The Beggar's Opera

by John Gay

AIR XLIII. Lillibullero.

The Modes of the Court so common are grown,
That a true Friend can hardly be met;
Friendship for Interest is but a Loan,
Which they let out for what they can get.
’Tis true, you find
Some Friends so kind,
Who will give you good Counsel themselves to defend.
In sorrowful Ditty,
They promise, they pity,
But shift for your Money, from Friend to Friend.

But we, Gentlemen, have still Honour enough to break through the Corruptions of the World.—And while I can serve you, you may command me.

Ben. It grieves my Heart that so generous a Man should be involv’d in such Difficulties, as oblige him to live with such ill Company, and herd with Gamesters.

Matt. See the Partiality of Mankind!—One Man may steal a Horse, better than another look over a Hedge.—Of all Mechanics, of all servile Handicrafts-men, a Gamester is the vilest. But yet, as many of the Quality are of the Profession, he is admitted amongst the politest Company. I wonder we are not more respected.

Macheath. There will be deep Play to-night at Mary-bone, and consequently Money may be pick’d up upon the Road. Meet me there, and I’ll give you the Hint who is worth Setting.

Matt. The Fellow with a brown Coat with a narrow Gold Binding, I am told, is never without Money.

Macheath. What do you mean, Matt?—Sure you will not think of meddling with him!—He’s a good honest kind of a Fellow, and one of us.

Ben. To be sure, Sir, we will put ourselves under your Direction.

Macheath. Have an Eye upon the Money-Lenders.—A Rouleau, or two, would prove a pretty sort of an Expedition. I hate Extortion.

Matt. Those Rouleaus are very pretty Things.—I hate your Bank Bills.—There is such a Hazard in putting them off.

Macheath. There is a certain Man of Distinction, who in his Time hath nick’d me out of a great deal of the Ready. He is in my Cash, Ben;—I’ll point him out to you this Evening, and you shall draw upon him for the Debt.—The Company are met; I hear the Dice-Box in the other Room. So, Gentlemen, your Servant. You’ll meet me at Mary-bone.

SCENE III. Peachum’s Lock.

A Table with Wine, Brandy, Pipes and Tobacco.

Peachum, Lockit.

Lockit. The Coronation Account, Brother Peachum, is of so intricate a nature, that I believe it will never be settled.

Peachum. It consists indeed of a great Variety of Articles.—It was worth to our People, in Fees of different kinds, above ten Instalments.—This is part of the Account, Brother, that lies open before us.

Lockit. A Lady’s Tail of rich Brocade:—that, I see, is dispos’d of.

Peachum. To Mrs. Diana Trapes, the Tally-Woman, and she will make a good Hand on’t in Shoes and Slippers, to trick out young Ladies, upon their going into Keeping.—

Lockit. But I don’t see any Article of the Jewels.

Peachum. Those are so well known that they must be sent abroad—You’ll find them enter’d under the Article of Exportation.—As for the Snuff-Boxes, Watches, Swords, &c.—I thought it best to enter them under their several Heads.

Lockit. Seven and twenty Women’s Pockets complete; with the several things therein contain’d; all Seal’d, Number’d, and Enter’d.

Peachum. But, Brother, it is impossible for us now to enter upon this Affair,—We should have the whole Day before us.—Besides, the Account of the last Half Year’s Plate is in a Book by itself, which lies at the other Office.

Lockit. Bring us then more Liquor—To-day shall be for Pleasure—To-morrow for Business—Ah, Brother, those Daughters of ours are two slippery Hussies—Keep a watchful Eye upon Polly, and Macheath in a Day or two shall be our own again.

AIR XLIV. Down in the North Country, &c.

Lockit. What Gudgeons are we Men!
Ev’ry Woman’s easy Prey.
Though we have felt the Hook, agen
We bite and they betray.

The Bird that hath been trapt,
When he hears his calling Mate,
To her he flies, again he’s clapt
Within the wiry Grate.

Peachum. But what signifies catching the Bird, if your Daughter Lucy will set open the Door of the Cage?

Lockit. If men were answerable for the Follies and Frailties of their Wives and Daughters, no Friends could keep a good Correspondence together for two Days.—This in unkind of you, Brother; for among good Friends, what they say or do goes for nothing.

Enter a Servant.

Servant. Sir, here’s Mrs. Diana Trapes wants to speak with you.

Peachum. Shall we admit her, Brother Lockit?

