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And stands arraign'd for his life,
Then think of poor Polly's tears,
For ah! poor Polly's his wife.
Like the sailor, he holds up his hand,
Distress'd on the dashing wave;
To die a dry death at Jand

Is as bad as a wat'ry grave.
And alas, poor Polly!

Alack, and well-a-day!
Before I was in love,

Oh! ev'ry month was May.

Peach. Set your heart at rest, Polly-your

Upon Tyburn tree.
But gold from law can take out the sting;
And if rich men, like us, were to swing,
'Twould thin the land, such numbers to string
Upon Tyburn tree.

Enter GAOLer.

Gaoler. Some friends of yours, captain, desire to be admitted-I leave you together.

Enter BEN BUDGE and MAT-O'THE-MINT. Mac. For my having broke prison, you see, husband is to die to-day; therefore, if you gentlemen, I am ordered immediate execution are not already provided, 'tis high time to-The sheriff's officers, I believe, are now at look about for another. There's comfort for the door. That Jemmy Twitcher should 'peach you, you slut!

Lockit. We are ready, sir, to conduct you to the Old Bailey.


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. Then farewell, my love-dear charmers, adieu!

Contented I die-'tis the better for you.
Here ends all dispute, for the rest of our lives,
For this way, at once, I please all my wives.
Now, gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.
[Exeunt Peachum, Lockit, Macheath, etc.
SCENE II. Another Part of the Prison.
Dance of Prisoners in Fetters.

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me, I own surprised me--' 'Tis a plain proof that the world is all alike, and that even our gang can no more trust one another than other people; therefore, I beg you, gentlemen, to look well to yourselves, for, in all probability, you may live some months longer.

Mat. We are all heartily sorry, captain, for your misfortune; but 'tis what we must all come to.

Mac. Peachum and Lockit, you know, are infamous scoundrels-their lives are as much in your power, as yours are in theirs-Remember your dying friend-'Tis my last request-Bring those villains to the gallows before you, and I am satisfied. Mat. We'll do it.

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See, my courage is out! [Turns up the empty Bottle. Lucy. No token of love?

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[Pours out a Bumper of Brandy.

So I drink off this bumper- and now I can

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stand the test,

And my comrades shall see that I die as brave

as the best.


But can I leave my pretty hussies Without one tear, or tender sigh? Their eyes, their lips, their busses, Recall my love-Ah! must I die? Since laws were made for every degree, To curb vice in others, as well as in me, I wonder we ha'n't better company

Mac. But hark! I hear the toll of the bell.

Re-enter GAOLER.

Gaoler. Four women more, captain, with a child a-piece.

Mac. Tell the sheriff's officers I am ready. [Exeunt. Mob. [Within] A reprieve! a reprieve!

Re-enter MACHEATH, POLLY, Lucy, etc. Mae. 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

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Coм. Opera by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. Acted at Covent Garden, 1775. This piece (the plot of which seem borrowed from Il Filosofo di Campagna, from Moliere's Sicilien, and from The Wonder of Mrs. Centlivre) wat roo ceived with applause by crowded audiences through a run of sixty-five nights, during the first season of its appearance. In the following year, it was repeated at least thirty times, and still continues a favourite with the public. It exhibea so happy a mixture of true humour and musical excellence, that it deservedly stands second on the list of its kindred performances. The Beggar's Opera perhaps will always remain the first, says the Biographia Dramatica; but Lard Byron maintains that Sheridan wrote the best comedy (School for Scandal), the best Opera (Duenna), the best fre (Critic), and the best speech (the famous Begum speech) in the English language; and calls the Beggar's Opera, a mo St. Giles's production.

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That, though my sleeping love shall know
Who sings-who sighs below,
Her rosy slumbers shall not fly?
Thus, may some vision whisper more
Than ever I dare speak before.

Enter LOPEZ, with a dark lantern. Lop. PAST three o'clock! soh! a notable hour for one of my regular disposition, to be 1 Mask. Antonio, your mistress will never strolling like a bravo through the streets of wake, while you sing so dolefully: love, like Seville! Well, of all services, to serve a young a cradled infant, is lulled by a sad melody. lover is the hardest-not that I am an enemy Ant. I do not wish to disturb her rest. to love; but my love, and my master's, differ 1 Mask, The reason is, because you know strangely-Don Ferdinand is much too gallant she does not regard you enough to appear,

to eat, drink, or sleep-now, my love gives if
me an appetite-then I am fond of dreaming
of my mistress, and I love dearly to toast her
-This cannot be done without good sleep
and good liquor; hence my partiality to a fea-
ther-bed and a bottle, What a pity now,
that I have not further time for reflections!
but my master expects thee, honest Lopez, to
secure his retreat from Donna Clara's window,
as I guess [Music without] hey! sure, I heard
music! So, so! who have we here? Oh, Don
Antonio, my master's friend, come from the
masquerade, to serenade my young mistress,
Donna Louisa, I suppose: soh! we shall have
the old gentleman up presently-lest he should
miss his son, I had best lose no time in gett-
ing to my post.


