The Beggar's Opera :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.

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.

Air LIV.—I am a poor Shepherd undone.

When my Hero 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 wat'ry Grave.
And alas, poor Polly!
Alack, and well-a-day!
Before I was in Love,
Oh! every Month was May.

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? [Kneeling.

Air LV.—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 Cannons 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.

LOCKIT.

Macheath's Time is come, Lucy—We know our own Affairs, therefore let us have no more Whimpering or Whining.

Air LVI.—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.
Like poor petty Rascals, might hang, hang;
Like poor petty Rascals, might hang.

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.

MACHEATH.

Air LVII.—Bonny Dundee.

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 for the rest of our Lives,
For this way at once I please all my Wives.

Now, Gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.