John Gay (1685 – 1732)
English poet and dramatist.
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.
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.
O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed,
By keeping men off, you keep them on.
My lodging is on the cold ground,
And hard, very hard, is my fare,
But that which grieves me more
Is the coldness of my dear.
I must have women—there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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 or the Gallows.
Can you support the expense 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.