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you awaked her.

Ant. Nay, then, I'll convince you, [Sings.
The breath of morn bids hence the night,
Unveil those beauteous eyes, my fair;
For till the dawn of love is there,
I feel no day, I own no light.

LOUISA-replies from a Window.
Waking, I heard thy numbers chide,
Waking, the dawn did bless my sight;}
'Tis Phoebus sure, that woos, I cried,
Who speaks in song, who moves in fight.

DON JEROME-from a Window.
What vagabonds are these, I hear,
Fiddling, fluting, rhyming, ranting,
Piping, scraping, whining, canting,
Fly, scurvy minstrels, fly!

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Ferd, I believe I told you, that to-morrow was the day fixed by Don Pedro and Clara's our unnatural stepmother, for her to enter a convent, in order that her brat might fortune: made desperate by this, possess procured a key to the door, and bribed Clara's maid to leave it unbolted; at two this morning, I entered, unperceived, and stole to her chamber-I found her waking and weeping.

Ant. et L. The god of love, who knows our pain,

Jerome. Hence, or these slugs are through your brain.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.-A Piazza.
Lopez. Truly, sir, I think that a little sleep,
once in a week or so-

Ferd. Peace, fool, don't mention sleep to me. Lopez. No, no, sir, I don't mention your low-bred, vulgar, sound sleep; but I can't help thinking that a gentle slumber, or half an hour's dozing, if it were only for the novelty of the thing

Ferd. Peace, booby, I say!-Oh Clara, dear, cruel disturber of my rest! Lopez. And of mine too.

Ferd. 'Sdeath! to trifle with me at such a juncture as this-now to stand on punctilios -love me! I don't believe she ever did. Lopez. Nor I either.

Ferd. Or is it, that her sex never know their desires for an hour together?

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Lopez. Ah, they know them oftener than they'll own them.

Ferd. Is there, in the world, so inconstant a creature as Clara?.

Lopez. I could name one.

Ferd. Yes; the tame fool, who submits to her caprice.

Lopez. I thought he couldn't miss it.

Ant. Happy Ferdinand!

Ferd. 'Sdeath! hear the conclusion-I was rated as the most confident ruffian, for daring to approach her room at that hour of night. Ant. Ay, ay, this was at first?

Ferd. No such thing; she would not hear a word from me, but threatened to raise her mother, if I did not instantly leave her. Ant. Well, but at last?

Ferd. At last! why, I was forced to leave the house, as I came in.

Ant. And did you do nothing to offend ber?

Ferd. Nothing, as I hope to be saved-I believe, I might snatch a dozen or two of kisses.

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Ant. Was that all? well, I think, I never heard of such assurance!

Ferd. Zounds! I tell you, I behaved with the utmost respect.

Ant. O Lord! I don't mean you, but in her -but, hark ye, Ferdinand, did you leave your key with them?

Ferd. Yes; the maid, who saw me out, took it from the door.

Ant. Then, my life for it, her mistress elopes after you.

Ferd. Ay, to bless my rival, perhaps I am in a humour to suspect every body—you loved her once, and thought her an angel, as I do

Ferd. Is she not capricious, teasing, tyran-now. nical, obstinate, perverse, absurd? ay, a wil

Ant. Yes, I loved her, till I found she wouldn't

derness of faults and follies; her looks are love me, and then I discovered that she hadn't scorn, and her very smiles-'Sdeath! I wish I a good feature in her face.

hadn't mentioned her smiles; for she does smile such beaming loveliness, such fascinating brightness-Oh, death and madness! I shall die if I lose her.

Lopez. Oh, those damned smiles have undone all!



Could I her faults remember,
Forgetting every charm,
Soon would impartial Reason
The tyrant Love disarm;
But when enraged I number

Each failing of her mind,

Love still suggests each beauty.

And sees-while Reason's blind.

Lopez. Here comes Don Antonio, sir.

Ferd. Well, go you home-I shall be there! presently.

