Chapter III: Act II: Scene I

_A_ TAVERN _near_ Newgate.

Jemmy Twitcher, Crook-finger’d Jack, Wat Dreary, Robin of Bagshot, Nimming Ned, Henry Paddington, Matt of the Mint, Ben Budge, _and the rest of the Gang_, _at the Table_, _with Wine_, _Brandy and Tobacco_.

_Ben_. But pr’ythee, _Matt_, what is become of thy Brother _Tom_? I have not seen him since my Return from Transportation.

_Matt_. Poor Brother _Tom_ had an Accident this time Twelve-month, and so clever a made fellow he was, that I could not save him from those fleaing Rascals the Surgeons; and now, poor Man, he is among the Otamys at _Surgeons Hall_.

_Ben_. So it seems, his Time was come.

_Jemmy_. But the present Time is ours, and no body alive hath more. Why are the Laws levell’d at us? are we more dishonest than the rest of Mankind? What we win, Gentlemen, is our own by the Law of Arms, and the Right of Conquest.

_Crook_. Where shall we find such another Set of Practical Philosophers, who to a Man are above the Fear of Death?

_Wat_. Sound Men, and true!

_Robin_. Of try’d Courage, and indefatigable Industry!

_Ned_. Who is there here that would not die for his Friend?

_Harry_. Who is there here that would betray him for his Interest?

_Matt_. Shew me a Gang of Courtiers that can say as much.

_Ben_. We are for a just Partition of the World, for every Man hath a Right to enjoy Life.

_Matt_. We retrench the Superfluities of Mankind. The World is avaritious, and I hate Avarice. A covetous fellow, like a Jackdaw, steals what he was never made to enjoy, for the sake of hiding it. These are the Robbers of Mankind, for Money was made for the Free-hearted and Generous, and where is the Injury of taking from another, what he hath not the Heart to make use of?

_Jemmy_. Our several Stations for the Day are fixt. Good luck attend us all. Fill the Glasses.

AIR XIX. Fill every Glass, &c.

Matt. _Fill every Glass_, _for Wine inspires us_,
_And fires us_
_With Courage_, _Love and Joy_.
_Women and Wine should life employ_.
_Is there ought else on Earth desirous_?

Chorus. _Fill every Glass_, &c.

_To them enter_ Macheath.

_Macheath_. Gentlemen, well met. My Heart hath been with you this Hour; but an unexpected Affair hath detain’d me. No Ceremony, I beg you.

_Matt_. We were just breaking up to go upon Duty. Am I to have the Honour of taking the Air with you, Sir, this Evening upon the Heath? I drink a Dram now and then with the Stagecoachmen in the way of Friendship and Intelligence; and I know that about this Time there will be Passengers upon the Western Road, who are worth speaking with.

_Macheath_. I was to have been of that Party—but—

_Matt_. But what, Sir?

_Macheath_. Is there any Man who suspects my Courage?

_Matt_. We have all been Witnesses of it.

_Macheath_. My Honour and Truth to the Gang?

_Matt_. I’ll be answerable for it.

_Macheath_. In the Division of our Booty, have I ever shewn the least Marks of Avarice or Injustice?

_Matt_. By these Questions something seems to have ruffled you. Are any of us suspected?

_Macheath_. I have a fixed Confidence, Gentlemen, in you all, as Men of Honour, and as such I value and respect you. _Peachum_ is a Man that is useful to us.

_Matt_. Is he about to play us any foul Play? I’ll shoot him through the Head.

_Macheath_. I beg you, Gentlemen, act with Conduct and Discretion. A Pistol is your last Resort.

_Matt_. He knows nothing of this Meeting.

_Macheath_. Business cannot go on without him. He is a Man who knows the World, and is a necessary Agent to us. We have had a slight Difference, and ’till it is accommodated I shall be oblig’d to keep out of his way. Any private Dispute of mine shall be of no ill consequence to my Friends. You must continue to act under his Direction, for the moment we break loose from him, our Gang is ruin’d.

_Matt_. As a Bawd to a Whore, I grant you, he is to us of great Convenience.

_Macheath_. Make him believe I have quitted the Gang, which I can never do but with Life. At our private Quarters I will continue to meet you. A Week or so will probably reconcile us.

