AIR XI. A Soldier and a Sailor.
A Fox may steal your Hens, Sir,
A Whore your Health and Pence, Sir,
Your Daughter rob your Chest, Sir,
Your Wife may steal your Rest, Sir.
A Thief your Goods and Plate.
But this is all but picking,
With Rest, Pence, Chest and Chicken;
It ever was decreed, Sir,
If Lawyer’s Hand is fee’d, Sir,
He steals your whole Estate.
The Lawyers are bitter Enemies to those in our Way. They don’t care that any body should get a clandestine Livelihood but themselves.
Enter Polly.
Polly. ’Twas only Nimming Ned. He brought in a Damask Window-Curtain, a Hoop-Petticoat, a pair of Silver Candlesticks, a Periwig, and one Silk Stocking, from the Fire that happen’d last Night.
Peachum. There is not a Fellow that is cleverer in his way, and saves more Goods out of the Fire than Ned. But now, Polly, to your Affair; for Matters must not be left as they are. You are married then, it seems?
Polly. Yes, Sir.
Peachum. And how do you propose to live, Child?
Polly. Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband.
Mrs. Peachum. What, is the Wench turn’d Fool? A Highwayman’s Wife, like a Soldier’s, hath as little of his Pay, as of his Company.
Peachum. And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in your Marriage, Polly?
Polly. I don’t know what you mean, Sir.
Peachum. Of a Jointure, and of being a Widow.
Polly. But I love him, Sir; how then could I have Thoughts of parting with him?
Peachum. Parting with him! Why, this is the whole Scheme and Intention of all Marriage-Articles. The comfortable Estate of Widow-hood, is the only Hope that keeps up a Wife’s Spirits. Where is the Woman who would scruple to be a Wife, if she had it in her Power to be a Widow, whenever she pleas’d? If you have any Views of this sort, Polly, I shall think the Match not so very unreasonable.
Polly. How I dread to hear your Advice! Yet I must beg you to explain yourself.
Peachum. Secure what he hath got, have him peach’d the next Sessions, and then at once you are made a rich Widow.
Polly. What, murder the Man I love! The Blood runs cold at my Heart with the very thought of it.
Peachum. Fie, Polly! What hath Murder to do in the Affair? Since the thing sooner or later must happen, I dare say, the Captain himself would like that we should get the Reward for his Death sooner than a Stranger. Why, Polly, the Captain knows, that as ’tis his Employment to rob, so ’tis ours to take Robbers; every Man in his Business. So that there is no Malice in the Case.
Mrs. Peachum. Ay, Husband, now you have nick’d the Matter. To have him peach’d is the only thing could ever make me forgive her.