The charge is prepared; the lawyers are met,
The judges all ranged (a terrible show!)
I go, undismayed.—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 disputes the rest of our lives,
For this way at once I please all my wives.
Now, gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.
Exeunt Macheath, Lockit, and Peachum.
Enter Filch.
Exeunt.
A dance of prisoners in chains, etc.
Scene V
The Condemned Hold
| Macheath | In a melancholy posture. |
|
|
|
|
O cruel, cruel, cruel case! |
|
|
|
|
|
Of all the friends in time of grief, Drinks. |
|
|
|
|
|
Since I must swing—I scorn, I scorn to wince or whine. Rises. |
|
|
|
|
|
But now again my spirits sink; Drinks a glass of wine. |
|
|
|
|
|
But valour the stronger grows, Drinks. |
|
|
|
|
|
If thus—A man can die Pours out a bumper of brandy. |
|
|
|
|
|
So I drink off this bumper.—And now I can stand the test, Drinks. |
|
|
|
|
|
But can I leave my pretty hussies, |
|
|
|
|
|
Their eyes, their lips, their busses |
|
|
|
|
|
Since laws were made for ev’ry degree, |
|
| Jailor | Some friends of yours, Captain, desire to be admitted—I leave you together. |
| Enter Ben Budge, Matt of the Mint. | |
| Macheath | For my having broke prison, you see, gentlemen, I am ordered immediate execution.—The sheriff’s officers, I believe, are now at the door.—That Jemmy Twitcher should peach 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, look well to yourselves, for in all probability you may live some months longer. |
| Matt | We are heartily sorry, Captain, for your misfortune.—But ’tis what we must all come to. |
| Macheath | 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. |
| Matt | We’ll do’t. |
| Jailor | Miss Polly and Miss Lucy intreat a word with you. |
| Macheath | Gentlemen, adieu. |
|
Exeunt Ben Budge and Matt. Enter Lucy and Polly. |
|
| Macheath | My dear Lucy—My dear Polly—Whatsoever hath passed between us is now at an end—If you are fond of marrying again, the best advice I can give you, is to ship yourselves off for the West Indies, where you’ll have a fair chance of getting a husband apiece, or by good luck, two or three, as you like best. |
| Polly | How can I support this sight! |
| Lucy | There is nothing moves one so much as a great man in distress. |
|
|
|
| Lucy |
Would I might be hanged! |
| Polly |
And I would so too! |
| Lucy |
To be hanged with you. |
| Polly |
My dear, with you. |
| Macheath |
O leave me to thought! I fear! I doubt! Turns up the empty bottle. |
| Polly |
No token of love? |
| Macheath | |
