Chapter IV: Act III: Scene I

Scene, _Newgate_.

Lockit, Lucy.

_Lockit_. To be sure, Wench, you must have been aiding and abetting to help him to this Escape.

_Lucy_. Sir, here hath been _Peachum_ and his Daughter _Polly_, and to be sure they know the Ways of _Newgate_ as well as if they had been born and bred in the Place all their Lives. Why must all your Suspicion light upon me?

_Lockit_. _Lucy_, _Lucy_, I will have none of these shuffling Answers.

_Lucy_. Well then—If I know any thing of him I wish I may be burnt!

_Lockit_. Keep your Temper, _Lucy_, or I shall pronounce you guilty.

_Lucy_. Keep yours, Sir,—I do wish I may be burnt. I do—And what can I say more to convince you?

_Lockit_. Did he tip handsomly?—How much did he come down with? Come, Hussy, don’t cheat your Father; and I shall not be angry with you—Perhaps, you have made a better Bargain with him than I could have done—How much, my good Girl?

_Lucy_. You know, Sir, I am fond of him, and would have given Money to have kept him with me.

_Lockit_. Ah _Lucy_! thy Education might have put thee more upon thy Guard; for a Girl in the Bar of an Ale-house is always besieg’d.

_Lucy_. Dear Sir, mention not my Education—for ’twas to that I owe my Ruin.

AIR XL. If Love’s a sweet Passion, &c.

_When young at the Bar you first taught me to score_,
_And bid me be free of my Lips_, _and no more_;
_I was kiss’d by the Parson_, _the Squire_, _and the Sot_,
_When the Guest was departed_, _the Kiss was forgot_.
_But his Kiss was so sweet_, _and so closely he prest_,
_That I languish’d and pin’d till I granted the rest_.

If you can forgive me, Sir, I will make a fair Confession, for to be sure he hath been a most barbarous Villain to me.

_Lockit_. And so you have let him escape, Hussy—Have you?

_Lucy_. When a Woman loves; a kind Look, a tender Word can persuade her to any thing—And I could ask no other Bribe.

_Lockit_. Thou wilt always be a vulgar Slut, _Lucy_.—If you would not be look’d upon as a Fool, you should never do any thing but upon the foot of Interest. Those that act otherwise are their own Bubbles.

_Lucy_. But Love, Sir, is a Misfortune that may happen to the most discreet Women, and in Love we are all Fools alike—Notwithstanding all he swore, I am now fully convinc’d that _Polly Peachum_ is actually his Wife.—Did I let him escape, (Fool that I was!) to go to her?—_Polly_ will wheedle herself into his Money, and then _Peachum_ will hang him, and cheat us both.

_Lockit_. So I am to be ruin’d, because, forsooth, you must be in Love!—a very pretty Excuse!

_Lucy_. I could murder that impudent happy Strumpet:—I gave him his Life, and that Creature enjoys the Sweets of it.—Ungrateful _Macheath_!

AIR XLI. _South-Sea_ Ballad.

_My Love is all Madness and Folly_,
_Alone I lie_,
_Toss_, _tumble_, _and cry_,
_What a happy Creature is Polly_!
_Was e’er such a Wretch as I_!
_With rage I redden like Scarlet_,
_That my dear inconstant Varlet_,
_Stark blind to my Charms_,
_Is lost in the Arms_
_Of that Jilt_, _that inveigling Harlot_!
_Stark blind to my Charms_,
_Is lost in the Arms_
_Of that Jilt_, _that inveigling Harlot_!
_This_, _this my Resentment alarms_.

_Lockit_. And so, after all this Mischief, I must stay here to be entertain’d with your Catterwauling, Mrs. Puss!—Out of my Sight, wanton Strumpet! you shall fast and mortify yourself into Reason, with now and then a little handsom Discipline to bring you to your Senses.—Go.

[_Exit_ Lucy.

_Peachum_ then intends to outwit me in this Affair; but I’ll be even with him.—The Dog is leaky in his Liquor, so I’ll ply him that way, get the Secret from him, and turn this Affair to my own Advantage.—Lions, Wolves, and Vultures don’t live together in Herds, Droves or Flocks.—Of all Animals of Prey, Man is the only sociable one. Every one of us preys upon his Neighbour, and yet we herd together.—_Peachum_ is my Companion, my Friend.—According to the Custom of the World, indeed, he may quote thousands of Precedents for cheating me—And shall not I make use of the Privilege of Friendship to make him a Return.

