Lockit. Those, I see, will fit the Captain better—Take down the further Pair. Do but examine them, Sir.—Never was better work. How genteely they are made!—They will fit as easy as a Glove, and the nicest Man in England might not be asham’d to wear them. [He puts on the Chains.] If I had the best Gentleman in the Land in my Custody I could not equip him more handsomly. And so, Sir—I now leave you to your private Meditations.
[Exeunt leaving Macheath solus.
Macheath.
AIR XXV. Courtiers, Courtiers, think it no Harm, &c.
Man may escape from Rope and Gun;
Nay, some have out liv’d the Doctor’s Pill;
Who takes a Woman must be undone,
That Basilisk is sure to kill.
The Fly that sips Treacle is lost in the Sweets,
So he that tastes Woman, Woman, Woman,
He that tastes Woman, ruin meets.
To what a woful Plight have I brought myself! Here must I (all Day long, ’till I am hang’d) be confin’d to hear the Reproaches of a Wench who lays her Ruin at my Door—I am in the Custody of her Father, and to be sure, if he knows of the matter, I shall have a fine time on’t betwixt this and my Execution.—But I promis’d the Wench Marriage—What signifies a Promise to a Woman? Does not Man in Marriage itself promise a hundred things that he never means to perform? Do all we can, Women will believe us; for they look upon a Promise as an Excuse for following their own Inclinations.—But here comes Lucy, and I cannot get from her.—Wou’d I were deaf!
Enter Lucy.
Lucy. You base Man you,—how can you look me in the Face after what hath passed between us?—See here, perfidious Wretch, how I am forc’d to bear about the Load of Infamy you have laid upon me—O Macheath! thou hast robb’d me of my Quiet—to see thee tortur’d would give me Pleasure.
AIR XXVI. A lovely Lass to a Friar came, &c.
Thus when a good Housewife sees a Rat
In her Trap in the Morning taken,
With Pleasure her Heart goes pit-a-pat,
In Revenge for her Loss of Bacon.
Then she throws him
To the Dog or Cat,
To be worried, crush’d and shaken.