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.]