_Matt_. Your Instructions shall be observ’d. ’Tis now high time for us to repair to our several Duties; so ’till the Evening at our Quarters in _Moor-Fields_ we bid you farewel.

_Macheath_. I shall wish myself with you. Success attend you.

[_Sits down melancholy at the Table_.

AIR XX. March in _Rinaldo_, with Drums and Trumpets.

_Matt_. _Let us take the Road_.
_Hark_! _I hear the Sound of Coaches_!
_The Hour of Attack approaches_,
_To your Arms_, _brave Boys_, _and load_.
_See the Ball I hold_!
_Let the Chymists toil like Asses_,
_Our Fire their Fire surpasses_,
_And turns all our Lead to Gold_.

[The Gang, rang’d in the Front of the Stage,
load their Pistols, and stick them under their
Girdles; then go off singing the first Part in
Chorus.

_Macheath_. What a Fool is a fond Wench! _Polly_ is most confoundedly bit.—I love the Sex. And a Man who loves Money, might as well be contented with one Guinea, as I with one Woman. The Town perhaps have been as much obliged to me, for recruiting it with free-hearted Ladies, as to any Recruiting Officer in the Army. If it were not for us, and the other Gentlemen of the Sword, _Drury-Lane_ would be uninhabited.

AIR XXI. Would you have a young Virgin, &c.

_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 Lilies 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_.

I must have Women. There is nothing unbends the Mind like them. Money is not so strong a Cordial for the Time. Drawer—[_Enter Drawer_.] Is the Porter gone for all the Ladies according to my Directions?

_Drawer_. I expect him back every Minute. But you know, Sir, you sent him as far as _Hockley in the Hole_ for three of the Ladies, for one in _Vinegar-Yard_, and for the rest of them somewhere about _Lewkner’s-Lane_. Sure some of them are below, for I hear the Bar-Bell. As they come I will shew them up. Coming, Coming.

_Enter Mrs._ Coaxer, Dolly Trull, _Mrs._ Vixen, Betty
Doxy, Jenny Diver, _Mrs._ Slammekin, Suky Tawdry,
_and_ Molly Brazen.

_Macheath_. Dear Mrs. _Coaxer_, you are welcome. You look charmingly to-day. I hope you don’t want the Repairs of Quality, and lay on Paint.—_Dolly Trull_! kiss me, you Slut; are you as amorous as ever, Hussy? You are always so taken up with stealing Hearts, that you don’t allow yourself Time to steal any thing else.—Ah _Dolly_, thou wilt ever be a Coquette! Mrs. _Vixen_, I’m yours, I always lov’d a Woman of Wit and Spirit; they make charming Mistresses, but plaguy Wives—_Betty Doxy_! Come hither, Hussy. Do you drink as hard as ever? You had better stick to good wholesom Beer; for in troth, _Betty_, Strong-Waters will in time ruin your Constitution. You should leave those to your Betters.—What! and my pretty _Jenny Diver_ too! As prim and demure as ever! There is not any Prude, though ever so high bred, hath a more sanctify’d Look, with a more mischievous Heart. Ah! thou art a dear artful Hypocrite.—Mrs. _Slammekin_! as careless and genteel as ever! all you fine Ladies, who know your own Beauty, affect an Undress.—But see, here’s _Suky Tawdry_ come to contradict what I was saying. Every thing she gets one way she lays out upon her Back. Why, _Suky_, you must keep at least a Dozen Tallymen. _Molly Brazen_! [_She kisses him_.] That’s well done. I love a free-hearted Wench. Thou hast a most agreeable Assurance, Girl, and art as willing as a Turtle.—But hark! I hear Music. The Harper is at the Door. _If Music be the Food of Love_, _play on_. Ere you seat yourselves, Ladies, what think you of a Dance? Come in. [_Enter Harper_.] Play the _French_ Tune, that Mrs. _Slammekin_ was so fond of.

[_A Dance_ a la ronde _in the_ French _manner_;
_near the end of it this song and Chorus_.

AIR XXII. Cotillon.

_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_.
_Youth’s the Season_, &c.

_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_.

Chorus. _Let us drink_, &c.

_Macheath_. Now, pray Ladies, take your Places. Here Fellow. [_Pays the Harper_.] Bid the Drawer bring us more Wine. [_Exit Harper_.] If any of the Ladies choose Ginn, I hope they will be so free to call for it.

