Macheath. Married! Very good. The Wench gives it out only to vex thee, and to ruin me in thy good Opinion. ’Tis true, I go to the House; I chat with the Girl, I kiss her, I say a thousand things to her (as all Gentlemen do) that mean nothing, to divert myself; and now the silly Jade hath set it about that I am married to her, to let me know what she would be at. Indeed, my dear Lucy, these violent Passions may be of ill consequence to a Woman in your Condition.
Lucy. Come, come, Captain, for all your Assurance, you know that Miss Polly hath put it out of your Power to do me the Justice you promis’d me.
Macheath. A jealous Woman believes every thing her Passion suggests. To convince you of my Sincerity, if we can find the Ordinary, I shall have no Scruples of making you my Wife; and I know the Consequence of having two at a time.
Lucy. That you are only to be hang’d, and so get rid of them both.
Macheath. I am ready, my dear Lucy, to give you Satisfaction—if you think there is any in Marriage.—What can a Man of Honour say more?
Lucy. So then, it seems, you are not married to Miss Polly.
Macheath. You know, Lucy, the Girl is prodigiously conceited. No Man can say a civil thing to her, but (like other fine Ladies) her Vanity makes her think he’s her own for ever and ever.
AIR XXVIII. The Sun had loos’d his weary Teams, &c.
The first time at the Looking-glass
The Mother sets her Daughter,
The Image strikes the smiling Lass
With Self-love ever after,
Each time she looks, she, fonder grown,
Thinks ev’ry Charm grows stronger.
But alas, vain Maid, all Eyes but your own
Can see you are not younger.
When Women consider their own Beauties, they are all alike unreasonable in their Demands; for they expect their Lovers should like them as long as they like themselves.