The Beggar's Opera [14]
as easy as you can, by getting all you can from him.
[Exit Lockit.]
[Enter Macheath.]
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.
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.
LUCY. What Love or Money can do shall be done: for all my Comfort depends upon your Safety.
[Enter Polly.]
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.
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.
MACHEATH. [Aside.] I must disown her. [Aloud.] 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.
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.
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.
AIR XXXV. Irish Trot.
POLLY. I am bubbled. LUCY. . . . I'm 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.
MACHEATH. Be pacified, my dear Lucy--This is all a Fetch of Polly's, to make
[Exit Lockit.]
[Enter Macheath.]
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.
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.
LUCY. What Love or Money can do shall be done: for all my Comfort depends upon your Safety.
[Enter Polly.]
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.
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.
MACHEATH. [Aside.] I must disown her. [Aloud.] 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.
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.
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.
AIR XXXV. Irish Trot.
POLLY. I am bubbled. LUCY. . . . I'm 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.
MACHEATH. Be pacified, my dear Lucy--This is all a Fetch of Polly's, to make