_Jenny_. You look as if you meant me. Wine is strong enough for me. Indeed, Sir, I never drink Strong-Waters, but when I have the Cholic.

_Macheath_. Just the Excuse of the fine Ladies! Why, a Lady of Quality is never without the Cholic. I hope, Mrs. _Coaxer_, you have had good Success of late in your Visits among the Mercers.

_Mrs. Coaxer_. We have so many Interlopers—Yet with Industry, one may still have a little Picking. I carried a silver-flowered Lutestring, and a Piece of black Padesoy to Mr. _Peachum’s_ Lock but last Week.

_Mrs. Vixen_. There’s _Molly Brazen_ hath the Ogle of a Rattle-Snake. She rivetted a Linen-Draper’s Eye so fast upon her, that he was nick’d of three Pieces of Cambric before he could look off.

_Brazen_. Oh dear Madam!—But sure nothing can come up to your handling of Laces! And then you have such a sweet deluding Tongue! To cheat a Man is nothing; but the Woman must have fine Parts indeed who cheats a Woman.

_Mrs. Vixen_. Lace, Madam, lies in a small Compass, and is of easy Conveyance. But you are apt, Madam, to think too well of your Friends.

_Mrs. Coaxer_. If any woman hath more Art than another, to be sure, ’tis _Jenny Diver_. Though her Fellow be never so agreeable, she can pick his Pocket as coolly, as if money were her only Pleasure. Now that is a Command of the Passions uncommon in a Woman!

_Jenny_. I never go to the Tavern with a Man, but in the View of Business. I have other Hours, and other sort of Men for my Pleasure. But had I your Address, Madam—

_Macheath_. Have done with your Compliments, Ladies; and drink about: You are not so fond of me, _Jenny_, as you use to be.

_Jenny_. ’Tis not convenient, Sir, to shew my Fondness among so many Rivals. ’Tis your own Choice, and not the Warmth of my Inclination that will determine you.

AIR XXIII. All in a misty Morning, &c.

_Before the Barn-Door crowing_,
_The Cock by Hens attended_,
_His Eyes around him throwing_,
_Stands for a while suspended_.
_Then One he singles from the Crew_,
_And cheers the happy Hen_;
_With how do you do_, _and how do you do_,
_And how do you do again_.

_Macheath_. Ah _Jenny_! thou art a dear Slut.

_Jenny_. A Man of Courage should never put any thing to the Risk but his Life. These are the Tools of a Man of Honour. Cards and Dice are only fit for cowardly Cheats, who prey upon their Friends.

[_She takes up his Pistol_. Tawdry _takes up the other_.

_Tawdry_. This, Sir, is fitter for your Hand. Besides your Loss of Money, ’tis a Loss to the Ladies. Gaming takes you off from Women. How fond could I be of you! but before Company ’tis ill bred.

_Macheath_. Wanton Hussies!

_Jenny_. I must and will have a Kiss to give my Wine a Zest.

[_They take him about the Neck and make signs to_
Peachum _and Constables_, _who rush in upon him_.

_Peachum_. I seize you, Sir, as my Prisoner.

_Macheath_. Was this well done, _Jenny_?—Women are Decoy Ducks; who can trust them! Beasts, Jades, Jilts, Harpies, Furies, Whores!

_Peachum_. Your Case, Mr. _Macheath_, is not particular. The greatest Heroes have been ruin’d by Women. But, to do them Justice, I must own they are a pretty sort of Creatures, if we could trust them. You must now, Sir, take your Leave of the Ladies, and if they have a mind to make you a Visit, they will be sure to find you at home. This Gentleman, Ladies, lodges in _Newgate_. Constables, wait upon the Captain to his Lodgings.

AIR XXIV. When first I laid Siege to my _Chloris_, &c.

_Macheath_. _At the Tree I shall suffer with Pleasure_,
_At the Tree I shall suffer with Pleasure_,
_Let me go where I will_,
_In all kinds of Ill_,
_I shall find no such Furies as these are_.

_Peachum_. Ladies, I’ll take care the Reckoning shall be discharged.

[_Exit_ Macheath, _guarded with_ Peachum and Constables.