AIR XLII. _Packington’s_ Pound.

_Thus Gamesters united in Friendship are found_,
_Though they know that their Industry all is a Cheat_;
_They flock to their Prey at the Dice-Box’s Sound_,
_And join to promote one another’s Deceit_.
_But if by mishap_
_They fail of a Chap_,
_To keep in their Hands_, _they each other entrap_.
_Like Pikes_, _lank with Hunger_, _who miss of their Ends_,
_They bite their Companions_, _and prey on their Friends_.

Now, _Peachum_, you and I, like honest Tradesmen, are to have a fair Trial which of us two can over-reach the other.

SCENE II. _A Gaming-House_.

Macheath _in a fine tarnish’d Coat_, Ben Budge, Matt of the Mint.

_Macheath_. I am sorry, Gentlemen, the Road was so barren of Money. When my Friends are in Difficulties, I am always glad that my Fortune can be serviceable to them. [_Gives them Money_.] You see, Gentlemen, I am not a mere Court Friend, who professes every thing and will do nothing.

AIR XLIII. Lillibullero.

_The Modes of the Court so common are grown_,
_That a true Friend can hardly be met_;
_Friendship for Interest is but a Loan_,
_Which they let out for what they can get_.
_’Tis true_, _you find_
_Some Friends so kind_,
_Who will give you good Counsel themselves to defend_.
_In sorrowful Ditty_,
_They promise_, _they pity_,
_But shift for your Money_, _from Friend to Friend_.

But we, Gentlemen, have still Honour enough to break through the Corruptions of the World.—And while I can serve you, you may command me.

_Ben_. It grieves my Heart that so generous a Man should be involv’d in such Difficulties, as oblige him to live with such ill Company, and herd with Gamesters.

_Matt_. See the Partiality of Mankind!—One Man may steal a Horse, better than another look over a Hedge.—Of all Mechanics, of all servile Handicrafts-men, a Gamester is the vilest. But yet, as many of the Quality are of the Profession, he is admitted amongst the politest Company. I wonder we are not more respected.

_Macheath_. There will be deep Play to-night at _Mary-bone_, and consequently Money may be pick’d up upon the Road. Meet me there, and I’ll give you the Hint who is worth Setting.

_Matt_. The Fellow with a brown Coat with a narrow Gold Binding, I am told, is never without Money.

_Macheath_. What do you mean, _Matt_?—Sure you will not think of meddling with him!—He’s a good honest kind of a Fellow, and one of us.

_Ben_. To be sure, Sir, we will put ourselves under your Direction.

_Macheath_. Have an Eye upon the Money-Lenders.—A _Rouleau_, or two, would prove a pretty sort of an Expedition. I hate Extortion.

_Matt_. Those Rouleaus are very pretty Things.—I hate your Bank Bills.—There is such a Hazard in putting them off.

_Macheath_. There is a certain Man of Distinction, who in his Time hath nick’d me out of a great deal of the Ready. He is in my Cash, Ben;—I’ll point him out to you this Evening, and you shall draw upon him for the Debt.—The Company are met; I hear the Dice-Box in the other Room. So, Gentlemen, your Servant. You’ll meet me at _Mary-bone_.

SCENE III. Peachum’s _Lock_.

_A Table with Wine_, _Brandy_, _Pipes and Tobacco_.

Peachum, Lockit.

_Lockit_. The Coronation Account, Brother _Peachum_, is of so intricate a nature, that I believe it will never be settled.

_Peachum_. It consists indeed of a great Variety of Articles.—It was worth to our People, in Fees of different kinds, above ten Instalments.—This is part of the Account, Brother, that lies open before us.

_Lockit_. A Lady’s Tail of rich Brocade:—that, I see, is dispos’d of.

_Peachum_. To Mrs. _Diana Trapes_, the Tally-Woman, and she will make a good Hand on’t in Shoes and Slippers, to trick out young Ladies, upon their going into Keeping.—

_Lockit_. But I don’t see any Article of the Jewels.

