Polly. Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband.
Mrs. Peachum. What, is the Wench turn’d Fool? A Highwayman’s Wife, like a Soldier’s, hath as little of his Pay, as of his Company.
Peachum. And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in your Marriage, Polly?
Polly. I don’t know what you mean, Sir.
Peachum. Of a Jointure, and of being a Widow.
Polly. But I love him, Sir; how then could I have Thoughts of parting with him?
Peachum. Parting with him! Why, this is the whole Scheme and Intention of all Marriage-Articles. The comfortable Estate of Widow-hood, is the only Hope that keeps up a Wife’s Spirits. Where is the Woman who would scruple to be a Wife, if she had it in her Power to be a Widow, whenever she pleas’d? If you have any Views of this sort, Polly, I shall think the Match not so very unreasonable.
Polly. How I dread to hear your Advice! Yet I must beg you to explain yourself.
Peachum. Secure what he hath got, have him peach’d the next Sessions, and then at once you are made a rich Widow.
Polly. What, murder the Man I love! The Blood runs cold at my Heart with the very thought of it.