_Mrs. Vixen_. Look ye, Mrs. _Jenny_, though Mr. _Peachum_ may have made a private Bargain with you and _Suky Tawdry_ for betraying the Captain, as we were all assisting, we ought all to share alike.

_Mrs. Coaxer_. I think Mr. _Peachum_, after so long an Acquaintance, might have trusted me as well as _Jenny Diver_.

_Mrs. Slammekin_. I am sure at least three Men of his hanging, and in a Year’s time too (if he did me Justice) should be set down to my Account.

_Trull_. Mrs. _Slammekin_, that is not fair. For you know one of them was taken in Bed with me.

_Jenny_. As far as a Bowl of Punch or a Treat, I believe Mrs. _Suky_ will join with me.—As for any thing else, Ladies, you cannot in Conscience expect it.

_Mrs. Slammekin_. Dear Madam—

_Trull_. I would not for the World—

_Mrs. Slammekin_. ’Tis impossible for me—

_Trull_. As I hope to be sav’d, Madam—

_Mrs. Slammekin_. Nay, then I must stay here all Night—

_Trull_. Since you command me.

[_Exeunt with great Ceremony_.

SCENE II. Newgate.

Lockit, _Turnkeys_, Macheath, _Constables_.

_Lockit_. Noble Captain, you are welcome. You have not been a Lodger of mine this Year and half. You know the Custom, Sir. Garnish, Captain, Garnish. Hand me down those Fetters there.

_Macheath_. Those, Mr. _Lockit_, seem to be the heaviest of the whole Set. With your Leave, I should like the further Pair better.

_Lockit_. Look ye, Captain, we know what is fittest for our Prisoners. When a Gentleman uses me with Civility, I always do the best I can to please him.—Hand them down I say.—We have them of all Prices, from one Guinea to ten, and ’tis fitting every Gentleman should please himself.

_Macheath_. I understand you, Sir. [_Gives Money_.] The Fees here are so many, and so exorbitant, that few Fortunes can bear the Expence of getting off handsomly, or of dying like a Gentleman.

_Lockit_. Those, I see, will fit the Captain better—Take down the further Pair. Do but examine them, Sir.—Never was better work. How genteely they are made!—They will fit as easy as a Glove, and the nicest Man in _England_ might not be asham’d to wear them. [_He puts on the Chains_.] If I had the best Gentleman in the Land in my Custody I could not equip him more handsomly. And so, Sir—I now leave you to your private Meditations.

[_Exeunt leaving_ Macheath _solus_.

Macheath.

AIR XXV. Courtiers, Courtiers, think it no Harm, &c.

_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_.

To what a woful Plight have I brought myself! Here must I (all Day long, ’till I am hang’d) be confin’d to hear the Reproaches of a Wench who lays her Ruin at my Door—I am in the Custody of her Father, and to be sure, if he knows of the matter, I shall have a fine time on’t betwixt this and my Execution.—But I promis’d the Wench Marriage—What signifies a Promise to a Woman? Does not Man in Marriage itself promise a hundred things that he never means to perform? Do all we can, Women will believe us; for they look upon a Promise as an Excuse for following their own Inclinations.—But here comes _Lucy_, and I cannot get from her.—Wou’d I were deaf!

_Enter_ Lucy.

_Lucy_. You base Man you,—how can you look me in the Face after what hath passed between us?—See here, perfidious Wretch, how I am forc’d to bear about the Load of Infamy you have laid upon me—O _Macheath_! thou hast robb’d me of my Quiet—to see thee tortur’d would give me Pleasure.

AIR XXVI. A lovely Lass to a Friar came, &c.

_Thus when a good Housewife sees a Rat_
_In her Trap in the Morning taken_,
_With Pleasure her Heart goes pit-a-pat_,
_In Revenge for her Loss of Bacon_.
_Then she throws him_
_To the Dog or Cat_,
_To be worried_, _crush’d and shaken_.

_Macheath_. Have you no Bowels, no Tenderness, my dear _Lucy_, to see a Husband in these Circumstances?

_Lucy_. A Husband!

_Macheath_. In ev’ry Respect but the Form, and that, my Dear, may be said over us at any time.—Friends should not insist upon Ceremonies. From a Man of Honour, his Word is as good as his Bond.

_Lucy_. ’Tis the Pleasure of all you fine Men to insult the Women you have ruin’d.