_Peachum_. Those are so well known that they must be sent abroad—You’ll find them enter’d under the Article of Exportation.—As for the Snuff-Boxes, Watches, Swords, &c.—I thought it best to enter them under their several Heads.

_Lockit_. Seven and twenty Women’s Pockets complete; with the several things therein contain’d; all Seal’d, Number’d, and Enter’d.

_Peachum_. But, Brother, it is impossible for us now to enter upon this Affair,—We should have the whole Day before us.—Besides, the Account of the last Half Year’s Plate is in a Book by itself, which lies at the other Office.

_Lockit_. Bring us then more Liquor—To-day shall be for Pleasure—To-morrow for Business—Ah, Brother, those Daughters of ours are two slippery Hussies—Keep a watchful Eye upon _Polly_, and _Macheath_ in a Day or two shall be our own again.

AIR XLIV. Down in the North Country, &c.

Lockit. _What Gudgeons are we Men_!
_Ev’ry Woman’s easy Prey_.
_Though we have felt the Hook_, _agen_
_We bite and they betray_.

_The Bird that hath been trapt_,
_When he hears his calling Mate_,
_To her he flies_, _again he’s clapt_
_Within the wiry Grate_.

_Peachum_. But what signifies catching the Bird, if your Daughter _Lucy_ will set open the Door of the Cage?

_Lockit_. If men were answerable for the Follies and Frailties of their Wives and Daughters, no Friends could keep a good Correspondence together for two Days.—This in unkind of you, Brother; for among good Friends, what they say or do goes for nothing.

_Enter a Servant_.

_Servant_. Sir, here’s Mrs. _Diana Trapes_ wants to speak with you.

_Peachum_. Shall we admit her, Brother _Lockit_?

_Lockit_. By all means,—She’s a good Customer, and a fine-spoken Woman—And a Woman who drinks and talks so freely, will enliven the Conversation.

_Peachum_. Desire her to walk in.

[_Exit Servant_.

Peachum, Lockit, _Mrs._ Trapes.

_Peachum_. Dear Mrs. _Dye_, your Servant—One may know by your Kiss, that your Ginn is excellent.

_Mrs. Trapes_. I was always very curious in my Liquors.

_Lockit_. There is no perfum’d Breath like it—I have been long acquainted with the Flavour of those Lips—Han’t I, Mrs. _Dye_.

_Mrs. Trapes_. Fill it up—I take as large Draughts of Liquor, as I did of Love.—I hate a Flincher in either.

AIR XLV. A Shepherd kept Sheep, &c.

_In the Days of my Youth I could bill like a Dove_, fa, la, la, &c.
_Like a Sparrow at all times was ready for Love_, fa, la, la, &c.
_The Life of all Mortals in Kissing should pass_,
_Lip to Lip while we’re young_—_then the Lip to the Glass_, fa, la,
&c.

But now, Mr. _Peachum_, to our Business.—If you have Blacks of any kind, brought in of late; Mantoes—Velvet Scarfs—Petticoats—Let it be what it will—I am your Chap—for all my Ladies are very fond of Mourning.

_Peachum_. Why, look ye, Mrs. _Dye_—you deal so hard with us, that we can afford to give the Gentlemen, who venture their Lives for the Goods, little or nothing.

_Mrs. Trapes_. The hard Times oblige me to go very near in my Dealing.—To be sure, of late Years I have been a great Sufferer by the Parliament.—Three thousand Pounds would hardly make me amends.—The Act for destroying the Mint, was a severe Cut upon our Business—’Till then, if a Customer stept out of the way—we knew where to have her—No doubt you know Mrs. _Coaxer_—there’s a Wench now (’till to-day) with a good Suit of Clothes of mine upon her Back, and I could never set Eyes upon her for three Months together.—Since the Act too against Imprisonment for small Sums, my Loss there too hath been very considerable, and it must be so, when a Lady can borrow a handsom Petticoat, or a clean Gown, and I not have the least Hank upon her! And, o’ my Conscience, now-a-days most Ladies take a Delight in cheating, when they can do it with Safety.

_Peachum_. Madam, you had a handsom Gold Watch of us ’tother Day for seven Guineas.—Considering we must have our Profit.—To a Gentleman upon the Road, a Gold Watch will be scarce worth the taking.

