Polly. But hear me, Mother.—If you ever lov’d—
Mrs. Peachum. Those cursed Play-Books she reads have been her Ruin. One Word more, Hussy, and I shall knock your Brains out, if you have any.
Peachum. Keep out of the way, Polly, for fear of Mischief, and consider of what is proposed to you.
Mrs. Peachum. Away, Hussy. Hang your Husband, and be dutiful.
[Exit Polly.
Re-enter Polly, and listens behind column.
Mrs. Peachum. The Thing, Husband, must and shall be done. For the sake of Intelligence we must take other measures, and have him peached the next Session without her Consent. If she will not know her Duty, we know ours.
Peachum. But really, my Dear, it grieves one’s Heart to take off a great Man. When I consider his Personal Bravery, his fine Stratagem, how much we have already got by him, and how much more we may get, methinks I can’t find in my Heart to have a hand in his Death. I wish you could have made Polly undertake it.
Mrs. Peachum. But in a Case of Necessity—our own Lives are in danger.
Peachum. Then, indeed, we must comply with the Customs of the World, and make Gratitude give way to Interest.—He shall be taken off.