AIR XXVII. ’Twas when the Sea was roaring, &c.

_How cruel are the Traitors_,
_Who lye and swear in jest_,
_To cheat unguarded Creatures_
_Of Virtue_, _Fame_, _and Rest_!
_Whoever steals a Shilling_,
_Through Shame the Guilt conceals_:
_In Love the perjur’d Villain_
_With Boasts the Theft reveals_.

_Macheath_. The very first Opportunity, my Dear, (have but Patience) you shall be my Wife in whatever manner you please.

_Lucy_. Insinuating Monster! And so you think I know nothing of the Affair of Miss _Polly Peachum_.—I could tear thy Eyes out!

_Macheath_. Sure, _Lucy_, you can’t be such a Fool as to be jealous of _Polly_!

_Lucy_. Are you not married to her, you Brute, you.

_Macheath_. Married! Very good. The Wench gives it out only to vex thee, and to ruin me in thy good Opinion. ’Tis true, I go to the House; I chat with the Girl, I kiss her, I say a thousand things to her (as all Gentlemen do) that mean nothing, to divert myself; and now the silly Jade hath set it about that I am married to her, to let me know what she would be at. Indeed, my dear _Lucy_, these violent Passions may be of ill consequence to a Woman in your Condition.

_Lucy_. Come, come, Captain, for all your Assurance, you know that Miss _Polly_ hath put it out of your Power to do me the Justice you promis’d me.

_Macheath_. A jealous Woman believes every thing her Passion suggests. To convince you of my Sincerity, if we can find the Ordinary, I shall have no Scruples of making you my Wife; and I know the Consequence of having two at a time.

_Lucy_. That you are only to be hang’d, and so get rid of them both.

_Macheath_. I am ready, my dear _Lucy_, to give you Satisfaction—if you think there is any in Marriage.—What can a Man of Honour say more?

_Lucy_. So then, it seems, you are not married to Miss _Polly_.

_Macheath_. You know, _Lucy_, the Girl is prodigiously conceited. No Man can say a civil thing to her, but (like other fine Ladies) her Vanity makes her think he’s her own for ever and ever.

AIR XXVIII. The Sun had loos’d his weary Teams, &c.

_The first time at the Looking-glass_
_The Mother sets her Daughter_,
_The Image strikes the smiling Lass_
_With Self-love ever after_,
_Each time she looks_, _she_, _fonder grown_,
_Thinks ev’ry Charm grows stronger_.
_But alas_, _vain Maid_, _all Eyes but your own_
_Can see you are not younger_.

When Women consider their own Beauties, they are all alike unreasonable in their Demands; for they expect their Lovers should like them as long as they like themselves.

_Lucy_. Yonder is my Father—perhaps this way we may light upon the Ordinary, who shall try if you will be as good as your Word.—For I long to be made an honest Woman.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Peachum _and_ Lockit _with an Account-Book_.

_Lockit_. In this last Affair, Brother _Peachum_, we are agreed. You have consented to go halves in _Macheath_.

_Peachum_. We shall never fall out about an Execution—But as to that Article, pray how stands our last Year’s Account?

_Lockit_. If you will run your Eye over it, you’ll find ’tis fair and clearly stated.

_Peachum_. This long Arrear of the Government is very hard upon us! Can it be expected that we would hang our Acquaintance for nothing, when our Betters will hardly save theirs without being paid for it. Unless the People in Employment pay better, I promise them for the future, I shall let other Rogues live besides their own.

_Lockit_. Perhaps, Brother, they are afraid these Matters may be carried too far. We are treated too by them with Contempt, as if our Profession were not reputable.

_Peachum_. In one respect indeed our Employment may be reckon’d dishonest, because, like Great Statesmen, we encourage those who betray their Friends.

_Lockit_. Such Language, Brother, any where else, might turn to your Prejudice. Learn to be more guarded, I beg you.

AIR XXIX. How happy are we, &c.

_When you censure the Age_,
_Be cautious and sage_,
_Lest the Courtiers offended should be_:
_If you mention Vice or Bribe_,
_’Tis so pat to all the Tribe_;
_Each cries_—_That was levell’d at me_.

