Polly. Sure there is nothing so charming as Music! I’m fond of it to Distraction!—But alas!—now, all Mirth seems an Insult upon my Affliction.—Let us retire, my dear Lucy, and indulge our Sorrows.—The noisy Crew, you see, are coming upon us.
[Exeunt.
A Dance of Prisoners in Chains, &c.
SCENE V. The Condemn’d Hold.
Macheath, in a melancholy Posture.
AIR LVII. Happy Groves.
O cruel, cruel, cruel Case!
Must I suffer this Disgrace?
AIR LVIII. Of all the Girls that are so smart.
Of all the Friends in time of Grief,
When threatning Death looks grimmer,
Not one so sure can bring Relief,
As this best Friend, a Brimmer.
[Drinks.