_Mrs. Trapes_. Consider, Mr. _Peachum_, that Watch was remarkable, and not of very safe Sale.—If you have any black Velvet Scarfs—they are a handsom Winter-wear, and take with most Gentlemen who deal with my Customers.—’Tis I that put the Ladies upon a good Foot. ’Tis not Youth or Beauty that fixes their Price. The Gentlemen always pay according to their Dress, from half a Crown to two Guineas; and yet those Hussies make nothing of bilking of me.—Then too, allowing for Accidents.—I have eleven fine Customers now down under the Surgeon’s Hands—what with Fees and other Expenses, there are great Goings-out, and no Comings in, and not a Farthing to pay for at least a Month’s Clothing.—We run great Risques—great Risques indeed.

_Peachum_. As I remember, you said something just now of Mrs. _Coaxer_.

_Mrs. Trapes_. Yes, Sir.—To be sure I stript her of a Suit of my own Clothes about two Hours ago; and have left her as she should be, in her Shift, with a Lover of hers at my House. She call’d him up Stairs, as he was going to _Mary-bone_ in a Hackney Coach.—And I hope, for her own sake and mine, she will persuade the Captain to redeem her, for the Captain is very generous to the Ladies.

_Lockit_. What Captain?

_Mrs. Trapes_. He thought I did not know him—An intimate Acquaintance of yours, Mr. _Peachum_—Only Captain _Macheath_—as fine as a Lord.

_Peachum_. To-morrow, dear Mrs. _Dye_, you shall set your own Price upon any of the Goods you like—We have at least half a Dozen Velvet Scarfs, and all at your Service. Will you give me leave to make you a Present of this Suit of Night-clothes for your own wearing?—But are you sure it is Captain _Macheath_.

_Mrs. Trapes_. Though he thinks I have forgot him; no body knows him better. I have taken a great deal of the Captain’s Money in my Time at second-hand, for he always lov’d to have his Ladies well drest.

_Peachum_. Mr. _Lockit_ and I have a little Business with the Captain;—You understand me—and we will satisfy you for Mrs. _Coaxer’s_ Debt.

_Lockit_. Depend upon it—we will deal like Men of Honour.

_Mrs. Trapes_. I don’t enquire after your Affairs—so whatever happens, I wash my Hands on’t—It hath always been my Maxim, that one Friend should assist another—But if you please—I’ll take one of the Scarfs home with me. ’Tis always good to have something in Hand.

SCENE IV. _Newgate_.

_Lucy_. Jealousy, Rage, Love and Fear are at once tearing me to pieces, How I am weather-beaten and shatter’d with Distresses!

AIR XLVI. One Evening, having lost my Way, &c.

_I’m like a Skiff on the Ocean tost_,
_Now high_, _now low_, _with each Billow born_,
_With her Rudder broke_, _and her Anchor lost_,
_Deserted and all forlorn_.
_While thus I lie rolling and tossing all Night_,
_That Polly lies sporting on Seas of Delight_!
_Revenge_, _Revenge_, _Revenge_,
_Shall appease my restless Spirit_.

I have the Rats-bane ready.—I run no Risque; for I can lay her Death upon the Ginn, and so many die of that naturally that I shall never be call’d in question.—But say, I were to be hang’d.—I never could be hang’d for any thing that would give me greater Comfort, than the poisoning that Slut.

_Enter_ Filch.

_Filch_. Madam, here’s Miss _Polly_ come to wait upon you.

_Lucy_. Show her in.

_Enter_ Polly.

Dear Madam, your Servant.—I hope you will pardon my Passion, when I was so happy to see you last.—I was so over-run with the Spleen, that I was perfectly out of myself. And really when one hath the Spleen, every thing is to be excus’d by a Friend.

AIR XLVII. Now _Roger_, I’ll tell thee because thou ’rt my Son.

_When a Wife’s in her Pout_,
(_As she’s sometimes_, _no doubt_;)
_The good Husband as meek as a Lamb_,
_Her Vapours to still_,
_First grants her her Will_,
_And the quieting Draught is a Dram_. _Poor Man_!
_And the quieting Draught is a Dram_.

—I wish all our Quarrels might have so comfortable a Reconciliation.

_Polly_. I have no Excuse for my own Behaviour, Madam, but my Misfortunes.—And really, Madam, I suffer too upon your Account.