_Peachum_. Here’s poor _Ned Clincher’s_ Name, I see. Sure, Brother _Lockit_, there was a little unfair Proceeding in _Ned’s_ Case: for he told me in the Condemn’d Hold, that for Value receiv’d, you had promis’d him a Session or two longer without Molestation.

_Lockit_. Mr. _Peachum_—this is the first time my Honour was ever call’d in Question.

_Peachum_. Business is at an end—if once we act dishonourably.

_Lockit_. Who accuses me?

_Peachum_. You are warm, Brother.

_Lockit_. He that attacks my Honour, attacks my Livelihood.—And this Usage—Sir—is not to be borne.

_Peachum_. Since you provoke me to speak—I must tell you too, that Mrs. _Coaxer_ charges you with defrauding her of her Information-Money, for the apprehending of curl-pated _Hugh_. Indeed, indeed, Brother, we must punctually pay our Spies, or we shall have no Information.

_Lockit_. Is this Language to me, Sirrah,—who have sav’d you from the Gallows, Sirrah!

[_Collaring each other_.

_Peachum_. If I am hang’d, it shall be for ridding the World of an arrant Rascal.

_Lockit_. This Hand shall do the Office of the Halter you deserve, and throttle you—you Dog!—

_Peachum_. Brother, Brother—We are both in the Wrong—We shall be both Losers in the Dispute—for you know we have it in our Power to hang each other. You should not be so passionate.

_Lockit_. Nor you so provoking.

_Peachum_. ’Tis our mutual Interest; ’tis for the Interest of the World we should agree. If I said any thing, Brother, to the Prejudice of your Character, I ask pardon.

_Lockit_. Brother _Peachum_—I can forgive as well as resent.—Give me your Hand. Suspicion does not become a Friend.

_Peachum_. I only meant to give you Occasion to justify yourself: But I must now step home, for I expect the Gentleman about this Snuff-box, that _Filch_ nimm’d two Nights ago in the Park. I appointed him at this Hour.

[_Exit_ Peachum.

_Enter_ Lucy.

_Lockit_. Whence come you, Hussy?

_Lucy_. My Tears might answer that Question.

_Lockit_. You have then been whimpering and fondling, like a Spaniel, over the Fellow that hath abus’d you.

_Lucy_. One can’t help Love; one can’t cure it. ’Tis not in my Power to obey you, and hate him.

_Lockit_. Learn to bear your Husband’s Death like a reasonable Woman. ’Tis not the fashion, now-a-days, so much as to affect Sorrow upon these Occasions. No Woman would ever marry, if she had not the Chance of Mortality for a Release. Act like a Woman of Spirit, Hussy, and thank your Father for what he is doing.

AIR XXX. Of a noble Race was _Shenkin_.

Lucy. _Is then his Fate decreed_, _Sir_?
_Such a Man can I think of quitting_?
_When first we met_, _so moves me yet_,
_O see how my Heart is splitting_!

_Lockit_. Look ye, _Lucy_—There is no saving him.—So, I think, you must ev’n do like other Widows—buy yourself Weeds, and be chearful.

AIR XXXI.

_You’ll think ere many Days ensue_
_This Sentence not severe_;
_I hang your Husband_, _Child_, _’tis true_,
_But with him hang your Care_.
_Twang dang dillo dee_.

Like a good Wife, go moan over your dying Husband. That, Child is your Duty—Consider, Girl, you can’t have the Man and the Money too—so make yourself as easy as you can, by getting all you can from him.

[_Exit_ Lockit.

_Enter_ Macheath.

_Lucy_. Though the Ordinary was out of the way to-day, I hope, my Dear, you will, upon the first Opportunity, quiet my Scruples—Oh Sir! my Father’s hard heart is not to be soften’d, and I am in the utmost Despair.

_Macheath_. But if I could raise a small Sum—Would not twenty Guineas, think you, move him?—Of all the Arguments in the way of Business, the Perquisite is the most prevailing—Your Father’s Perquisites for the Escape of Prisoners must amount to a considerable Sum in the Year. Money well tim’d, and properly apply’d, will do any thing.

AIR XXXII. _London_ Ladies.

_If you at an Office solicit your Due_,
_And would not have Matters neglected_;
_You must quicken the Clerk with the Perquisite too_,
_To do what his Duty directed_.

