Her chatt’ring Lovers all around her skim;
She heeds them not (poor Bird!) her Soul’s with him.
Macheath. Aside. I must disown her. Aloud. The Wench is distracted.
Lucy. Am I then bilk’d of my Virtue? Can I have no Reparation? Sure Men were born to lie, and Women to believe them! O Villain! Villain!
Polly. Am I not thy Wife?—Thy Neglect of me, thy Aversion to me too severely proves it.—Look on me.—Tell me, am I not thy Wife?
Lucy. Perfidious Wretch!
Polly. Barbarous Husband!
Lucy. Hadst thou been hang’d five Months ago, I had been happy.
Polly. And I too—If you had been kind to me ’till Death, it would not have vexed me—And that’s no very unreasonable Request, (though from a Wife) to a Man who hath not above seven or eight Days to live.
Lucy. Art thou then married to another? Hast thou two Wives, Monster?