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This text was prepared by Risa S. Bear from a 1921 B. Huebsch edition of the 1765 text. The text is in the public domain; markup is copyright © The University of Oregon, 1995. Additions, emendations, or commments to the Publisher.

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British Museum

BAptized at Barnstaple, Devon, on September 16, 1685, during the reign of Charles II, John Gay was orphaned by the age of ten but raised by a kind uncle, who saw to his education at the local grammar school. On reaching adulthood, Gay was apprenticed to a mercer, but he disliked this occupation and found a post, in or near 1712, as secretary to the Duchess of Monmouth. In 1714, with the sponsorship of Jonathan Swift, Gay joined the household of Lord Clarendon, and journeyed with him to the Continent. Gay's friendly and ingratiating character won him many friends, not a few of whom were courtiers who found employment for him, either in their own households, or with the Government, throughout his life. Immediately after losing a small fortune in the South Sea Bubble, Gay was appointed Lottery Commissioner (!!), a post he held nearly to the end of his life. Gay never married, and divided his time among his friends, especially the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry and the members of the Scriblerians, including Swift and Pope.

John Gay produced, apart from The Beggar's Opera, a small body of prose and poetry ranging in quality from brilliant to drab. In 1712 was printed, but never acted, a short topical play, The Mohocks, concerning the exploits of a gang who had named themselves after a warlike Native American tribe:

Come fill up the Glass,
Round, round let it pass,
'Till our Reason be lost in our Wine:
Leave Conscience's Rules
To Women and Fools,
This only can make us divine.

Chorus. Then a Mohock, a Mohock I'll be,
No Laws shall restrain
Our Libertine Reign,
We'll riot, drink on, and be free. [All Drink.]

In 1714, his The Shepherd's Week appeared, demonstrating a sustained competence in producing couplets which, in the pastoral tradition, oscillate gently between mockery and a sweet seriousness:

Ah woful Day! ah woful Noon and Morn!
When first by thee my Younglings white were shorn,
Then first, I ween, I cast a Lover's Eye,
My Sheep were Silly, but more Silly I.
Beneath the Shears they felt no lasting Smart,
They lost but Fleeces while I lost a Heart.

A year later, in humorous tribute to his adopted London, Gay produced Trivia: or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London. The inconveniences of life amid eighteenth-century urban hurly-burly are sharply chronicled:

Pent round with Perils, in the Midst you stand,
And call for Aid in vain; the Coachman swears,
And Car-Men drive, unmindful of thy Prayers.
Where wilt thou turn? ah! whither wilt thou fly?
On ev'ry Side the pressing Spokes are nigh.

Gay, with the encouragement of Swift and Pope, tried to interest Colley Cibber, the manager of the theatre at Drury-Lane, in putting on his new ballad farce, but encountered disdain. It is possible that the experienced Cibber liked the work, but mistrusted its considerable departure from accepted theatrical conventions and potentially dangerous political satire. The Duchess of Queensberry used her influence (and money: she promised to cover costs in the event of a loss) to convince another reluctant manager, John Rich of the Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, to take on the piece. Rich had had a mild success recently with a revival of The Merry Wives of Windsor, but had since found very little useful material to bring in the crowds, and was staging a number of unmemorable pantomimes, even playing the part of Harlequin himself (Schultz 11).

James Quin, the company's leading actor, was to have been Macheath, but felt himself a poor singer and uncomfortable with the role, and recommended the more obscure Thomas Walker, who was found backstage humming one of the songs in a lively fashion, and was hired on the spot (Schultz 36-37). Walker was not, in fact, a great singer, but he brought to the role a romantic and aristocratic verve that was a perfect foil for the sweet and idealistic Polly. Miss Lavinia Fenton, a player with the company, who had been earning fifteen shillings a week, was found to be a very able singer for the part of Polly, and was engaged for the part at thirty shillings a week Schultz 23).

The first performance, on January 29, began, it is said, with some concern on the part of the audience, for the departure from the conventions of the day was considerable. But the sparkling dialogue, witty satire, and ingenious ballads set to well-loved familiar tunes carried their own weight, and we have a report from Pope, as remembered by Joseph Spence:

We were all at the first night of it, in great uncertainty of the event; till we were very much encouraged by overhearing the Duke of Argyle, who sat in the box next to us, say, "it will do,--it must do!--I see it in the eyes of them."--This was a good while before the first act was over, and so gave us ease soon; for the duke, (besides his own good taste) has a more particular knack than anyone now living, in discovering the taste of the public. He was quite right in this, as usual; the good nature of the audience appeared stronger and stronger with every act, and ended in a clamour of applause (Anecdotes 159; in Schultz, 3).

This Week a Dramatick Entertainment has been exhibited at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, entitled the Beggar's Opera, which has met with a very general Applause, insomuch that the Waggs say it hath made Rich very Gay, and probably will make Gay very Rich.

The Beggar's Opera is a comic farce, poking accurate fun at the prevailing fashion in Italian opera as well as the social and political climate of the age. It established a new genre, the "ballad opera," of which it remains the only really notable example, though its popularity led to the work Sheridan and eventually Gilbert and Sullivan. Gay cuts the standard five acts to three, and tightly controls the dialogue and plot so that there are delightful surprises in each of the forty-five fast-paced scenes.

