AIR XXIX. How happy are we, &c.
When you censure the Age,
Be cautious and sage,
Lest the Courtiers offended should be:
If you mention Vice or Bribe,
’Tis so pat to all the Tribe;
Each cries—That was levell’d at me.
Peachum. Here’s poor Ned Clincher’s Name, I see. Sure, Brother Lockit, there was a little unfair Proceeding in Ned’s Case: for he told me in the Condemn’d Hold, that for Value receiv’d, you had promis’d him a Session or two longer without Molestation.
Lockit. Mr. Peachum—this is the first time my Honour was ever call’d in Question.
Peachum. Business is at an end—if once we act dishonourably.
Lockit. Who accuses me?
Peachum. You are warm, Brother.
Lockit. He that attacks my Honour, attacks my Livelihood.—And this Usage—Sir—is not to be borne.
Peachum. Since you provoke me to speak—I must tell you too, that Mrs. Coaxer charges you with defrauding her of her Information-Money, for the apprehending of curl-pated Hugh. Indeed, indeed, Brother, we must punctually pay our Spies, or we shall have no Information.
Lockit. Is this Language to me, Sirrah,—who have sav’d you from the Gallows, Sirrah!