Lockit. By all means,—She’s a good Customer, and a fine-spoken Woman—And a Woman who drinks and talks so freely, will enliven the Conversation.

Peachum. Desire her to walk in.

[Exit Servant.

Peachum, Lockit, Mrs. Trapes.

Peachum. Dear Mrs. Dye, your Servant—One may know by your Kiss, that your Ginn is excellent.

Mrs. Trapes. I was always very curious in my Liquors.

Lockit. There is no perfum’d Breath like it—I have been long acquainted with the Flavour of those Lips—Han’t I, Mrs. Dye.

Mrs. Trapes. Fill it up—I take as large Draughts of Liquor, as I did of Love.—I hate a Flincher in either.

AIR XLV. A Shepherd kept Sheep, &c.

In the Days of my Youth I could bill like a Dove, fa, la, la, &c.
Like a Sparrow at all times was ready for Love, fa, la, la, &c.
The Life of all Mortals in Kissing should pass,
Lip to Lip while we’re young—then the Lip to the Glass, fa, la, &c.

But now, Mr. Peachum, to our Business.—If you have Blacks of any kind, brought in of late; Mantoes—Velvet Scarfs—Petticoats—Let it be what it will—I am your Chap—for all my Ladies are very fond of Mourning.

Peachum. Why, look ye, Mrs. Dye—you deal so hard with us, that we can afford to give the Gentlemen, who venture their Lives for the Goods, little or nothing.

Mrs. Trapes. The hard Times oblige me to go very near in my Dealing.—To be sure, of late Years I have been a great Sufferer by the Parliament.—Three thousand Pounds would hardly make me amends.—The Act for destroying the Mint, was a severe Cut upon our Business—’Till then, if a Customer stept out of the way—we knew where to have her—No doubt you know Mrs. Coaxer—there’s a Wench now (’till to-day) with a good Suit of Clothes of mine upon her Back, and I could never set Eyes upon her for three Months together.—Since the Act too against Imprisonment for small Sums, my Loss there too hath been very considerable, and it must be so, when a Lady can borrow a handsom Petticoat, or a clean Gown, and I not have the least Hank upon her! And, o’ my Conscience, now-a-days most Ladies take a Delight in cheating, when they can do it with Safety.

Peachum. Madam, you had a handsom Gold Watch of us ’tother Day for seven Guineas.—Considering we must have our Profit.—To a Gentleman upon the Road, a Gold Watch will be scarce worth the taking.

Mrs. Trapes. Consider, Mr. Peachum, that Watch was remarkable, and not of very safe Sale.—If you have any black Velvet Scarfs—they are a handsom Winter-wear, and take with most Gentlemen who deal with my Customers.—’Tis I that put the Ladies upon a good Foot. ’Tis not Youth or Beauty that fixes their Price. The Gentlemen always pay according to their Dress, from half a Crown to two Guineas; and yet those Hussies make nothing of bilking of me.—Then too, allowing for Accidents.—I have eleven fine Customers now down under the Surgeon’s Hands—what with Fees and other Expenses, there are great Goings-out, and no Comings in, and not a Farthing to pay for at least a Month’s Clothing.—We run great Risques—great Risques indeed.

Peachum. As I remember, you said something just now of Mrs. Coaxer.

Mrs. Trapes. Yes, Sir.—To be sure I stript her of a Suit of my own Clothes about two Hours ago; and have left her as she should be, in her Shift, with a Lover of hers at my House. She call’d him up Stairs, as he was going to Mary-bone in a Hackney Coach.—And I hope, for her own sake and mine, she will persuade the Captain to redeem her, for the Captain is very generous to the Ladies.

Lockit. What Captain?

Mrs. Trapes. He thought I did not know him—An intimate Acquaintance of yours, Mr. Peachum—Only Captain Macheath—as fine as a Lord.

Peachum. To-morrow, dear Mrs. Dye, you shall set your own Price upon any of the Goods you like—We have at least half a Dozen Velvet Scarfs, and all at your Service. Will you give me leave to make you a Present of this Suit of Night-clothes for your own wearing?—But are you sure it is Captain Macheath.

Mrs. Trapes. Though he thinks I have forgot him; no body knows him better. I have taken a great deal of the Captain’s Money in my Time at second-hand, for he always lov’d to have his Ladies well drest.

Peachum. Mr. Lockit and I have a little Business with the Captain;—You understand me—and we will satisfy you for Mrs. Coaxer’s Debt.

