Filch. Tom Gagg, Sir, is found guilty.
Peachum. A lazy Dog! When I took him the time before, I told him what he would come to if he did not mend his Hand. This is Death without Reprieve. I may venture to Book him writes. For Tom Gagg, forty Pounds. Let Betty Sly know that I’ll save her from Transportation, for I can get more by her staying in England.
Filch. Betty hath brought more Goods into our Lock to-year than any five of the Gang; and in truth, ’tis a pity to lose so good a Customer.
Peachum. If none of the Gang take her off, she may, in the common course of Business, live a Twelve-month longer. I love to let Women scape. A good Sportsman always lets the Hen Partridges fly, because the Breed of the Game depends upon them. Besides, here the Law allows us no Reward; there is nothing to be got by the Death of Women—except our Wives.
Filch. Without dispute, she is a fine Woman! ’Twas to her I was obliged for my Education, and (to say a bold Word) she hath trained up more young Fellows to the Business than the Gaming table.
Peachum. Truly, Filch, thy Observation is right. We and the Surgeons are more beholden to Women than all the Professions besides.
[ AIR II. The bonny gray-ey’d Morn, &c.]
Filch.