Three Airs from The Beggar's Opera

Air XI. "A Fox May Steal Your Hens, Sir"

A FOX may steal your hens, sir,

A whore your health and pence, sir,

Your daughter may rob your chest, sir,

Your wife may steal your rest, sir,

A thief your goods and plate.

But this is all but picking,

With rest, pence, chest, and chicken;

It ever was decreed, sir,

If Lawyer's hand is fee'd, sir,

He steals your whole estate.

Air XXI. "If the Heart of a Man"

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 lillies 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.

Air XXII. "Youth's the Season Made for Joys"

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.

Let us drink and sport to-day,

Ours is not tomorrow.

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.

John Gay

Fable XLV: The Poet and the Rose

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.

Beauties and bards have equal pride,

With both all rivals are decry'd.

Who praises Lesbia's eyes and feature,

Must call her sister, awkward creature;

For the kind flattery's sure to charm,

When we some other nymph disarm.

As in the cool of early day

A Poet sought the sweets of May,

The garden's fragrant breath ascends,

And every stalk with odor bends.

A rose he pluck'd, he gaz'd, admir'd,

Thus singing as the Muse inspir'd:

"Go, Rose, my Chloe's bosom grace;

    How happy should I prove,

Might I supply that envy'd place

    With never-fading love!

There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye,

Involv'd in fragrance, burn and die!

Know, hapless flower, that thou shalt find

    More fragrant roses there;

I see thy with'ring head reclin'd

    With envy and despair!

One common fate we both must prove;

You die with envy, I with love."

"Spare your comparisons," reply'd

An angry Rose, who grew beside;

"Of all mankind you should not flout us;

What can a Poet do without us!

In ev'ry love-song roses bloom;

We lend you color and perfume.

Does it to Chloe's charms conduce,

To found her praise on our abuse?

Must we, to flatter her, be made

To wither, envy, pine, and fade?"

John Gay

Fable XLIX: The Man and the Flea

WHETHER on earth, in air, or main,

Sure ev'ry thing alive is vain!

Does not the hawk all fowls survey,

As destin'd only for his prey?

And do not tyrants, prouder things,

Think men were born for slaves to kings?

When the crab views the pearly strands,

Or Tagus bright with golden sands,

Or crawls beside the coral grove,

And hears the ocean roll above,

"Nature is too profuse," says he,

"Who gave all these to pleasure me!"

When bord'ring pinks and roses bloom,

And ev'ry garden breathes perfume,

When peaches glow with sunny dyes

Like Laura's cheek when blushes rise,

When with huge figs the branches bend,

When clusters from the vine depend,

The snail looks round on flow'r and tree,

And cries, "All these were made for me!"

"What dignity's in human nature,"

Says Man, the most conceited creature,

As from a cliff he cast his eye,

And view'd the sea and arched sky!

The sun was sunk beneath the main,

The moon and all the starry train

Hung the vast vault of heav'n. The Man

His contemplation thus began:

"When I behold this glorious show,

And the side watry world below,

The scaly people of the main,

The beasts that range the wood or plain,

The wing'd inhabitants of air,

The day, the night, the various year,

And know all these by heav'n design'd

As gifts to pleasure human kind,

I cannot raise my worth too high;

Of what vast consequence am I!"

"Not of th'importance you suppose,"

Replies a Flea upon his nose;

"Be humble; learn thyself to scan;

Know, pride was never made for Man.

'Tis vanity that swells thy mind.

What, heav'n and earth for thee design'd!

For thee! made only for our need,

That more important Fleas might feed."

John Gay