Peachum, who is both fence and thief-catcher (see note 10, below), sets the tone with his song of self-justification as he sits at his account-book:

Through all the Employments of Life
Each Neighbour abuses his Brother;
Whore and Rogue they call Husband and Wife:
All Professions be-rogue one another:
The Priest calls the Lawyer a Cheat,
The Lawyer be-knaves the Divine:
And the Statesman, because he's so great,
Thinks his Trade as honest as mine.

You know, my Dear, I never meddle in matters of Death; I always leave those Affairs to you. Women are indeed bad Judges in these cases, for they are so partial to the Brave that they think every Man handsome who is going to the Camp or the Gallows.

Do you think your Mother and I should have liv'd comfortably so long together if ever we had been married?

Can you support the Expence of a Husband, Hussy, in Gaming, Drinking and Whoring? Have you Money enough to carry on the daily Quarrels of Man and Wife about who shall squander most? There are not many Husbands and Wives, who can bear the Charges of plaguing one another in a handsome way.

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.

You base Man you,----how can you look me in the Face after what hath passed between us?---- See here, perfidious Wretch, how I am forc'd to bear about the Load of Infamy you have laid upon me----O Macheath! thou hast robb'd me of my Quiet----to see thee tortur'd would give me Pleasure.

If love be not his Guide,
He never will come back!

LUCY. How happy I am, if you say this from your heart! For I love thee so, that I could sooner bear to see thee hang'd than in the Arms of another.

MACHEATH. But could'st thou bear to see me hang'd?

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.

JAILOR. Four Women more, Captain, with a Child apiece! See, here they come.

MACHEATH. What----four Wives more!----This is too much----Here----tell the Sheriff's Officers I am ready.

The intent of the play is clearly to remind those in high place that corruption at their level leads to corruption and suffering throughout society. As such, it is a highly moral play, in spite of its apparent glamorization of the criminal life. Two weeks after opening night, an article appeared in The Craftsman, the leading Opposition newspaper, ostensibly protesting Gay's work as libelous, but actually assisting him in satirizing the Walpole establishment by very clumsily taking the government's side:

It will, I know, be said, by these libertine Stage-Players, that the Satire is general; and that it discovers a Consciousness of Guilt for any particular Man to apply it to Himself. But they seem to forget that there are such things as Innuendo's (a never-failing Method of explaining Libels)....Nay the very Title of this Piece and the principal Character, which is that of an Highwayman, sufficiently discover the mischievous Design of it; since by this Character every Body will understand One, who makes it his Business arbitrarily to levy and collect Money on the People for his own Use, and of which he always dreads to give an Account----Is not this squinting with a vengeance, and wounding Persons in Authority through the Sides of a common Malefactor? (in Guerinot & Jilg, 87-88)

Following the success of the Opera, Gay wrote a sequel in which Polly follows her husband to the West Indies, which though never performed (it was banned by the Lord Chamberlain, presumably for the sharp satire it contained), sold very well in the bookshops. Polly is confusingly plotted and attempts too many things at once, though its songs are not unmemorable:

Tho' peevish and old
If Women have Gold,
They have Youth, Good-Humour and Beauty:
Among all Mankind
Without it we find
Nor Love, nor Favour nor Duty.

To the end, although Gay was financially improvident, his loyal friends, particularly the Duchess of Queensberry, watched over him. He died in London in 1732, at forty-seven years of age. His remains were interred in the Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey, and marked with an inscription which included these lines:

Life is a Jest, and all Things show it:
I thought so once, and now I know it.

-- R.S. Bear.

  Player. As we live by the Muses, it is but a Gratitude in us to encourage Poetical Merit wherever we find it. The Muses, contrary to all other Ladies, pay no Distinction to Dress, and never partially mistake the Pertness of Embroidery for Wit, nor the Modesty of Want for Dulness. Be the Author who he will, we push his Play as far as it will go. So (though you are in Want) I wish you success heartily.

  Beggar. This piece I own was originally writ for the celebrating the Marriage of James Chanter and Moll Lay, two most excellent Ballad-Singers. I have introduced the Similes that are in all your celebrated Operas; The Swallow, the Moth, the Bee, the Ship, the Flower, &c. Besides, I have a prison-Scene, which the Ladies always reckon charmingly pathetick. As to the Parts, I have observed such a nice Impartiality to our two Ladies that it is impossible for either of them to take Offence. I hope I may be forgiven, that I have not made my Opera throughout unnatural, like those in vogue; for I have no Recitative {3}; excepting this, as I have consented to have neither Prologue nor Epilogue, it must be allowed an Opera in all its Forms. The Piece indeed hath been heretofore frequently represented by ourselves in our Great Room at St. Giles's, so that I cannot too often acknowledge your Charity in bringing it now on the Stage.

  Player. But now I see it is time for us to withdraw; the Actors are preparing to begin. Play away the Overture. [Exeunt.]

Mr. Peachum.
Lockit.
Macheath.
Filch.
Jemmy Twitcher,               }
Crook-Finger'd Jack,          }
Wat Dreary,                   }
Robin of Bagshot,             }
Nimming Ned,                  }   Macheath's Gang.
Harry Padington,              }
Mat of the Mint,              }
Ben Budge,                    }
Beggar.
Player.

Mrs. Peachum.
Polly Peachum.
Lucy Lockit.
Diana Trapes.
Mrs. Coaxer,                  }
Dolly Trull,                  }
Mrs. Vixen,                   }
Betty Doxy,                   }   Women of the Town.
Jenny Diver,                  }
Mrs. Slammekin,               }
Sukey Tawdrey,                }
Molly Brazen,                 }

Peachum sitting at a Table with a large Book of Accounts before him.

