Whose Treasure is contreband.
The Waves are laid,
My Duty’s paid.
O Joy beyond Expression!
Thus, safe a-shore,
I ask no more,
My All is in my Possession.
Peachum. I hear Customers in t’other Room: Go, talk with ’em, Polly; but come to us again, as soon as they are gone.—But, hark ye, Child, if ’tis the Gentleman who was here Yesterday about the Repeating Watch; say, you believe we can’t get Intelligence of it ’till to-morrow. For I lent it to Suky Straddle, to make a figure with it to-night at a Tavern in Drury-Lane. If t’other Gentleman calls for the Silver-hilted Sword; you know Beetle-brow’d Jemmy hath it on, and he doth not come from Tunbridge ’till Tuesday Night; so that it cannot be had ’till then. Exit Polly.
Peachum. Dear Wife, be a little pacified, Don’t let your Passion run away with your Senses. Polly, I grant you, hath done a rash thing.
Mrs. Peachum. If she had only an Intrigue with the Fellow, why the very best Families have excus’d and huddled up a Frailty of that sort. ’Tis Marriage, Husband, that makes it a Blemish.