_Or would you the Frowns of a Lady prevent_,
_She too has this palpable Failing_,
_The Perquisite softens her into Consent_;
_That Reason with all is prevailing_.

_Lucy_. What Love or Money can do shall be done: for all my Comfort depends upon your Safety.

_Enter_ Polly.

_Polly_. Where is my dear Husband?—Was a Rope ever intended for this Neck!—O let me throw my Arms about it, and throttle thee with Love!—Why dost thou turn away from me?—’Tis thy _Polly_—’Tis thy Wife.

_Macheath_. Was ever such an unfortunate Rascal as I am!

_Lucy_. Was there ever such another Villain!

_Polly_. O _Macheath_! was it for this we parted? Taken! Imprisoned! Try’d! Hang’d—cruel Reflection! I’ll stay with thee ’till Death—no Force shall tear thy dear Wife from thee now.—What means my Love?—Not one kind Word! not one kind Look! think what thy _Polly_ suffers to see thee in this Condition.

AIR XXXIII. All in the Downs, &c.

_Thus when the Swallow seeking Prey_,
_Within the Sash is closely pent_,
_His Consort_, _with bemoaning Lay_,
_Without sits pining for th’ Event_.
_Her chatt’ring Lovers all around her skim_;
_She heeds them not_ (_poor Bird_!) _her Soul’s with him_.

_Macheath_. [_Aside_.] I must disown her. [_Aloud_.] The Wench is distracted.

_Lucy_. Am I then bilk’d of my Virtue? Can I have no Reparation? Sure Men were born to lie, and Women to believe them! O Villain! Villain!

_Polly_. Am I not thy Wife?—Thy Neglect of me, thy Aversion to me too severely proves it.—Look on me.—Tell me, am I not thy Wife?

_Lucy_. Perfidious Wretch!

_Polly_. Barbarous Husband!

_Lucy_. Hadst thou been hang’d five Months ago, I had been happy.

_Polly_. And I too—If you had been kind to me ’till Death, it would not have vexed me—And that’s no very unreasonable Request, (though from a Wife) to a Man who hath not above seven or eight Days to live.

_Lucy_. Art thou then married to another? Hast thou two Wives, Monster?

_Macheath_. If Women’s Tongues can cease for an Answer—hear me.

_Lucy_. I won’t.—Flesh and Blood can’t bear my Usage.

_Polly_. Shall I not claim my own? Justice bids me speak.

AIR XXXIV. Have you heard of a frolicksome Ditty, &c.

Macheath. _How happy could I be with either_,
_Were t’other dear Charmer away_!
_But while you thus teaze me together_,
_To neither a Word will I say_;
_But tol de rol_, &c.

_Polly_. Sure, my Dear, there ought to be some Preference shewn to a Wife! At least she may claim the Appearance of it. He must be distracted with his Misfortunes, or he could not use me thus.

_Lucy_. O Villain, Villain! thou hast deceiv’d me—I could even inform against thee with Pleasure. Not a Prude wishes more heartily to have Facts against her intimate Acquaintance, than I now wish to have Facts against thee. I would have her Satisfaction, and they should all out.

AIR XXXV. _Irish_ Trot.

Polly. _I am bubbled_.

Lucy. . . . _I’m bubbled_.

Polly. _O how I am troubled_!

Lucy. _Bambouzled_, _and bit_!

Polly. . . . _My Distresses are doubled_.

Lucy. _When you come to the Tree_, _should the Hangman refuse_,
_These Fingers_, _with Pleasure_, _could fasten the
Noose_.

Polly. I’m bubbled, &c.

_Macheath_. Be pacified, my dear _Lucy_—This is all a Fetch of _Polly’s_, to make me desperate with you in case I get off. If I am hang’d, she would fain have the Credit of being thought my Widow—Really, _Polly_, this is no time for a Dispute of this sort; for whenever you are talking of Marriage, I am thinking of Hanging.

_Polly_. And hast thou the Heart to persist in disowning me?

_Macheath_. And hast thou the Heart to persist in persuading me that I am married? Why, _Polly_, dost thou seek to aggravate my Misfortunes?

_Lucy_. Really, Miss _Peachum_, you but expose yourself. Besides, ’tis barbarous in you to worry a Gentleman in his Circumstances.

AIR XXXVI.