AIR I.--An old Woman clothed in Gray, &c.

HROUGH all the Employments of Life
Each Neighbour abuses his Brother;
Whore and Rogue they call Husband and Wife:
All Professions be-rogue one another:
The Priest calls the Lawyer a Cheat,
The Lawyer be-knaves the Divine:
And the Statesman, because he's so great,
Thinks his Trade as honest as mine.

FILCH. Sir, Black Moll hath sent word her Trial comes on in the Afternoon, and she hopes you will order Matters so as to bring her off.

PEACHUM. Why, she may plead her Belly {4} at worst; to my Knowledge she hath taken care of that Security. But, as the Wench is very active and industrious, you may satisfy her that I'll soften the Evidence.

FILCH. Tom Gagg, sir, is found guilty.

PEACHUM. A lazy Dog! When I took him the time before, I told him what he would come to if he did not mend his Hand. This is Death without Reprieve. I may venture to Book him {5}. [writes.] For Tom Gagg, forty Pounds. Let Betty Sly know that I'll save her from Transportation {6}, for I can get more by her staying in England.

FILCH. Betty hath brought more goods into our Lock {7} to-year than any five of the Gang; and in truth, 'tis a pity to lose so good a Customer.

PEACHUM. If none of the Gang take her off, she may, in the common course of Business, live a Twelve-month longer. I love to let Women scape. A good Sportsman always lets the Hen Partridges fly, because the Breed of the Game depends upon them. Besides, here the Law allows us no Reward; there is nothing to be got by the Death of Women--except our Wives.

FILCH. Without dispute, she is a fine Woman! 'Twas to her I was obliged for my Education {8}, and (to say a bold Word) she hath trained up more young fellows to the Business than the Gaming table.

PEACHUM. Truly, Filch, thy Observation is right. We and the Surgeons are more beholden to Women than all the Professions besides.

'Tis Woman that seduces all Mankind,
By her we first were taught the wheedling Arts:
Her very Eyes can cheat; when most she's kind,
She tricks us of our Money with our Hearts.
For her, like Wolves by Night we roam for Prey,
And practise ev'ry Fraud, to bribe her Charms;
For suits of Love, like Law, are won by Pay,
And Beauty must be fee'd into our Arms.

FILCH. When a Gentleman is long kept in suspence, Penitence may break his Spirit ever after. Besides, Certainty gives a Man a good Air upon his Trial, and makes him risque another without Fear or Scruple. But I'll away, for 'tis a Pleasure to be the Messenger of Comfort to Friends in Affliction.

MRS. PEACHUM. What of Bob Booty, Husband? I hope nothing bad hath betided him. You know, my Dear, he's a favourite Customer of mine. 'Twas he made me a present of this Ring.

PEACHUM. I have set his Name down in the Black List, that's all, my Dear; he spends his Life among Women, and as soon as his Money is gone, one or other of the Ladies will hang him for the Reward, and there's forty Pounds lost to us for-ever.

MRS. PEACHUM. You know, my Dear, I never meddle in matters of Death; I always leave those Affairs to you. Women indeed are bitter bad Judges in these cases, for they are so partial to the Brave that they think every Man handsome who is going to the Camp {14} or the Gallows.

If any Wench Venus's Girdle {15} wear,
Though she be never so ugly;
Lilies and Roses will quickly appear,
And her Face look wond'rously smugly.
Beneath the left Ear so fit but a Cord,
(A Rope so charming a a Zone is!)
The Youth in his Cart hath the Air of a Lord,
And we cry, There goes an Adonis {16}!

PEACHUM. What a dickens is the Woman always a whimpring about Murder for? No Gentleman is ever look'd upon the worse for killing a Man in his own Defense; and if Business cannot be carried on without it, what would you have a Gentleman do?

MRS. PEACHUM. If I am in the wrong, my Dear, you must excuse me, for no body can help the Frailty of an over-scrupulous Conscience.

PEACHUM. Murder is as fashionable a Crime as a Man can be guilty of. How many fine Gentlemen have we in Newgate every Year, purely upon that Article! If they have wherewithal to persuade the Jury to bring it in Manslaughter, what are they the worse for it? So, my Dear, have done upon this Subject. Was Captain Macheath here this Morning for the Bank-Notes {17} he left with you last Week?

MRS. PEACHUM. Yes, my Dear; and though the Bank hath stopt Payment, he was so cheerful and so agreeable! Sure there is not a finer Gentleman upon the Road than the Captain! If he comes from Bagshot {18} at any reasonable Hour, he hath promis'd to make one this Evening with Polly and me, and Bob Booty at a party of Quadrille {19}. Pray, my dear, is the Captain rich? PEACHUM. The Captain keeps too good Company ever to grow rich.

Mary-bone {20} and the Chocolate-houses {21} are his undoing. The Man that proposes to get Money by Play should have the Education of a fine Gentleman, and be train'd up to it from his Youth.

MRS. PEACHUM. Really, I am sorry upon Polly's Account the Captain hath not more Discretion. What Business hath he to keep Company with Lords and Gentlemen? he should leave them to prey upon one another.

PEACHUM. Upon Polly's Account! What a plague does the Woman mean?-- ---Upon Polly's Account!

MRS. PEACHUM. Captain Macheath is very fond of the Girl.

PEACHUM. And what then?

