There’s Comfort for you, you Slut.
Lockit.
We are ready, Sir, to conduct you to the Old
Baily.
Now, Gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.
Polly.
Follow them, Filch, to the Court. And when the
Trial is over, bring me a particular Account of his Behaviour, and of
every thing that happen’d--You’ll find me here with Miss Lucy. But why is all this Musick?
Lucy.
The Prisoners, whose Trials are put off ’till next Session, are
diverting themselves.
Polly.
Sure there is nothing so charming as Music! I’m fond of it to
Distraction!--But alas!--now, all Mirth
[70]
seems an Insult upon my
Affliction.--Let us retire, my dear Lucy, and
indulge our Sorrows.--The noisy Crew, you see, are coming upon us.
Jailor.
Some Friends of yours, Captain, desire to be admitted--I leave you
together.
Macheath.
For my having broke Prison, you see, Gentlemen, I am order’d immediate
Execution.--The Sheriff’s Officers, I believe, are now at the
Door.--That Jemmy Twitcher should peach me, I own
surpris’d me!--’Tis a plain Proof that the World is all alike, and that
even our Gang can no more trust one another than other People.
Therefore, I beg you, Gentlemen, look well to yourselves, for in all
probability you may live some Months longer.
Matt.
We are heartily sorry, Captain, for your Misfortune.--But ’tis what we
must all come to.
Macheath.
Peachum and Lockit, you
know, are infamous Scoundrels. Their Lives are as much in your Power, as
yours are in theirs.--Remember your dying Friend!--’Tis my last
Request.--Bring those Villains to the Gallows before you, and I am
satisfied.
Matt.
We’ll do’t.
Jailor.
Miss Polly and Miss Lucy
intreat a Word with you.
Macheath.
Gentlemen, adieu.
Macheath.
My dear Lucy--My dear Polly--Whatsoever hath pass’d between us is now at an end--If
you are fond of marrying again, the best Advice I can give you, is to
Ship yourselves off for the West-Indies, where
you’ll have a fair Chance of getting a Husband a-piece, or by good Luck,
two or three, as you like best.
Polly.
How can I support this Sight!
Lucy.
There is nothing moves one so much as a great Man in Distress.
Jailor.
Four Women more, Captain, with a Child apiece! See, here they come.
Macheath.
What--four Wives more!--This is too much--Here--tell the Sheriff’s
Officers I am ready.
Player.
But, honest Friend, I hope you don’t intend that Macheath shall be really executed.
Beggar.
Most certainly, Sir.--To make the Piece perfect, I was for doing strict
poetical Justice.--Macheath is to be hang’d; and
for the other Personages of the Drama, the Audience must have suppos’d
they were all either hang’d or transported.
Player.
Why then, Friend, this is a downright deep Tragedy. The Catastrophe is
manifestly wrong, for an Opera must end happily.
Beggar.
Your Objection, Sir, is very just, and is easily remov’d. For you must
allow, that in this kind of Drama, ’tis no matter how absurdly things
are brought about--So--you Rabble there--run and cry, A Reprieve!--let
the Prisoner be brought back to his Wives in Triumph.
Player.
All this we must do, to comply with the Taste of the Town.
Beggar.
Through the whole Piece you may observe such a Similitude of Manners in
high and low Life, that it is difficult to determine whether (in the
fashionable Vices) the fine Gentlemen
[75]
imitate the Gentlemen of the Road,
or the Gentlemen of the Road the fine Gentlemen.--Had the Play remained,
as I at first intended, it would have carried a most excellent Moral.
’Twould have shewn that the lower Sort of People have their Vices in a
degree as well as the Rich: And that they are punish’d for them.
Macheath.
So, it seems, I am not left to my Choice, but must have a Wife at
last.--Look ye, my Dears, we will have no Controversy now. Let us give
this Day to Mirth, and I am sure she who thinks herself my Wife will
testify her Joy by a Dance.
All.
Come, a Dance--a Dance.
Macheath.
Ladies, I hope you will give me leave to present a Partner to each of
you. And (if I may without Offence) for this time, I take Polly for mine.--And for Life, you Slut,--for we
were really marry’d.--As for the rest.--But at present keep your own
Secret.