Lopez. Ah, those cursed smiles!



Ferd. Antonio, Lopez tells me he left you waked?


I ne'er could any lustre see

In eyes that would not look on me;
I ne'er saw nectar on a lip,
But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart'
Cheeks of rose, untouch'd by art?
I will own the colour true,
When yielding blushes aid their hue.
Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it, to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then,
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so, when I see

That heaving bosom sigh for me.

Besides, Ferdinand, you have full security in my love for your sister; help me there, and I can never disturb you with Clara.

Ferd. As far as I can, consistently with the chanting before our door-was my father honour of our family, you know I will; but there must be no eloping.

Ant. And yet, now, you would carry off herence to what he has once said, you have Clara? formed this plan for my escape - But have Ferd. Ay, that's a different case we never you secured my maid in our interest? mean that others should act to our sisters and Duenna. She is a party in the whole; but wives, as we do to others'-But, to-morrow, remember, if we succeed, you resign all right Clara is to be forced into a convent. and title in little Isaac, the Jew, over to me. Louisa. That I do with all my soul; get him, if you can, and I shall wish you joy, most heartily. He is twenty times as rich as my poor Antonio.'

Ant. Well, and am not I so unfortunately circumstanced? To-morrow, your father forces Louisa to marry Isaac, the Portuguese - but come with me, and we'll devise something, I

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Enter LOUISA and Duenna. Louisa. But, my dear Margaret, my charming_Duenna, do you think we shall succeed? Duenna. It tell you again, I have no doubt on't; but it must be instantly put to the trial -Every thing is prepared in your room, and for the rest, we must trust to fortune.

Louisa. My father's oath was, never to see me till I had consented to

Duenna. 'Twas thus I overheard him say to his friend, Don Gusman,-'I will demand of her to-morrow, once for all, whether she will consent to marry Isaac Mendoza; if she hesitates, I will make a solemn oath never to see or speak to her, till she returns to her duty-These were his words.

Louisa. And on his known obstinate


Thou canst not boast of fortune's store,
My love, while me they wealthy call:
But I was glad to find thee poor-
For with my heart I'd give thee all.
And then the grateful youth shall own
I loved him for himself alone.

But when his worth my hand shall gain,
No word or look of mine shall show
That I the smallest thought retain
Of what my bounty did bestow:
Yet still his grateful heart shall own

I loved him for himself alone.

Duenna. I hear Don Jerome comingQuick, give me the last letter I brought you from Antonio-you know that is to be the ground of my dismission-I must slip out to seal it up, as undelivered. [Exit.

Enter DON JEROME and FERDINAND. Jerome. What, I suppose, you have been serenading too! Eh, disturbing some peaceable neighbourhood with villanous catgut, and lascivious piping! Out on't! you set your sister, here, a vile example; but I come to tell you, madam, that I'll suffer no more of these midnight incantations-these amorous orgies, that steal the senses in the hearing; as, they say, Egyptian embalmers serve mummies, extracting the brain through the ears; however, there's an end of your frolics-Isaac Mendoza will be here presently, and to-morrow you shall marry him.

Louisa. Never, while I have life.

Ferd. Indeed, sir, I wonder how you can think of such a man for a son-inlaw.

Jerome. Sir, you are very kind, to favour ine with your sentiments-and pray, what is your objection to him?

Ferd. He is a Portuguese, in the first place. Jerome. No such thing, boy; he has forsworn his country.

Louisa. He is a Jew.

Jerome. Another mistake: be has been a Christian these six weeks.

Ferd. Ay, he left his old religion for an estate, and has not had time to get a new one.

Louisa. But stands like a dead wall between church and synagogue, or like the blank leaves between the Old and New Testament.

Jerome. Any thing more?

Ferd. But the most remarkable part of his character is his passion for deceit and tricks of cunning.

Louisa. Though at the same time, the fool predominates so much over the knave, that I am told he is generally the dupe of his own art.

Ferd. True, like an unskilful gunner, he usually misses his aim, and is hurt by the read-coil of his own piece.

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Jerome. Any thing more? ness, and my father's anger will probably only Louisa. To sum up all, he has the worst increase her affection.-In our intercourse with fault a husband can have-he's not my choice. the world, it is natural for us to dislike those Jerome. But you are his; and choice on who are innocently the cause of our distress; one side is sufficient-two lovers should never but in the heart's attachment a woman never meet in marriage-be you sour as you please, likes a man with ardour till she has suffered he is sweet-tempered, and for your good fruit, for his sake. [Noise] Soh! what bustle is there's nothing like ingrafting on a crab. here! between my father and the Duenna too Louisa. I detest him as a lover, and shall-I'll e'en get out of the way. ten times more as a husband.