MRS. PEACHUM. If I have any Skill in the Ways of Women, I am sure Polly thinks him a very pretty Man.

PEACHUM. And what then? You would not be so mad as to have the Wench marry him! Gamesters and Highwaymen are generally very good to their Whores, but they are very Devils to their Wives.

MRS. PEACHUM. But if Polly should be in Love, how should we help her, or how can she help herself? Poor Girl, I am in the utmost Concern about her.

If Love the Virgin's Heart invade,
How, like a Moth, the simple Maid
Still plays about the Flame!
If soon she be not made a Wife,
Her Honour's sing'd, and then for Life
She's--what I dare not name.

MRS. PEACHUM. May-hap, my Dear, you may injure the Girl. She loves to imitate the fine Ladies, and she may only allow the Captain liberties in the view of Interest.

PEACHUM. But 'tis your Duty, your Duty, my Dear, to warn the Girl against her Ruin, and to instruct her how to make the most of her Beauty. I'll go to her this moment, and sift her. In the mean time, Wife, rip out the Coronets and Marks of these Dozen of Cambric {23} Handkerchiefs, for I can dispose of them this Afternoon to a Chap {24} in the City.

Never was a Man more out of the way in an Argument than my Husband. Why must our Polly, forsooth, differ from her Sex, and love only her Husband? And why must Polly's Marriage, contrary to all Observation, make her the less followed by other Men? All Men are Thieves in Love, and like a Woman the better for being another's Property.

A Maid is like the Golden Ore,
Which hath Guineas {25} intrinsical in't,
Whose Worth is never known, before
It is try'd and imprest in the Mint.
A wife's like a Guinea in Gold,
Stampt with the Name of her Spouse;
Now here, now there; is bought, or is sold;
And is current in every House.

MRS. PEACHUM. Come here, Filch. I am as fond of the Child, as though my Mind misgave me he were my own. He hath as fine a Hand at picking a Pocket as a Woman, and is as nimble-finger'd as a Juggler. If an unlucky Session does not cut the Rope of thy Life, I pronounce, Boy, thou wilt be a great Man in History. Where was your Post last Night, my Boy?

FILCH. I ply'd at the Opera, Madam; and considering 'twas neither dark nor rainy, so that there was no great Hurry in getting Chairs and Coaches, made a tolerable Hand on't. These seven Handkerchiefs, Madam.

MRS. PEACHUM. Colour'd ones, I see. They are of sure Sale from our Warehouse at Redriff {26} among the Seamen.

FILCH. And this Snuff-box.

MRS. PEACHUM. Set in Gold! A pretty Encouragement this to a young Beginner.

FILCH. I had a fair Tug at charming Gold Watch. Pox take the Tailors for making the Fobs {27} so deep and narrow! It stuck by the way, and I was forc'd to make my Escape under a Coach. Really, Madam, I fear I shall be cut off in the Flower of my Youth, so that every now and then (since I was pumpt) {28} I have Thoughts of taking up and going to Sea.

MRS. PEACHUM. You should go to Hockley in the Hole {29}, and to Mary-bone, Child, to learn Valour. These are the Schools that have bred so many brave Men. I thought, Boy, by this time thou hadst lost Fear as well as Shame. Poor Lad! how little does he know yet of the Old Baily {30}! For the first Fact I'll insure thee from being hang'd; and going to Sea, Filch, will come time enough upon a Sentence of Transportation. But now, since you have nothing better to do, ev'n go to your Book, and learn your Catechism; for really a Man makes but an ill Figure in the Ordinary's Paper {31}, who cannot give a satisfactory Answer to his Questions. But hark you, my Lad. Don't tell me a Lye; for you know that I hate a Liar. Do you know of anything that hath pass'd between Captain Macheath and our Polly?

FILCH. I beg you, Madam, don't ask me; for I must either tell a Lye to you or to Miss Polly; for I promis'd her I would not tell.

MRS. PEACHUM. But when the Honour of our Family is concern'd--- --

FILCH. I shall lead a sad Life with Miss Polly, if she ever comes to know that I told you. Besides, I would not willingly forfeit my own Honour by betraying any body.

MRS. PEACHUM. Yonder comes my Husband and Polly. Come, Filch, you shall go with me into my own Room, and tell me the whole Story. I'll give thee a most delicious Glass of a Cordial that I keep for my own drinking.

POLLY. I know as well as any of the fine Ladies how to make the most of myself and of my Man too. A Woman knows how to be mercenary, though she hath never been in a Court or at an Assembly. We have it in our Natures, Papa. If I allow Captain Macheath some trifling Liberties, I have this Watch and other visible Marks of his Favour to show for it. A Girl who cannot grant some Things, and refuse what is most material, will make but a poor hand of her Beauty, and soon be thrown upon the Common.

Virgins are like the fair Flower in its Lustre,
Which in the Garden enamels the Ground;
Near it the Bees in play flutter and cluster,
And gaudy Butterflies frolick around.
But, when once pluck'd, 'tis no longer alluring,
To Covent-Garden {32} 'tis sent (as yet sweet),
There fades, and shrinks, and grows past all enduring
Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod under feet.

Our Polly is a sad Slut! nor heeds what we have taught her.
I wonder any Man alive will ever rear a Daughter!
For she must have both Hoods and Gowns, and Hoops to swell her Pride,
With Scarfs and Stays, and Gloves and Lace; and she will have Men beside;
And when she's drest with Care and Cost, all tempting, fine and gay,
As Men should serve a Cowcumber, she flings herself away.
Our Polly is a sad slut, &c.