_Lucy_. But, Miss _Polly_—in the way of Friendship, will you give me leave to propose a Glass of Cordial to you?

_Polly_. Strong-Waters are apt to give me the Head-ache—I hope, Madam, you will excuse me.

_Lucy_. Not the greatest Lady in the Land could have better in her Closet, for her own private drinking.—You seem mighty low in Spirits, my Dear.

_Polly_. I am sorry, Madam, my Health will not allow me to accept of your Offer.—I should not have left you in the rude manner I did when we met last, Madam, had not my Papa haul’d me away so unexpectedly—I was indeed somewhat provok’d, and perhaps might use some Expressions that were disrespectful.—But really, Madam, the Captain treated me with so much Contempt and Cruelty, that I deserv’d your Pity, rather than your Resentment.

_Lucy_. But since his Escape, no doubt all Matters are made up again.—Ah _Polly_! _Polly_! ’tis I am the unhappy Wife; and he loves you as if you were only his Mistress.

_Polly_. Sure, Madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your Jealousy.—A Man is always afraid of a Woman who loves him too well—so that I must expect to be neglected and avoided.

_Lucy_. Then our Cases, my dear _Polly_, are exactly alike. Both of us indeed have been too fond.

AIR XLVIII. O _Bessy Bell_.

Polly. _A Curse attend that Woman’s Love_,
_Who always would be pleasing_.

Lucy. _The Pertness of the billing Dove_,
_Like Tickling_, _is but teazing_.

Polly. _What then in Love can Woman do_:

Lucy. _If we grow fond they shun us_.

Polly. _And when we fly them_, _they pursue_:

Lucy. _But leave us when they’ve won us_.

_Lucy_. Love is so very whimsical in both Sexes, that it is impossible to be lasting.—But my Heart is particular, and contradicts my own Observation.

_Polly_. But really, Mistress _Lucy_, by his last Behaviour, I think I ought to envy you.—When I was forc’d from him, he did not shew the least Tenderness.—But perhaps, he hath a Heart not capable of it.

AIR XLIX. Would Fate to me _Belinda_ give.

_Among the Men_, _Coquettes we find_,
_Who court by turns all Woman-kind_;
_And we grant all their Hearts desir’d_,
_When they are flatter’d_, _and admir’d_.

The Coquettes of both Sexes are Self-lovers, and that is a Love no other whatever can dispossess. I hear, my dear _Lucy_, our Husband is one of those.

_Lucy_. Away with these melancholy Reflections,—indeed, my dear _Polly_, we are both of us a Cup too low—Let me prevail upon you to accept of my Offer.

AIR L. Come, sweet Lass.

_Come_, _sweet Lass_,
_Let’s banish Sorrow_
_’Till To-morrow_;
_Come_, _sweet Lass_,
_Let’s take a chirping Glass_.
_Wine can clear_
_The Vapours of Despair_
_And make us light as Air_;
_Then drink_, _and banish Care_.

I can’t bear, Child, to see you in such low Spirits.—And I must persuade you to what I know will do you good. [_Aside_.] I shall now soon be even with the hypocrytical Strumpet.

[_Exit_.

_Polly_. All this Wheedling of _Lucy_ cannot be for nothing.—At this time too! when I know she hates me!—The Dissembling of a Woman is always the Forerunner of Mischief.—By pouring Strong-Waters down my Throat, she thinks to pump some Secrets out of me,—I’ll be upon my Guard, and won’t taste a Drop of her Liquor, I’m resolv’d.

_Re-enter_ Lucy, _with Strong-Waters_.

_Lucy_. Come, Miss _Polly_.

_Polly_. Indeed, Child, you have given yourself trouble to no purpose.—You must, my Dear, excuse me.

_Lucy_. Really, Miss _Polly_, you are as squeamishly affected about taking a Cup of Strong-Waters as a Lady before Company. I vow, _Polly_, I shall take it monstrously ill if you refuse me.—Brandy and Men (though Women love them ever so well) are always taken by us with some Reluctance—unless ’tis in private.

_Polly_. I protest, Madam, it goes against me.—What do I see! _Macheath_ again in Custody!—Now every Glimm’ring of Happiness is lost.

[_Drops the Glass of Liquor on the Ground_.

