TOM
The old fool
Recitative
Here I stand my constitution sound my frame
Not ill favoured my wit ready my heart light
I play the industrious apprentice in a copybook
I submit to the drudge's yoke
I slave through a lifetime to enrich others
And then be thrown away like a gnawed bone Not I
Have not grave doctors assured us that good works
Are of no avail for heaven predestines all
In my fashion I may profess myself of their party
And herewith entrust myself to Fortune
Aria
Since it is not by merit
We rise or we fall
But the favour of Fortune
That governs us all
Why should I labour
For what in the end
She will give me for nothing
If she be my friend
While if she be not
Why the wealth I might gain
For a time by my toil
Would at last be in vain
Till I die then of fever
Or by lightning am struck
Let me live by my wits
And trust to my luck