PEACHUM. Married! the Captain is a bold Man, and will risk anything for Money; to be sure he believes her a Fortune. Do you think your Mother and I should have liv'd comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!

MRS. PEACHUM. I knew she was always a proud Slut; and now the Wench hath play'd the Fool and Married, because forsooth she would do like the Gentry. Can you support the Expence of a Husband, Hussy, in Gaming, Drinking and Whoring? Have you Money enough to carry on the daily Quarrels of Man and Wife about who shall squander most? There are not many Husbands and Wives, who can bear the Charges of plaguing one another in a handsome way. If you must be married, could you introduce no body into our Family but a Highwayman? Why, thou foolish Jade, thou wilt be as ill-used, and as much neglected, as if thou hadst married a Lord!

PEACHUM. Let not your Anger, my Dear, break through the Rules of Decency, for the Captain looks upon himself in the Military Capacity, as a Gentleman by his Profession. Besides what he hath already, I know he is in a fair way of getting, or of dying; and both these ways, let me tell you, are most excellent Chances for a Wife. Tell me, Hussy, are you ruin'd or no?

MRS. PEACHUM. With Polly's Fortune, she might very well have gone off to a Person of Distinction. Yes, that you might, you pouting Slut!

PEACHUM. What is the Wench dumb? Speak, or I'll make you plead by squeezing out an Answer from you. Are really bound Wife to him, or are you only upon liking? [Pinches her.]

POLLY. Oh! [Screaming.]

MRS. PEACHUM. How the Mother is to be pitied who has handsome Daughters! Lock, Bolts, Bars, and Lectures of Morality are nothing to them: They break through them all. They have as much Pleasure in cheating a Father and Mother, as in cheating at Cards.

PEACHUM. Why, Polly, I shall soon know if you are married, by Macheath's keeping from our House.

Can Love be control'd by Advice?
Will Cupid our Mothers obey?
Though my Heart were as frozen as Ice,
At his Flame 'twould have melted away.
When he kist me so closely he prest,
'Twas so sweet that I must have comply'd;
So I thought it both safest and best
To marry, for fear you should chide.

PEACHUM. And Macheath may hang his Father and Mother-in-law, in hope to get into their Daughter's Fortune.

POLLY. I did not marry him (as 'tis the Fashion) coolly and deliberately for Honour or Money. But, I love him.

MRS. PEACHUM. Love him! worse and worse! I thought the Girl had been better bred. Oh, Husband, Husband! her Folly makes me mad! my Head swims! I'm distracted! I can't support myself----Oh! [Faints.]

PEACHUM. See, Wench, to what a Condition you have reduc'd your poor Mother! a glass of Cordial, this instant. How the poor Woman takes it to heart! [Polly goes out, and returns with it.] Ah, Hussy, this is now the only Comfort your Mother has left!

POLLY. Give her another Glass, Sir! my Mama drinks double the Quantity whenever she is out of Order. This, you see, fetches her.

MRS. PEACHUM. The Girl shows such a Readiness, and so much Concern, that I could almost find it in my Heart to forgive her.

O Polly, you might have toy'd and kist.
By keeping Men off, you keep them on.

But he so teaz'd me,
And he so pleas'd me,
What I did, you must have done.

PEACHUM. A Word with you, Wife. 'Tis no new thing for a Wench to take a Man without Consent of Parents. You know 'tis the Frailty of Woman, my Dear.

MRS. PEACHUM. Yes, indeed, the Sex is frail. But the first time a Woman is frail, she should be somewhat nice methinks, for then or never is the time to make her Fortune. After that, she hath nothing to do but to guard herself from being found out, and she may do what she pleases.

PEACHUM. Make yourself a little easy; I have a Thought shall soon set all MAtters again to rights. Why so melancholy, Polly? since what is done cannot be undone, we must all endeavour to make the best of it.

MRS. PEACHUM. Well, Polly; as far as one Woman can forgive another, I forgive thee.----Your Father is too fond of you, Hussy.

POLLY. Then all my Sorrows are at an end.

MRS. PEACHUM. A mighty likely Speech in troth, for a Wench who is just married!

I like a Ship in Storms, was tost;
Yet afraid to put in to Land:
For seiz'd in the Port the Vessel's lost,
Whose Treasure is contreband.
The Waves are laid,
My Duty's paid.
O joy beyond Expression!
Thus, safe a-shore,
I ask no more,
My All is in my Possession.

PEACHUM. Dear Wife, be a little pacified, Don't let your Passion run away with your Senses. Polly, I grant you, hath done a rash thing.

MRS. PEACHUM. If she had had only an Intrigue with the Fellow, why the very best Families have excused and huddled up a Frailty of that sort. 'Tis Marriage, Husband, that makes it a Blemish.

PEACHUM. But Money, Wife, is the true Fuller's-Earth {36} for Reputations, there is not a Spot or a Stain but what it can take out. A rich Rogue now-a-days is fit Company for any Gentleman; and the World, my Dear, hath not such a contempt for Roguery as you imagine. I tell you, Wife, I can make this Match turn to our Advantage.

MRS. PEACHUM. I am very sensible, Husband, that Captain Macheath is worth Money, but I am in doubt whether he hath not two or three Wives already, and then if he should die in a Session or two, Polly's Dower would come into a Dispute.

