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And are forflinging dirt,
Polly. Why, how now, saucy jade?
How can you see me made [To him.
The scoff of such a gipsy? 689
Peach. Where's my wench! Ah hussy, hussy !— Come you home you slut; and, when your fellow is hanged, 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!
Peach. Sure all women are alike! if ever they commit one folly, they are sure to commit another by exposing themselves.—Away—not a word more.—You are my prisoner now, hussy. .702
Polly. No pow'r on earth can e'er divide^
When parents draw against our mind, The true-love's hnot they faster bind. Oh, oh ray, oh Amborah—Oh, oh, Sec. [Holding Macheath, Peachum pulling her. Exeunt Peachum, and Polly.]
Mac. I am naturally compassionate, wife, so that I could not use the wench as she deserved, which made you at first suspect there was something in what she said. 711
Lucy. Indeed, my dear! I was strangely puzzled.
Mac. 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 hanged, than in the arms of another.
Mac. But couldst thou bear to see me hanged?
Lucy. Oh Macheath! I can never live to see that day. 751
Mac. You see, Lucy, in the account of love you are in my debt; and you must now be convinced that I rather chuse 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 f 73a Mac. If we are together't will be impossible to lie concealed. As soon as the search begins to be a little cool, I will send to thee—till then my heart is thy prisoner. ACT III.
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.
Mac. A moment of time may make us unhappy for ever. 741
The lass of Pattie's mill.
Lucy. / lihe the fox shall grieve
He never will come bach. 749
Scene, Newgate. Lockit, Lucy.
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?
Loch. Lucy, Lucy! I will have none of these shuffling answers. 9
Lucy. Well then if I know any thing of him, I
wish 1 may be burnt!
Loch. Keep your temper, Lucy, or I sliall pronounce you guilty.
Lucy. Keep your's, sir, I do wish I may be
burnt, I do and what can I say more to convince
.you 1 ..
Loch. Did he tip handsomely? 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 w ith him than I could have done How much, my good girl 1
Lucy. You know, sir, I am fond of him, and would have given money to have kept him with me.
Loch. Ah, Lucy! thy education might have put thee more upon thy guard, for a girl in the bar of an alehouse is always besieged.
Lucy. Dear sir! mention not my education for
'twas to that I owe my ruin.
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, go / was hiss'd by the parson, the squire, and the sot; When the guest was departed the hiss wasforgot .* But his hiss was so sweet, and so closely he prest, That I languhh'd andpin'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.
Loch. And so you have let him escape, hussy— have you? 39
Lucy. When a woman loves, a kind look, a tender
word, can persuade her to any thing and I could
ask no other bribe.
Loch. Thou wilt always be a vulgar slut. Lucy,— if you would not be looked upon as a fool, you should never do any thing but upon the footing of interest,: those that act otherwise are their own bubbles.