_Lucy_. Since things are thus, I’m glad the Wench hath escap’d: for by this Event, ’tis plain, she was not happy enough to deserve to be poison’d.

_Enter_ Lockit, Macheath, Peachum.

_Lockit_. Set your Heart to rest, Captain.—You have neither the Chance of Love or Money for another Escape,—for you are order’d to be call’d down upon your Trial immediately.

_Peachum_. Away, Hussies!—This is not a Time for a Man to be hamper’d with his Wives.—You see, the Gentleman is in Chains already.

_Lucy_. O Husband, Husband, my Heart long’d to see thee; but to see thee thus distracts me?

_Polly_. Will not my dear Husband look upon his _Polly_? Why hadst thou not flown to me for Protection? with me thou hadst been safe.

AIR LI. The last time I went o’er the Moor.

Polly. _Hither_, _dear Husband_, _turn your Eyes_.

Lucy. _Bestow one Glance to cheer me_.

Polly. _Think with that Look_, _thy_ Polly _dies_.

Lucy. _O shun me not_—_but hear me_.

Polly. _’Tis Polly sues_.

Lucy. —_’Tis Lucy speaks_.

Polly. _Is thus true Love requited_?

Lucy. _My Heart is bursting_.

Polly. —_Mine too breaks_.

Lucy. _Must I_

Polly. —_Must I be slighted_?

_Macheath_. What would you have me say, Ladies?—You see this affair will soon be at an end, without my disobliging either of you.

_Peachum_. But the settling this Point, Captain, might prevent a Law-Suit between your two Widows.

AIR LII. _Tom Tinker’s_ my true Love.

Macheath. _Which way shall I turn me_—_How can I decide_?
_Wives_, _the Day of our Death_, _are as fond as
a Bride_.
_One Wife is too much for most Husbands to hear_,
_But two at a time there’s no mortal can bear_.
_This way_, _and that way_, _and which way I
will_,
_What would comfort the one_, _t’ other Wife
would take ill_.

_Polly_. But if his own Misfortunes have made him insensible to mine—A Father sure will be more compassionate—Dear, dear Sir, sink the material Evidence, and bring him off at his Trial—_Polly_ upon her Knees begs it of you.

AIR LIII. I am a poor Shepherd undone.

_When my Heroe in Court appears_,
_And stands arraign’d for his Life_;
_Then think of poor_ Polly’s _Tears_;
_For Ah_! _poor_ Polly’s _his Wife_.
_Like the Sailor he holds up his hand_,
_Distrest on the dashing Wave_.
_To die a dry Death at Land_,
_Is as bad as a watery Grave_.
_And alas_, _poor_ Polly!
_Alack_, _and well-a-day_!
_Before I was in Love_,
_Oh_! _every Month was_ May.

_Lucy_. If _Peachum’s_ Heart is harden’d; sure you, Sir, will have more Compassion on a Daughter.—I know the Evidence is in your Power.—How then can you be a Tyrant to me?

[_Kneeling_.

AIR LIV. _Ianthe_ the lovely, &c.

_When he holds up his Hand arraign’d for his Life_,
_O think of your Daughter_, _and think I’m his Wife_!
_What are Canons_, _or Bombs_, _or clashing of Swords_?
_For Death is more certain by Witnesses Words_.
_Then nail up their Lips_; _that dread Thunder allay_;
_And each Month of my Life will hereafter be May_.

_Lockit_. _Macheath’s_ Time is come, _Lucy_.—We know our own Affairs, therefore let us have no more Whimpering or Whining.

AIR LV. A Cobler there was, &c.

_Ourselves_, _like the Great_, _to secure a Retreat_,
_When Matters require it_, _must give up our Gang_:
_And good reason why_,
_Or_, _instead of the Fry_,
_Ev’n_ Peachum _and I_.
_Like poor petty Rascals_, _might hang_, _hang_;
_Like poor petty Rascals_, _might hang_.

_Peachum_. Set your Heart at rest, _Polly_.—Your Husband is to die to-day.—Therefore if you are not already provided, ’tis high time to look about for another. There’s Comfort for you, you Slut.

_Lockit_. We are ready, Sir, to conduct you to the _Old Baily_.

AIR LVI. Bonny _Dundee_.