PEACHUM. That, indeed, is a Point which ought to be consider'd.

A Fox may steal your Hens, Sir,
A Whore your Health and Pence, Sir,
Your Daughter rob your Chest, Sir,
Your Wife may steal your Rest, Sir.
A Thief your Goods and Plate {37}.
But this is all but picking {38},
With Rest, Pence, Chest and Chicken;
It ever was decreed, Sir,
If Lawyer's Hand is fee'd, Sir,
He steals your whole Estate.

POLLY. 'Twas only Nimming Ned. He brought in a Damask Window-Curtain, a Hoop-Petticoat, a pair of Silver Candlesticks, and one Silk Stocking, from the Fire that happen'd last Night.

PEACHUM. There is not a Fellow that is cleverer in his way, and saves more Goods out of the Fire than Ned. But now, Polly, to your Affair; for Matters must be left as they are. You are married, then, it seems?

POLLY. Yes, Sir.

PEACHUM. And how do you propose to live, Child?

POLLY. Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband.

MRS. PEACHUM. What, is the Wench turn'd Fool? A Highwayman's Wife, like a Soldier's, hath as little of his Pay, as of his Company.

PEACHUM. And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in your Marriage, Polly?

POLLY. I don't know what you mean, Sir.

PEACHUM. Of a Jointure {39}, and of being a Widow.

POLLY. But I love him, Sir; how then could I have Thoughts of parting with him?

PEACHUM. Parting with him! Why, this is the whole Scheme and Intention of all Marriage Articles. The comfortable Estate of Widow-hood, is the only Hope that keeps up a Wife's Spirits. Where is the Woman who would scruple to be a Wife, if she had it in her Power to be a Widow, whenever she pleas'd? If you have any Views of this sort, Polly, I shall think the Match not so very unreasonable.

POLLY. How I dread to hear your Advice! Yet I must beg you to explain yourself.

PEACHUM. Secure what he hath got, have him peach'd the next Sessions, and then at once you are made a rich Widow.

POLLY. What, murder the Man I love! The Blood runs cold at my Heart with the very Thought of it!

PEACHUM. Fie, Polly! What hath Murder to do in the Affair? Since the thing sooner or later must happen, I dare say, the Captain himself would like rather that we should get the Reward for his Death sooner than a Stranger. Why, Polly, the Captain knows that as 'tis his Employment to rob, so 'tis ours to take Robbers; every Man in his Business. So there is no Malice in the case.

MRS. PEACHUM. Ay, Husband, now you have nick'd the Matter. To have him peach'd {40} is the only thing could ever make me forgive her.

O ponder well! be not severe:
So save a wretched Wife!
For on the Rope that hangs my Dear
Depends poor Polly's Life.

POLLY. What is a Jointure, what is Widow-hood to me? I know my heart. I cannot survive him.

The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Her Lover dying,
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Laments her Dove.
Down she drops quite spent with Sighing
Pair'd in Death, as pair'd in Love.

MRS. PEACHUM. What, is the Fool in Love in earnest then? I hate thee for being particular: Why Wench, thou art a Shame to they very Sex.

POLLY. But hear me, Mother.----If you ever lov'd-- --

MRS. PEACHUM. Those cursed Play-Books {41} she reads have been her Ruin. One Word more, Hussy, and I shall knock your Brains out, if you have any.

PEACHUM. Keep out of the way, Polly, for fear of Mischief, and consider what is propos'd to you.

MRS. PEACHUM. Away, Hussy. Hang your Husband, and be dutiful.

MRS. PEACHUM. The Thing, Husband, must and shall be done. For the sake of Intelligence we must take other Measures, and have him peach'd the next Session without her Consent. If she will not know her Duty, we know ours.

PEACHUM. But really, my Dear, it grieves one's Heart to take off a great Man. When I consider his Personal Bravery, his fine Strategem {42}, how much we have already got by him, and how much more we may get, methinks I can't find it in my Heart to have a hand in his Death. I wish you could have made Polly undertake it.

MRS. PEACHUM. But in a Case of Necessity----our own Lives are in danger.

PEACHUM. Then, indeed, we must comply with the Customs of the World, and make Gratitude give way to Interest.----He shall be taken off.

MRS. PEACHUM. I'll undertake to manage Polly.

PEACHUM. And I'll prepare Matters for the Old Baily.

Now I'm a Wretch, indeed.----Methinks 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 {43}, 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 {44} 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 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.]

Pretty Polly, say,
When I was away,
Did your Fancy never stray
To some newer Lover?

Without Disguise,
Heaving Sighs,
Doting Eyes,
My constant Heart discover,
Fondly let me loll!

O pretty, pretty Poll.

MACHEATH. Suspect my Honour, my Courage, suspect any thing but my Love.- ---May my Pistols miss Fire {45}, and my Mare slip her Shoulder {46} 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.

My Heart was so free,
It rov'd like the Bee,
'Till Polly my Passion requited;
I sipt each Flower,
I chang'd ev'ry Hour,
But here ev'ry Flow'r is united.

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!

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.

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.

And I would love you all the Day,

Every Night would kiss and play,

If with me you'd fondly stray

Over the Hills and far away.

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.

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 from my bleeding Heart!
Fly hence, and let me leave thee.

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.

The Miser thus a Shilling sees,
Which he's oblig'd to pay,
With sighs resigns it by degrees,
And fears 'tis gone for aye.

