Peachum. Fie, Polly! What hath Murder to do in the Affair? Since the thing sooner or later must happen, I dare say, the Captain himself would like that we should get the Reward for his Death sooner than a Stranger. Why, Polly, the Captain knows, that as ’tis his Employment to rob, so ’tis ours to take Robbers; every Man in his Business. So that there is no Malice in the Case.
Mrs. Peachum. Ay, Husband, now you have nick’d the Matter. To have him peach’d is the only thing could ever make me forgive her.
AIR XII. Now ponder well, ye Parents dear.
Polly. O ponder well! be not severe;
So save a wretched Wife!
For on the Rope that hangs my Dear
Depends poor Polly’s Life.
Mrs. Peachum. But your Duty to your Parents, Hussy, obliges you to hang him. What would many a Wife give for such an Opportunity!
Polly. What is a Jointure, what is Widow-hood to me? I know my Heart. I cannot survive him.
AIR XIII. Le printems rapelle aux armes.
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Her Lover dying,
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Laments her Dove.
Down she drops quite spent with Sighing.
Pair’d in Death, as pair’d in Love.
Thus, Sir, it will happen to your poor Polly.
Mrs. Peachum. What, is the Fool in Love in earnest then? I hate thee for being particular: Why, Wench, thou art a Shame to thy very Sex.