The Beggar's Opera Part 10

AIR x.x.x. Of a n.o.ble Race was _Shenkin_.

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_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!

_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.

AIR x.x.xI.

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You'll think ere many Days ensue This Sentence not severe; I hang your Husband, Child, 'tis true, But with him hang your Care.

Tw.a.n.g dang dillo dee.

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.

[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 x.x.xII. _London_ Ladies.

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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 x.x.xIII. All in the Downs, &c.

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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 x.x.xIV. Have you heard of a frolicksome Ditty, &c.

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_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 x.x.xV. _Irish_ Trot.

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