The Boy, thus when his Sparrow's flown,
The Bird in Silence eyes;
But soon as out of Sight 'tis gone,
Whines, whimpers, sobs and cries.

BEN. But pr'ythee, Matt, what is become of thy brother Tom? I have not seen him since my Return from Transportation.

MATT. Poor Brother Tom had an Accident this time Twelvemonth, and so clever a made fellow he was, that I could not save him from those fleaing {47} Rascals the Surgeons; and now, poor Man, he is among the Ottamys {48} at Surgeons Hall.

BEN. So it seems, his Time was come.

JEMMY. But the present Time is ours, and no body alive hath more. Why are the Laws levell'd at us? are we more dishonest than the rest of Mankind? What we win, Gentlemen, is our own by the Law of Arms, and the Right of Conquest.

CROOK. Where shall we find such another Set of Practical Philosophers, who to a Man are above the Fear of Death?

WAT. Sound Men, and true!

ROBIN. Of try'd Courage, and indefatigable Industry!

NED. Who is there here that would not die for his Friend?

HARRY. Who is there here that would betray him for his Interest?

MATT. Show me a Gang of Courtiers that can say as much.

BEN. We are for a just Partition of the World, for every Man hath a Right to enjoy Life.

MATT. We retrench the Superfluities of Mankind. The World is avaritious, and I hate Avarice. A covetous fellow, like a Jackdaw, steals what he was never made to enjoy, for the sake of hiding it. These are the Robbers of Mankind, for Money was made for the Free-hearted and Generous, and where is the Injury of taking from another, what he hath not the Heart to make use of?

JEMMY. Our several Stations for the Day are fixt. Good luck attend us all. Fill the Glasses.

Fill ev'ry Glass, or Wine inspires us,
And fires us
With Courage, Love and Joy.
Women and Wine should Life employ.
Is there ought else on Earth desirous?

Fill ev'ry Glass, &c.

MACHEATH. Gentlemen, well met. My Heart hath been with you this Hour: but an unexpected Affair hath detain'd me. No ceremony, I beg you.

MATT. We were just breaking up to go upon Duty. Am I to have the Honour of taking the Air with you, Sir, this Evening upon the Heath? I drink a Dram now and then with the Stage-coachmen in the way of Friendship and Intelligence; and I know that about this Time there will be Passengers upon the Western Road, who are worth speaking with {49}.

MACHEATH. I was to have been of that Party----but-- --

MATT. But what, Sir?

MACHEATH. Is there any Man who suspects my Courage?

MATT. We have all been Witnesses of it.

MACHEATH. My Honour and Truth to the Gang?

MATT. I'll be answerable for it.

MACHEATH. In the Division of our Booty, have I ever shewn the least Marks of Avarice or Injustice?

MATT. By these Questions something seems to have ruffled you. Are any of us suspected?

MACHEATH. I have a fixed Confidence, Gentlemen, in you all, as Men of Honour, and as such I value and respect you. Peachum is a Man that is useful to us.

MATT. Is he about to play us any foul Play? I'll shoot him through the Head.

MACHEATH. I beg you, Gentlemen, act with Conduct and Discretion. A Pistol is your last Resort.

MATT. He knows nothing of this Meeting.

MACHEATH. Business cannot go on without him. He is a Man who knows the World, and is a necessary Agent to us. We have had a slight Difference, and 'till it is accomodated I shall be obliged to keep out of his way. Any private dispute of mine shall be of no ill consequence to my Friends. You must continue to act under his Direction, for the moment we break loose from him, our Gang is ruin'd.

MATT. As a Bawd {50} to a Whore, I grant you, he is to us of great Convenience.

MACHEATH. Make him believe I have quitted the Gang, which I can never do but with Life. At our private Quarters I will continue to meet you. A Week or so will probably reconcile us.

MATT. Your Instructions shall be observ'd. 'Tis now high time for us to repair to our several Duties; so 'till the Evening at our Quarters in Moor- Fields {51} we bid you farewell.

MACHEATH. I shall wish myself with you. Success attend you.

Let us take the Road.
Hark! I hear the Sound of Coaches!
The Hour of Attack approaches,
To your Arms, brave Boys, and load.

See the Ball I hold!
Let the Chymists {53} toil like Asses,
Our Fire their Fire surpasses,
And turns all our Lead to Gold.

MACHEATH. What a Fool is a fond Wench! Polly is most confoundedly bit.--I love the Sex. And a Man who loves Money, might as well be contented with one Guinea, as I with one Woman. The Town perhaps have been as much obliged to me, for recruiting it with free-hearted Ladies, as to any Recruiting Officer in the Army. If it were not for us, and the other Gentlemen of the Sword, Drury-Lane would be uninhabited.

If the Heart of a Man is deprest with Cares,
The Mist is dispell'd when a Woman appears;
Like the Notes of a Fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly
Raises the Spirits, and charms our Ears,
Roses and Lilies her Cheeks disclose,
But her ripe Lips are more sweet than those.
Press her,
Caress her,
With Blisses,
Her Kisses
Dissolve us in Pleasure, and soft Repose.

DRAWER. I expect him back every Minute. But you know, Sir, you sent him as far as Hockley in the Hole for three of the Ladies, for one in Vinegar- Yard {55} and for the rest of them somewhere about Lewker's Lane {56}. Sure some of them are below, for I hear the Bar-Bell. As they come I will show them up. Coming, Coming.

