The Beggar's Opera [10]
play on. Ere you seat yourselves, Ladies, what think you of a Dance? Come in. [Enter Harper.] Play the French Tune, that Mrs. Slammekin was so fond of.
[A Dance a la ronde in the French manner; near the end of it this song and Chorus.]
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.
MACHEATH. Now, pray Ladies, take your Places. Here Fellow. [Pays the Harper.] Bid the Drawer bring us more Wine. [Exit Harper.] 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.
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. 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.
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.
[She takes up his Pistol. Tawdry takes up the other.]
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.
[They take him about the Neck and make signs to Peachum and Constables, who rush in upon him.]
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,
[A Dance a la ronde in the French manner; near the end of it this song and Chorus.]
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.
MACHEATH. Now, pray Ladies, take your Places. Here Fellow. [Pays the Harper.] Bid the Drawer bring us more Wine. [Exit Harper.] 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.
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. 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.
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.
[She takes up his Pistol. Tawdry takes up the other.]
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.
[They take him about the Neck and make signs to Peachum and Constables, who rush in upon him.]
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,