Polly. _Cease your Funning_;
_Force or Cunning_
_Never shall my Heart trapan_.
_All these Sallies_
_Are but Malice_
_To seduce my constant Man_.
_’Tis most certain_,
_By their flirting_
_Women oft’ have Envy shown_.
_Pleas’d_, _to ruin_
_Others wooing_;
_Never happy in their own_.

_Polly_. Decency, Madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some Reserve with the Husband, while his Wife is present.

_Macheath_. But seriously, _Polly_, this is carrying the Joke a little too far.

_Lucy_. If you are determin’d, Madam, to raise a Disturbance in the Prison, I shall be obliged to send for the Turnkey to shew you the Door. I am sorry, Madam, you force me to be so ill-bred.

_Polly_. Give me leave to tell you, Madam: These forward Airs don’t become you in the least, Madam. And my Duty, Madam, obliges me to stay with my Husband, Madam.

AIR XXXVII. Good-morrow, Gossip _Joan_.

Lucy. _Why how now_, _Madam_ Flirt?
_If you thus must chatter_;
_And are for flinging Dirt_,
_Let’s try who best can spatter_;
_Madam_ Flirt.

Polly. _Why how now_, _saucy Jade_;
_Sure the Wench is tipsy_!
_How can you see me made_ [To him.]
_The Scoff of such a Gipsy_?
_Saucy Jade_! [To her.]

_Enter_ Peachum.

_Peachum_. Where’s my Wench? Ah Hussy! Hussy!—Come you home, you Slut; and when your Fellow is hang’d, hang yourself, to make your Family some Amends.

_Polly_. Dear, dear Father, do not tear me from him—I must speak; I have more to say to him—Oh! twist thy Fetters about me, that he may not haul me from thee!

_Peachum_. Sure all Women are alike! If ever they commit the Folly, they are sure to commit another by exposing themselves—Away—Not a Word more—You are my Prisoner, now, Hussy.

AIR XXXVIII. _Irish_ Howl.

Polly. _No Power on Earth can e’er divide_
_The Knot that sacred Love hath ty’d_.
_When Parents draw against our Mind_,
_The True-Love’s Knot they faster bind_.
_Oh_, _oh ray_, _oh Amborah_—_oh_, _oh_, &c.

[Holding _Macheath_, _Peachum_ pulling her.

SCENE III. The Same.

Lucy, Macheath.

_Macheath_. I am naturally compassionate, Wife; so that I could not use the Wench as she deserv’d; which made you at first suspect there was something in what she said.

_Lucy_. Indeed, my Dear, I was strangely puzzled.

_Macheath_. If that had been the Case, her Father would never have brought me into this Circumstance—No, _Lucy_,—I had rather die than be false to thee.

_Lucy_. How happy am I, if you say this from your Heart! For I love thee so, that I could sooner bear to see thee hang’d than in the Arms of another.

_Macheath_. But could’st thou bear to see me hang’d?

_Lucy_. O _Macheath_, I can never live to see that Day.

_Macheath_. You see, _Lucy_; in the Account of Love you are in my Debt, and you must now be convinc’d, that I rather choose to die than be another’s.—Make me, if possible, love thee more, and let me owe my Life to thee—If you refuse to assist me, _Peachum_ and your Father will immediately put me beyond all means of Escape.

_Lucy_. My Father, I know, hath been drinking hard with the Prisoners: and I fancy he is now taking his Nap in his own Room—If I can procure the Keys, shall I go off with thee, my Dear?

_Macheath_. If we are together, ’twill be impossible to lie conceal’d. As soon as the Search begins to be a little cool, I will send to thee—’Till then my Heart is thy Prisoner.

_Lucy_. Come then, my dear Husband—owe thy Life to me—and though you love me not—be grateful,—but that _Polly_ runs in my Head strangely.

_Macheath_. A moment of Time may make us unhappy for ever.

AIR XXXIX. The Lass of _Patie’s_ Mill, &c.

Lucy. _I like the Fox shall grieve_,
_Whose Mate hath left her Side_,
_Whom Hounds from Morn to Eve_,
_Chase o’er the Country wide_.
_Where can my Lover hide_?
_Where cheat the wary Pack_?
_If Love be not his Guide_,
_He never will come back_!

[_Exeunt_.