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Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing,
Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness;
So on the ocean of life we pass and speak one another,
Only a look and a voice; then darkness again and a silence.
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    The Beggar'S Opera

    An old woman clothed in gray,
    Through all the employments of life
    Each neighbour abuses his brother;
    Whore and rogue they call husband and wife:
    All professions be-rogue one another.
    The priest calls the lawyer a cheat,
    The lawyer be-knaves the divine;
    And the statesman, because he's so great,
    Thinks his trade as honest as mine.
    A fox may steal your hens, sir,
    a whore your health and pence, sir,
    Your daughter 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.
    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, despised in decay.
    Youth's the season,
    Let us drink and sport to-day,
    Ours is not to-morrow.
    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.
    Let us drink,
    Courtiers, Courtiers think it no harm,
    Man may escape from rope and gun;
    Nay, some have out-liv'd 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.
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      A Fever

      Oh do not die, for I shall hate
      All women so, when thou art gone,
      That thee I shall not celebrate,
      When I remember, thou wast one.

      But yet thou canst not die, I know;
      To leave this world behind, is death,
      But when thou from this world wilt go,
      The whole world vapours with thy breath.

      Or if, when thou, the world's soul, go'st,
      It stay, 'tis but thy carcase then,
      The fairest woman, but thy ghost,
      But corrupt worms, the worthiest men.

      Oh wrangling schools, that search what fire
      Shall burn this world, had none the wit
      Unto this knowledge to aspire,
      That this her fever might be it?

      And yet she cannot waste by this,
      Nor long bear this torturing wrong,
      For much corruption needful is
      To fuel such a fever long.

      These burning fits but meteors be,
      Whose matter in thee is soon spent.
      Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee,
      Are unchangeable firmament.

      Yet'twas of my mind, seizing thee,
      Though it in thee cannot persever.
      For I had rather owner be
      Of thee one hour, than all else ever.
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        Here's to the corners yet to turn
        Here's to the bridges yet to burn
        Here's to the whole thing blown apart
        It's open season on my heart
        The days go by like flying bricks
        Leave gaping holes too deep to fix
        I'd just stay home if I were smart
        It's open season on my heart.
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          Do not be jealous of your sister.
          Know that diamonds and roses
          are as uncomfortable when they tumble from
          one's lips as toads and frogs:
          colder, too, and sharper, and they cut.
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