 | The Beggar's Opera |  |
Scene 17.
To them, MACHEATH with RABBLE, &c.MACHEATH.
So, it seems, I am not left to my Choice, but must have a Wife at last.—Look ye, my Dears, we will have no Controversy now. Let us give this Day to Mirth, and I an sure she who thinks herself my Wife will testify her Joy by a Dance.
ALL.
Come, a Dance—a Dance.
MACHEATH.
Ladies, I hope you will give me leave to present a Partner to each of you. And (if I may without Offence) for this time, I take Polly for mine.—And for Life, you Slut,—for we were really marry'd.—As for the rest.—But at present keep your own Secret.
A DANCE.
Air LXIX.—Lumps of Pudding, &c.
Thus I stand like the Turk, with his Doxies108 around;From all Sides their Glances his Passion confound;
For Black, Brown, and Fair, his Inconstancy burns,
And different Beauties subdue him by turns:
Each calls forth her Charms, to provoke his Desires;
Though willing to all, with but one he retires.
But think of this Maxim, and put off your Sorrow,
The Wretch of To-day, may be happy To-morrow.
But think of this Maxim, &c.
FINIS.
| The Beggar's Opera | |