MACHEATH. Dear Mrs. Coaxer, you are welcome. You look charmingly to-day. I hope you don't want the Repairs of Quality, and lay on Paint.--- -Dolly Trull! kiss me, you Slut; are you as amorous as ever, Hussy? You are always so taken up with stealing Hearts, that you don't allow yourself Time to steal anything else.----Ah Dolly, thou wilt ever be a Coquette!----Mrs. Vixen, I'm yours, I always lov'd a Woman of Wit and Spirit; they make charming Mistresses, but plaguey Wives.-- --Betty Doxy! Come hither, Hussy. Do you drink as hard as ever? You had better stick to good wholesom Beer; for in troth, Betty, Strong-Waters {57} will in time ruin your Constitution. You should leave those to your Betters.--What! and my pretty Jenny Diver too! As prim and demure as ever! There is not any Prude, though ever so high-bred, hath a more sanctify'd Look, with a more mischievous Heart. Ah! thou art a dear artful Hypocrite.----Mrs. Slammekin! as careless and genteel as ever! all you fine Ladies, who know your own Beauty, affect an Undress.----But see, here's Suky Tawdry come to contradict what I am saying. Everything she gets one way she lays out upon her Back. Why, Suky, you must keep at least a Dozen Talleymen {58}. Molly Brazen! [She kisses him.] That's well done. I love a free-hearted Wench. Thou hast a most agreeable Assurance, Girl, and art as willing as a Turtle.-----But hark! I hear Music. The Harper is at the Door. If Music be the Food of Love, play on {59}. Ere you seat yourselves, Ladies, what think you of a Dance? Come in. [Enter Harper.] Play the French Tune, that Mrs. Slammekin was so fond of.

Youth's the Season made for Joys,
Love is then our Duty,
She alone who that employs,
Well deserves her Beauty.
Let's be gay,
While we may,
Beauty's a Flower, despis'd in Decay,
Youth's the Season &c.

Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow.
Love with youth flies swift away,
Age is nought but Sorrow.
Dance and sing,
Time's on the Wing.
Life never knows the Return of Spring.
Chorus.Let us drink, &c.

JENNY. You look as if you meant me. Wine is strong enough for me. Indeed, Sir, I never drink Strong-Waters, but when I have the Cholic. I hope, Mrs. Coaxer, you have had good Success of late in your Visits among the Mercers {60}.

COAXER. We have so many interlopers----Yet with Industry, one may still have a little Picking. I carried a silver-flower'd Lutestring, and a Piece of black Padesoy {61} to Mr. Peachum's Lock but last Week.

VIXEN. There's Molly Brazen hath the Ogle of a Rattle-Snake. She rivetted a Linen-Draper's Eye so fast upon her, that he was nick'd of three Pieces of Cambric before he could look off.

BRAZEN. Oh dear Madam! ----But sure nothing can come up to your handling of Laces! And then you have such a sweet deluding Tongue! To cheat a Man is nothing; but the Woman must have fine parts indeed who cheats a Woman.

VIXEN. Lace, Madam, lies in a small Compass, and is of easy Conveyance. But you are apt, Madam, to think too well of your Friends.

COAXER. If any Woman hath more Art than another, to be sure, 'tis Jenny Diver. Though her Fellow be never so agreeable, she can pick his Pocket as coolly, as if money were her only Pleasure. Now that is a Command of the Passions in a Woman!

JENNY. I never go to the Tavern with a Man, but in the View of Business. I have other Hours, and other sorts of Men for my Pleasure. But had I your Address, Madam----

MACHEATH. Have done with your Compliments, Ladies, and drink about: You are not so fond of me, Jenny, as you use to be.

JENNY. 'Tis not convenient, Sir, to shew my Fondness among so many Rivals. 'Tis your own Choice, and not the Warmth of my Inclination that will determine you.

Before the Barn-Door crowing,
The Cock by Hens attended,
His Eyes around him throwing,
Stands for awhile suspended.
Then one he singles from the Crew,
And cheers the happy Hen;
With how do you do, and how do you do,
And how do you do again.

TRULL. Pray, Madam, were you ever in keeping {62}?

TAWDRY. I hope, Madam, I han't been so long upon the Town, but I have met with some good-fortune as well as my Neighbors.

TRULL. Pardon me, Madam, I meant no harm by the Question; 'Twas only in the way of Conversation.

TAWDRY. Indeed, Madam, if I had not been a Fool, I might have liv'd very handsomely with my last Friend. But upon his missing five Guineas, he turn'd me off. Now I never suspected he had counted them.

SLAMMEKIN. Who do you look upon, Madam, as your best sort of Keepers?

TRULL. That, Madam, is thereafter as they be.

SLAMMEKIN. I, Madam, was once kept by a Jew; and bating {63} their Religion, to Women they are a good sort of People.

TAWDRY. Now for my Part, I own I like an old Fellow: For we always make them pay for what they can't do.

VIXEN. A spruce Prentice, let me tell you Ladies, is no ill thing, they bleed freely. I have sent at least two or three Dozen of them in my time to the Plantations {64}.

JENNY. But to be sure, Sir, with so much Good-fortune as you have had upon the Road, you must be grown immensely rich.

MACHEATH. The Road, indeed, hath done me Justice, but the Gaming-Table hath been my Ruin.

The Gamesters and Lawyers are Jugglers alike,
If they meddle, your all is in Danger.
Like Gypsies, if once they can finger a Souse{65},
Your Pockets they pick, and they pilfer your House
And give your Estate to a Stranger.