_Polly._ I am bubbled.

_Lucy._ . . . . I'm bubbled.

_Polly._ O how I am troubled!

_Lucy._ Bambouzled, and bit!

_Polly._ . . . . . . My Distresses are doubled.

_Lucy._ When you come to the Tree, should the Hangman refuse, These Fingers, with Pleasure, could fasten the Noose.

_Polly._ I'm bubbled, &c.

_Macheath._ Be pacified, my dear _Lucy_-- This is all a Fetch of _Polly's_, to make me desperate with you in case I get off. If I am hang'd, she would fain have the Credit of being thought my Widow-- Really, _Polly_, this is no time for a Dispute of this sort; for whenever you are talking of Marriage, I am thinking of Hanging.

_Polly._ And hast thou the Heart to persist in disowning me?

_Macheath._ And hast thou the Heart to persist in persuading me that I am married? Why, _Polly_, dost thou seek to aggravate my Misfortunes?

_Lucy._ Really, Miss _Peachum_, you but expose yourself. Besides, 'tis barbarous in you to worry a Gentleman in his Circ.u.mstances.

AIR x.x.xVI.

[Music]

_Polly._ Cease your Funning; Force or Cunning Never shall my Heart trapan.

All these Sallies Are but Malice To seduce my constant Man.

'Tis most certain, By their flirting Women oft' have Envy shown.

Pleas'd, to ruin Others wooing; Never happy in their own.

_Polly._ Decency, Madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some Reserve with the Husband, while his Wife is present.

_Macheath._ But seriously, _Polly_, this is carrying the Joke a little too far.

_Lucy._ If you are determin'd, Madam, to raise a Disturbance in the Prison, I shall be obliged to send for the Turnkey to shew you the Door.

I am sorry, Madam, you force me to be so ill-bred.

_Polly._ Give me leave to tell you, Madam: These forward Airs don't become you in the least, Madam. And my Duty, Madam, obliges me to stay with my Husband, Madam.

AIR x.x.xVII. Good-morrow, Gossip _Joan_.

[Music]

_Lucy._ Why how now, Madam _Flirt_?

If you thus must chatter; And are for flinging Dirt, Let's try who best can spatter; Madam _Flirt_.

_Polly._ Why how now, saucy Jade; Sure the Wench is tipsy!

How can you see me made [To him.

The Scoff of such a Gipsy?

Saucy Jade! [To her.

Enter _Peachum_.

_Peachum._ Where's my Wench? Ah Hussy! Hussy! --Come you home, you s.l.u.t; and when your Fellow is hang'd, hang yourself, to make your Family some Amends.

_Polly._ Dear, dear Father, do not tear me from him-- I must speak; I have more to say to him-- Oh! twist thy Fetters about me, that he may not haul me from thee!

_Peachum._ Sure all Women are alike! If ever they commit the Folly, they are sure to commit another by exposing themselves-- Away-- Not a Word more-- You are my Prisoner, now, Hussy.

AIR x.x.xVIII. _Irish_ Howl.

[Music]

_Polly._ No Power on Earth can e'er divide The Knot that sacred Love hath ty'd.

When Parents draw against our Mind, The True-Love's Knot they faster bind.

Oh, oh ray, oh Amborah-- oh, oh, &c.

[Holding _Macheath_, _Peachum_ pulling her.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

SCENE III. The Same.

_Lucy_, _Macheath_.

_Macheath._ I am naturally compa.s.sionate, Wife; so that I could not use the Wench as she deserv'd; which made you at first suspect there was something in what she said.

_Lucy._ Indeed, my Dear, I was strangely puzzled.

_Macheath._ If that had been the Case, her Father would never have brought me into this Circ.u.mstance-- No, _Lucy_,-- I had rather die than be false to thee.

_Lucy._ How happy am I, if you say this from your Heart! For I love thee so, that I could sooner bear to see thee hang'd than in the Arms of another.

_Macheath._ But could'st thou bear to see me hang'd?

_Lucy._ O _Macheath_, I can never live to see that Day.

_Macheath._ You see, _Lucy_; in the Account of Love you are in my Debt, and you must now be convinc'd, that I rather choose to die than be another's. --Make me, if possible, love thee more, and let me owe my Life to thee-- If you refuse to a.s.sist me, _Peachum_ and your Father will immediately put me beyond all means of Escape.

_Lucy._ My Father, I know, hath been drinking hard with the Prisoners: and I fancy he is now taking his Nap in his own Room-- If I can procure the Keys, shall I go off with thee, my Dear?

_Macheath._ If we are together, 'twill be impossible to lie conceal'd.

As soon as the Search begins to be a little cool, I will send to thee-- 'Till then my Heart is thy Prisoner.

_Lucy._ Come then, my dear Husband-- owe thy Life to me-- and though you love me not-- be grateful,-- but that _Polly_ runs in my Head strangely.

_Macheath._ A moment of Time may make us unhappy for ever.

AIR x.x.xIX. The La.s.s of _Patie's_ Mill, &c.