If you can forgive me, Sir, I will make a fair Confession, for to be sure he hath been a most barbarous Villain to me.
Lockit. And so you have let him escape, Hussy—Have you?
Lucy. When a Woman loves; a kind Look, a tender Word can persuade her to any thing—And I could ask no other Bribe.
Lockit. Thou wilt always be a vulgar Slut, Lucy.—If you would not be look’d upon as a Fool, you should never do any thing but upon the foot of Interest. Those that act otherwise are their own Bubbles.
Lucy. But Love, Sir, is a Misfortune that may happen to the most discreet Women, and in Love we are all Fools alike—Notwithstanding all he swore, I am now fully convinc’d that Polly Peachum is actually his Wife.—Did I let him escape, (Fool that I was!) to go to her?—Polly will wheedle herself into his Money, and then Peachum will hang him, and cheat us both.
Lockit. So I am to be ruin’d, because, forsooth, you must be in Love!—a very pretty Excuse!
Lucy. I could murder that impudent happy Strumpet:—I gave him his Life, and that Creature enjoys the Sweets of it.—Ungrateful Macheath!
AIR XLI. South-Sea Ballad.
My Love is all Madness and Folly,
Alone I lie,
Toss, tumble, and cry,
What a happy Creature is Polly!
Was e’er such a Wretch as I!
With rage I redden like Scarlet,
That my dear inconstant Varlet,
Stark blind to my Charms,
Is lost in the Arms
Of that Jilt, that inveigling Harlot!
Stark blind to my Charms,
Is lost in the Arms
Of that Jilt, that inveigling Harlot!
This, this my Resentment alarms.
Lockit. And so, after all this Mischief, I must stay here to be entertain’d with your Catterwauling, Mrs. Puss!—Out of my Sight, wanton Strumpet! you shall fast and mortify yourself into Reason, with now and then a little handsom Discipline to bring you to your Senses.—Go.