But his Kiss was so sweet, and so closely he prest,
That I languish’d and pin’d till I granted the rest.
If you can forgive me, Sir, I will make a fair Confession, for to be sure he hath been a most barbarous Villain to me.
Lockit. And so you have let him escape, Hussy—Have you?
Lucy. When a Woman loves; a kind Look, a tender Word can persuade her to any thing—And I could ask no other Bribe.
Lockit. Thou wilt always be a vulgar Slut, Lucy.—If you would not be look’d upon as a Fool, you should never do any thing but upon the foot of Interest. Those that act otherwise are their own Bubbles.
Lucy. But Love, Sir, is a Misfortune that may happen to the most discreet Women, and in Love we are all Fools alike—Notwithstanding all he swore, I am now fully convinc’d that Polly Peachum is actually his Wife.—Did I let him escape, (Fool that I was!) to go to her?—Polly will wheedle herself into his Money, and then Peachum will hang him, and cheat us both.
Lockit. So I am to be ruin’d, because, forsooth, you must be in Love!—a very pretty Excuse!
Lucy. I could murder that impudent happy Strumpet:—I gave him his Life, and that Creature enjoys the Sweets of it.—Ungrateful Macheath!