Enter DON JEROME with a Letter, pulling in the DUENNA.

Jerome. I'm astonish'd! I'm thunderstruck!

Jerome. I don't know that-marriage generally makes a great change-but, to cut the matter short, will you have him or not?, Louisa. There is nothing else I could dis- here's treachery and conspiracy with a venobey you in. geance! you, Antonio's creature, and chief Jerome. Do you value your father's peace? manager of this plot for my daughter's elopLouisa. So much, that I will not fasten on ing! you, that I placed here as a scare-crow? Duenna. What? him the regret of making an only daughter

Jerome. A scare-crow-to prove a decoywretched. Jerome. Very well, ma'am, then mark me duck-what have you to say for yourself? -never more will I see or converse with you Duenna, Well, sir, since you have forced till you return to your duty-no reply this that letter from me, and discovered my real and your chamber shall be your apartments: sentiments, I scorn to renounce them.-1 am I never will stir out, without leaving you Antonio's friend, and it was my intention that under lock and key, and when I'm at home your daughter should have served you as all rio creature can approach you but through such old tyranuical sots should be served-I my library-we'll try who can be most obsti- delight in the tender passions, and would benate-out of my sight-there remain till you friend all under their influence. know your duty. Jerome. The tender passions! yes, they Ferd. Surely, sir, my sister's inclinations would become those impenetrable features!should be consulted in a matter of this kind, why, thou deceitful hag! I placed thee as a and some regard paid to Don Antonio, being guard to the rich blossoms of my daughter's beauty-I thought that dragon's front of thine my_particular friend. Jerome. That, doubtless, is a very great would cry aloof to the sons of gallantry-steel recommendation-I certainly have not paid traps and spring guns1) seemed writ in every sufficient respect to it. wrinkle of it--but you shall quit my house this instant-the tender passions, indeed! go, thou wanton sybil, thou amorous woman of Endor, go!

[Pushes her out.

Ferd. There is not a man living I would sooner choose for a brotherin-law.


Jerome. Very possible; and if you happen to have e'er a sister, who is not at the same Duenna. You base, scurrilous, old — but I time a daughter of mine, I'm sure I shall have won't demean myself by naming what you no objection to the relationship -- but at pre-are-yes, savage, I'll leave your den; but I sent, if you please, we'll drop the subject." suppose you don't mean to detain my apparel Ferd. Nay, sir, 'tis only my regard for my-I may have my things, I presume? sister makes me speak. Jerome. Then pray, sir, in future, let your regard for your father make you hold your tongue.

Ferd. I have done, sir-I shall only add a wish that you would reflect what at our age you would have felt, had you been crossed in your affection for the mother of her you

are so severe to.

Jerome. I took you, mistress, with your wardrobe on-what have you pilfered, heh?

Duenna. Sir, I must take leave of my mistress; she has valuables of mine: besides, my cardinal and veil are in her room.

Jerome. Your veil forsooth! what, do you dread being gazed at? or are you afraid of your complexion? well, go take your leave, and get your veil and cardinal! soh! you quit Jerome. Why, I must confess I had a great the house within these five minutes In-inaffection for your mother's ducats, but that quick. [Exit Duenna] flere was a precious was all, boy-I married her for her fortune, plot of mischief! these are the comforts daugh. and she took me in obedience to her father, ters bring us! and a very happy couple we were-we never

expected any love from one another, and so


your life,

we were never disappointed-if we grumbled If a daughter you have, she's the plague of a little now and then, it was soon over, for we were never fond enough to quarrel; and No peace shall you know, though you've buwhen the good woman died, why, why-I had

ried your wife!


Oh, what a plague is an obstinate daughter!

as lieve she had lived, and I wish every wi- At twenty she mocks at the duty you taught dower in Seville could say the same-I shall now go and get the key of this dressing-room -so, good son, if you have any lecture in support of disobedience to give your sister, it must be brief; so make the best of your time, [Exit. d'ye hear? Ferd. I fear, indeed, my friend Antonio has little to hope for-however, Louisa has firm


1) Steel-traps and spring-guns," is generally written on the doors of gardens near London, in order to deter thieves from entering the garden and stealing the fruit-these things have done a great deal of harm, and taken away the life of many an innocent person, accidentally walking in the garden.

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