If with me you’d fondly stray
Polly.
Over the Hills and far away.
Polly. Yes, I would go with thee. But oh!—how shall I speak it? I must be torn from thee. We must part.
Macheath. How! Part!
Polly. We must, we must.—My Papa and Mama are set against thy Life. They now, even now are in Search after thee. They are preparing Evidence against thee. Thy Life depends upon a moment.
[ AIR XVII. Gin thou wert mine awn thing—]
Oh what Pain it is to part!