Air XVI. Over the Hills and Far Away
Were I laid on Greenland’s Coast,
And in my Arms embrac’d my Lass;
Warm amidst eternal Frost,
Too soon the Half Year’s Night would pass.
Polly.
Were I sold on Indian Soil,
Soon as the burning Day was clos’d,
I could mock the sultry Toil
When on my Charmer’s Breast repos’d.
Macheath.
And I would love you all the Day,
Polly.
Every Night would kiss and play,
Macheath.
If with me you’d fondly stray
Polly.
Over the Hills and far away.
Polly. Yes, I would go with thee. But oh!—how shall I speak it? I must be torn from thee. We must part.
Macheath. How! Part!
Polly. We must, we must.—My Papa and Mama are set against thy Life. They now, even now are in Search after thee. They are preparing Evidence against thee. Thy Life depends upon a moment.