John Gay (1685 – 1732)
English poet and dramatist.
If love be not his Guide,
He never will come back!
I hate the man who builds his name
On ruins of another's fame.
Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown,
Imagine that they raise their own.
Thus Scribblers, covetous of praise,
Think slander can transplant the bays.
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.
Life is a jest; and all things show it.
I thought so once; and now I know it.
By outward show let's not be cheated;
An ass should like an ass be treated.
The charge is prepar'd, the lawyers are met,
The judges all ranged,—a terrible show!
Youth's the season made for joys,
Love is then our duty.
'Twas when the seas were roaring
With hollow blasts of wind,
A damsel lay deploring,
All on a rock reclined.
Whence thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place.
The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
How happy could I be with either,
Were t' other dear charmer away!
The charge is prepared; the lawyers are met;
The judges all ranged (a terrible show!)
I go, undismay'd.—For death is a debt,
A debt on demand.—So take what I owe.
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.
Is there no hope? the sick man said;
The silent doctor shook his head.
In every age and clime we see
Two of a trade can never agree.
Brother, brother! we are both in the wrong.
Remote from cities liv'd a swain,
Unvex'd with all the cares of gain;
His head was silver'd o'er with age,
And long experience made him sage.
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.
Man may escape from rope and gun;
Nay, some have outlived the doctor's pill:
Who takes a woman must be undone,
That basilisk is sure to kill.
The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets,
So he that tastes woman, woman, woman,
He that tastes woman, ruin meets.