GAY, John
The Beggar's Opera, Air Xxii
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.
Rural Sports: A Georgic
Now, sporting o'er the limpid stream,
Where shadows play and sunbeams gleam,
The finnish nation lightly glides,
With silver scales and burnished sides.
Around the reed the minnow plays,
unconscious of the fatal maze,
While hovering o'er the glassy wave,
The angler seeks the prize to save.
How sweet the calm, how pure the air,
Far from the city's noise and care!
Here nature speaks in every breeze,
Whispering through the leafy trees,
And lulls the troubled mind to rest
Upon her soft, maternal breast.
Black-eyed Susan
All in the Downs the fleet was moored,
The streamers waving in the wind,
When black-eyed Susan came aboard;
"O, where shall I my true-love find?
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true
If my sweet William sails among the crew.
…..
"O Susan, Susan, lovely dear,
My vows shall ever true remain;
Let me kiss off that falling tear;
We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
…..
The boatswain gave the dreadful word,
The sails their swelling bosom spread;
No longer must she stay aboard:
They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head.
Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land;
"Adieu!" she cried; and waved her lily hand.
Acis And Galatea
Love in her eyes sits playing,
And sheds delicious death;
Love on her lips is straying,
And warbling in her breath;
Love on her breast sits panting,
And swells with soft desire;
Nor grace nor charm is wanting
To set the heart on fire.
O ruddier than the cherry!
O sweeter than the berry!
O Nymph more bright
Than moonshine night,
Like kidlings blithe and merry!
Ripe as the melting cluster!
No lily has such lustre;
Yet hard to tame
As raging flame,
And fierce as storms that bluster.
The Captives, Scene III
…..
Hyd.
Let's quit the palace while retreat is safe.
The deed must be deferr'd. Revenge, be calm.
This day is his, to-morrow shall be ours.
Orba.
See that each centinel is on strict watch.
Let all the Guards be doubled; bar the gates,
That not a man pass forth without observance.
Go you; and with the utmost vigilance
Scarch ev'ry room; for treason lyes in wait.
Ara.
Divide yourselves this instant o'er the palace.
Think Media is in danger; and remember
That he who takes a traytor, saves the King.
Orba.
Whence can these dangers threaten?
Ara.
From the Persians.
Captivity's a yoke that galls the shoulders
Of new-made slaves, and makes them bold and resty.
He that is born in chains may tamely bear them;
But he that once has breath'd the air of freedom,
Knows life is nothing when depriv'd of that.
Our lord the King has made a people slaves,
And ev'ry slave is virtuously rebellious.
I fear the Persian Prince.
Orba.
You injure him.
I know him, have convers'd with him whole days,
And ev'ry day I stronger grew in virtue.
Load not th' unhappy with unjust suspicion;
Adversity ne'er shakes the heart of honour:
He who is found a villain, in distress,
Was never virtuous.
Ara.
Who suspects his virtue?
'Tis not dishonest to demand our right;
And freedom is the property of man.
Orba.
That glorious day when Persia was subdu'd,
Sophernes fought amidst a host of foes,
Disdaining to survive his country's fate.
When the whole torrent of the war rush'd on,
Phraories interpos'd his shield, and sav'd him.
And canst thou think this brave, this gen'rous Prince
Would stab the man to whom he owes his life?
Ara.
Whoever is, must feel himself, a slave.
And 'tis worth struggling to shake off his chains.
Orba.
But gratitude has cool'd his soul to patience.
Ingratitude's a crime the Persians hate;
Their laws are wise, and punish it with death.
…..