The Beggar's Opera [7]
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.
[Exit, and returns with Macheath.]
Macheath.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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. 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.
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.
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.
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.
AIR XVIII. O the Broom, &c.
MACHEATH. The Miser thus a Shilling
[Exit, and returns with Macheath.]
Macheath.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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. 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.
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.
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.
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.
AIR XVIII. O the Broom, &c.
MACHEATH. The Miser thus a Shilling