Macheath. _The Charge is prepar’d_; _the Lawyers are met_,
_The Judges all rang’d_ (_a terrible Show_!)
_I go_, _undismay’d_.—_For Death is a Debt_,
_A Debt on Demand_.—_So take what I owe_.
_Then farewell_, _my Love_—_Dear Charmers_,
_adieu_.
_Contented I die_—_’Tis the better for you_.
_Here ends all Disputes the rest of our Lives_,
_For this way at once I please all my Wives_.

Now, Gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.

[_Exeunt_ Macheath, Lockit, _and_ Peachum.

_Enter_ Filch.

_Polly_. Follow them, _Filch_, to the Court. And when the Trial is over, bring me a particular Account of his Behaviour, and of every thing that happen’d—You’ll find me here with Miss _Lucy_. [_Exit_ Filch.] But why is all this Musick?

_Lucy_. The Prisoners, whose Trials are put off ’till next Session, are diverting themselves.

_Polly_. Sure there is nothing so charming as Music! I’m fond of it to Distraction!—But alas!—now, all Mirth seems an Insult upon my Affliction.—Let us retire, my dear _Lucy_, and indulge our Sorrows.—The noisy Crew, you see, are coming upon us.

[_Exeunt_.

_A Dance of Prisoners in Chains_, &c.

SCENE V. _The_ Condemn’d Hold.

Macheath, _in a melancholy Posture_.

AIR LVII. Happy Groves.

_O cruel_, _cruel_, _cruel Case_!
_Must I suffer this Disgrace_?

AIR LVIII. Of all the Girls that are so smart.

_Of all the Friends in time of Grief_,
_When threatning Death looks grimmer_,
_Not one so sure can bring Relief_,
_As this best Friend_, _a Brimmer_.

[Drinks.

AIR LIX. _Britons_ strike home.

_Since I must swing_,—_I scorn_, _I scorn to wince or whine_.

[Rises.

AIR LX. Chevy Chase.

_But now again my Spirits sink_;
_I’ll raise them high with Wine_.

[Drinks a Glass of Wine.

AIR LXI. To old Sir _Simon_ the King.

_But Valour the stronger grows_,
_The stronger Liquor we’er drinking_;
_And how can we feel our Woes_,
_When we’ve lost the Trouble of Thinking_?

[Drinks.

AIR LXII. Joy to Great _Cæsar_.

_If thus_—_A Man can die_
_Much bolder with Brandy_.

[Pours out a Bumper of Brandy.

AIR LXIII. There was an old Woman.

_So I drink off this Bumper_.—_And now I can stand the Test_,
_And my Comrades shall see_, _that I die as brave as the Best_.

[Drinks.

AIR LXIV. Did you ever hear of a gallant Sailor.

_But can I leave my pretty Hussies_,
_Without one Tear_, _or tender Sigh_?

AIR LXV. Why are mine Eyes still flowing.

_Their Eyes_, _their Lips_, _their Busses_
_Recall my Love_,—_Ah must I die_!

AIR LXVI. Green Sleeves.

_Since Laws were made for ev’ry Degree_,
_To curb Vice in others_, _as well as me_,
_I wonder we han’t better Company_,
_Upon_ Tyburn_ Tree_!
_But Gold from Law can take out the Sting_;
_And if rich Men like us were to swing_,
_’Twou’d thin the Land_, _such Numbers to string_
_Upon_ Tyburn_ Tree_!

_Jailor_. Some Friends of yours, Captain, desire to be admitted—I leave you together.

_Enter_ Ben Budge, Matt of the Mint.

_Macheath_. For my having broke Prison, you see, Gentlemen, I am order’d immediate Execution.—The Sheriff’s Officers, I believe, are now at the Door.—That _Jemmy Twitcher_ should peach me, I own surpris’d me!—’Tis a plain Proof that the World is all alike, and that even our Gang can no more trust one another than other People. Therefore, I beg you, Gentlemen, look well to yourselves, for in all probability you may live some Months longer.

_Matt_. We are heartily sorry, Captain, for your Misfortune.—But ’tis what we must all come to.

_Macheath_. _Peachum_ and _Lockit_, you know, are infamous Scoundrels. Their Lives are as much in your Power, as yours are in theirs.—Remember your dying Friend!—’Tis my last Request.—Bring those Villains to the Gallows before you, and I am satisfied.

