Lucy. When you come to the Tree, should the hangman refuse,
These fingers with pleasure could fasten
the noose.
Polly. I’m bubbled, etc.
Mac. 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 hanged, she would fain have the credit of being thought my window. 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?
Mac. 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
Polly. Cease your funning,
Force or cunning,
All these sallies
Are but malice
To seduce my constant man.
’Tis most certain,
By their flirting,
Women oft have envy shown;
Pleased to ruin
Others’ wooing,
Never happy in their own!
Decency, madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some reserve with the husband, while his wife is present.
Mac. But seriously, Polly, this is carrying the joke a little too far.
Lucy. If you are determined, madam, to raise a disturbance in the prison, I shall be obliged to send for the turnkey to show 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.—Good-morrow, gossip Joan
Lucy. Why how now, Madam Flirt?
And are for flinging dirt,
Let’s try who best can spatter,
Madam Flirt!
Polly. Why how now, saucy jade?
How can you see me made
[To him.
Saucy jade!
[To her.
Enter Peachum
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.