Lockit. Depend upon it—we will deal like Men of Honour.

Mrs. Trapes. I don’t enquire after your Affairs—so whatever happens, I wash my Hands on’t—It hath always been my Maxim, that one Friend should assist another—But if you please—I’ll take one of the Scarfs home with me. ’Tis always good to have something in Hand.

SCENE IV. Newgate.

Lucy. Jealousy, Rage, Love and Fear are at once tearing me to pieces, How I am weather-beaten and shatter’d with Distresses!

AIR XLVI. One Evening, having lost my Way, &c.

I’m like a Skiff on the Ocean tost,
Now high, now low, with each Billow born,
With her Rudder broke, and her Anchor lost,
Deserted and all forlorn.
While thus I lie rolling and tossing all Night,
That Polly lies sporting on Seas of Delight!
Revenge, Revenge, Revenge,
Shall appease my restless Spirit.

I have the Rats-bane ready.—I run no Risque; for I can lay her Death upon the Ginn, and so many die of that naturally that I shall never be call’d in question.—But say, I were to be hang’d.—I never could be hang’d for any thing that would give me greater Comfort, than the poisoning that Slut.

Enter Filch.

Filch. Madam, here’s Miss Polly come to wait upon you.

Lucy. Show her in.

Enter Polly.

Dear Madam, your Servant.—I hope you will pardon my Passion, when I was so happy to see you last.—I was so over-run with the Spleen, that I was perfectly out of myself. And really when one hath the Spleen, every thing is to be excus’d by a Friend.

AIR XLVII. Now Roger, I’ll tell thee because thou ’rt my Son.

When a Wife’s in her Pout,
(As she’s sometimes, no doubt;)
The good Husband as meek as a Lamb,
Her Vapours to still,
First grants her her Will,
And the quieting Draught is a Dram. Poor Man!
And the quieting Draught is a Dram.

—I wish all our Quarrels might have so comfortable a Reconciliation.

Polly. I have no Excuse for my own Behaviour, Madam, but my Misfortunes.—And really, Madam, I suffer too upon your Account.

Lucy. But, Miss Polly—in the way of Friendship, will you give me leave to propose a Glass of Cordial to you?

Polly. Strong-Waters are apt to give me the Head-ache—I hope, Madam, you will excuse me.

Lucy. Not the greatest Lady in the Land could have better in her Closet, for her own private drinking.—You seem mighty low in Spirits, my Dear.

Polly. I am sorry, Madam, my Health will not allow me to accept of your Offer.—I should not have left you in the rude manner I did when we met last, Madam, had not my Papa haul’d me away so unexpectedly—I was indeed somewhat provok’d, and perhaps might use some Expressions that were disrespectful.—But really, Madam, the Captain treated me with so much Contempt and Cruelty, that I deserv’d your Pity, rather than your Resentment.

Lucy. But since his Escape, no doubt all Matters are made up again.—Ah Polly! Polly! ’tis I am the unhappy Wife; and he loves you as if you were only his Mistress.

Polly. Sure, Madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your Jealousy.—A Man is always afraid of a Woman who loves him too well—so that I must expect to be neglected and avoided.

Lucy. Then our Cases, my dear Polly, are exactly alike. Both of us indeed have been too fond.

AIR XLVIII. O Bessy Bell.

Polly. A Curse attend that Woman’s Love,
Who always would be pleasing.

Lucy. The Pertness of the billing Dove,
Like Tickling, is but teazing.

Polly. What then in Love can Woman do:

Lucy. If we grow fond they shun us.

Polly. And when we fly them, they pursue:

Lucy. But leave us when they’ve won us.

Lucy. Love is so very whimsical in both Sexes, that it is impossible to be lasting.—But my Heart is particular, and contradicts my own Observation.

Polly. But really, Mistress Lucy, by his last Behaviour, I think I ought to envy you.—When I was forc’d from him, he did not shew the least Tenderness.—But perhaps, he hath a Heart not capable of it.

AIR XLIX. Would Fate to me Belinda give.

Among the Men, Coquettes we find,
Who court by turns all Woman-kind;
And we grant all their Hearts desir’d,
When they are flatter’d, and admir’d.

The Coquettes of both Sexes are Self-lovers, and that is a Love no other whatever can dispossess. I hear, my dear Lucy, our Husband is one of those.

Lucy. Away with these melancholy Reflections,—indeed, my dear Polly, we are both of us a Cup too low—Let me prevail upon you to accept of my Offer.