_Matt_. We’ll do’t.

_Jailor_. Miss _Polly_ and Miss _Lucy_ intreat a Word with you.

_Macheath_. Gentlemen, adieu.

[_Exeunt_ Ben Budge _and_ Matt.

Enter _Lucy_ and _Polly_.

_Macheath_. My dear _Lucy_—My dear _Polly_—Whatsoever hath pass’d between us is now at an end—If you are fond of marrying again, the best Advice I can give you, is to Ship yourselves off for the _West-Indies_, where you’ll have a fair Chance of getting a Husband a-piece, or by good Luck, two or three, as you like best.

_Polly_. How can I support this Sight!

_Lucy_. There is nothing moves one so much as a great Man in Distress.

AIR LXVII. All you that must take a Leap, &c.

Lucy. _Would I might be hang’d_!

Polly. —_And I would so too_!

Lucy. _To be hang’d with you_.

Polly. —_My Dear_, _with you_.

Macheath. _O leave me to Thought_! _I fear_! _I doubt_!
_I tremble_! _I droop_!—_See_, _my Courage is
out_.

[Turns up the empty Bottle.

Polly. _No Token of Love_?

Macheath. —_See_, _my Courage is out_.

[Turns up the empty Pot.

Lucy. _No Token of_ Love?

Polly. —_Adieu_.

Lucy. —_Farewell_.

Macheath. _But hark_! _I hear the Toll of the Bell_.

Chorus. _Tol de rol lol_, &c.

_Jailor_. Four Women more, Captain, with a Child apiece! See, here they come.

[_Enter Women and Children_.

_Macheath_. What—four Wives more!—This is too much—Here—tell the Sheriff’s Officers I am ready.

[_Exit_ Macheath _guarded_.

_To them_, _Enter_ Player _and_ Beggar.

_Player_. But, honest Friend, I hope you don’t intend that _Macheath_ shall be really executed.

_Beggar_. Most certainly, Sir.—To make the Piece perfect, I was for doing strict poetical Justice.—_Macheath_ is to be hang’d; and for the other Personages of the Drama, the Audience must have suppos’d they were all either hang’d or transported.

_Player_. Why then, Friend, this is a downright deep Tragedy. The Catastrophe is manifestly wrong, for an Opera must end happily.

_Beggar_. Your Objection, Sir, is very just, and is easily remov’d. For you must allow, that in this kind of Drama, ’tis no matter how absurdly things are brought about—So—you Rabble there—run and cry, A Reprieve!—let the Prisoner be brought back to his Wives in Triumph.

_Player_. All this we must do, to comply with the Taste of the Town.

_Beggar_. Through the whole Piece you may observe such a Similitude of Manners in high and low Life, that it is difficult to determine whether (in the fashionable Vices) the fine Gentlemen imitate the Gentlemen of the Road, or the Gentlemen of the Road the fine Gentlemen.—Had the Play remained, as I at first intended, it would have carried a most excellent Moral. ’Twould have shewn that the lower Sort of People have their Vices in a degree as well as the Rich: And that they are punish’d for them.

_To them_, Macheath _with_ Rabble, &c.

_Macheath_. So, it seems, I am not left to my Choice, but must have a Wife at last.—Look ye, my Dears, we will have no Controversy now. Let us give this Day to Mirth, and I am sure she who thinks herself my Wife will testify her Joy by a Dance.

_All_. Come, a Dance—a Dance.

_Macheath_. Ladies, I hope you will give me leave to present a Partner to each of you. And (if I may without Offence) for this time, I take _Polly_ for mine.—And for Life, you Slut,—for we were really marry’d.—As for the rest.—But at present keep your own Secret.

[_To_ Polly.

A DANCE.

AIR LXVIII. Lumps of Pudding, &c.

_Thus I stand like the_ Turk, _with his Doxies around_;
_From all Sides their Glances his Passion confound_;
_For Black_, _Brown_, _and Fair_, _his Inconstancy burns_,
_And the different Beauties subdue him by turns_:
_Each calls forth her Charms to provoke his Desires_:
_Though willing to all_, _with but one he retires_.
_But think of this Maxim_, _and put off your Sorrow_,
_The Wretch of To-day_, _may be happy To-morrow_.

Chorus. _But think of this Maxim_, &c.