The Beggar’s Opera

a hackney coach.⁠—And I hope, for her own sake and mine, she will persuade the Captain to redeem her, for the Captain is very generous to the ladies. Lockit What captain? Mrs. Trapes He thought I did not know him⁠—An intimate acquaintance of yours, Mr. Peachum⁠—Only Captain Macheath⁠—as fine as a lord. Peachum Tomorrow, dear Mrs. Dye, you shall set your own price upon any of the goods you like⁠—We have at least half a dozen velvet scarfs, and all at your service. Will you give me leave to make you a present of this suit of nightclothes for your own wearing?⁠—But are you sure it is Captain Macheath. Mrs. Trapes Though he thinks I have forgot him; nobody knows him better. I have taken a great deal of the Captain’s money in my time at secondhand, for he always loved to have his ladies well dressed. Peachum Mr. Lockit and I have a little business with the Captain;⁠—You understand me⁠—and we will satisfy you for Mrs. Coaxer’s debt. Lockit Depend upon it⁠—we will deal like men of honour. Mrs. Trapes I don’t enquire after your affairs⁠—so whatever happens, I wash my hands on’t⁠—It hath always been my maxim, that one friend should assist another⁠—But if you please⁠—I’ll take one of the scarfs home with me. ’Tis always good to have something in hand.

Scene IV

Newgate

Lucy	Jealousy, rage, love and fear are at once tearing me to pieces, how I am weather-beaten and shattered with distresses!
Air XLVI. One evening, having lost my way, etc.
	I’m like a skiff on the ocean tossed, Now high, now low, with each billow born, With her rudder broke, and her anchor lost, Deserted and all forlorn. While thus I lie rolling and tossing all night, That Polly lies sporting on seas of delight! Revenge, revenge, revenge, Shall appease my restless spirit. I have the ratsbane ready.⁠—I run no risk; for I can lay her death upon the gin, and so many die of that naturally that I shall never be called in question.⁠—But say, I were to be hanged.⁠—I never could be hanged for anything that would give me greater comfort, than the poisoning that slut.
	Enter Filch.
Filch	Madam, here’s Miss Polly come to wait upon you.
Lucy	Show her in.
	Enter Polly.
Polly	Dear madam, your servant.⁠—I hope you will pardon my passion, when I was so happy to see you last.⁠—I was so overrun with the spleen, that I was perfectly out of myself. And really when one hath the spleen, everything is to be excused by a friend.
Air XLVII. Now Roger, I’ll tell thee because thou ’rt my son.
	When a wife’s in her pout, (As she’s sometimes, no doubt;) The good husband as meek as a lamb, Her vapours to still, First grants her her will, And the quieting draught is a dram. Poor man! And the quieting draught is a dram. —I wish all our quarrels might have so comfortable a reconciliation.
Polly	I have no excuse for my own behaviour, madam, but my misfortunes.⁠—And really, madam, I suffer too upon your account.
Lucy	But, Miss Polly⁠—in the way of friendship, will you give me leave to propose a glass of cordial to you?
Polly	Strong-waters are apt to give me the headache⁠—I hope, madam, you will excuse me.
Lucy	Not the greatest lady in the land could have better in her closet, for her own private drinking.⁠—You seem mighty low in spirits, my dear.
Polly	I am sorry, madam, my health will not allow me to accept of your offer.⁠—I should not have left you in the rude manner I did when we met last, madam, had not my papa hauled me away so unexpectedly⁠—I was indeed somewhat provoked, and perhaps might use some expressions that were disrespectful.⁠—But really, madam, the Captain treated me with so much contempt and cruelty, that I deserved your pity, rather than your resentment.
Lucy	But since his escape, no doubt all matters are made up again.⁠—Ah Polly! Polly! ’tis I am the unhappy wife; and he loves you as if you were only his mistress.
Polly	Sure, madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your jealousy.⁠—A man is always afraid of a woman who loves him too well⁠—so that I must expect to be neglected and avoided.
Lucy	Then our cases, my dear Polly, are exactly alike. Both of us indeed have been too fond.
Air XLVIII. O Bessy Bell.
Polly	A curse attend that woman’s love, Who always would be pleasing.
Polly	The pertness of the billing dove, Like tickling, is but teazing.
Polly	What then in love can woman do:
Polly	If we grow fond they shun us.
Polly	And when we fly them, they pursue:
Polly	But leave us when they’ve won us.
Lucy	Love is so very whimsical in both sexes, that it is impossible to be lasting.⁠—But my heart is particular, and contradicts my own observation.
Polly	But really, Mistress Lucy, by his last behaviour, I think I ought to envy you.⁠—When I was forced from him, he did not show the least tenderness.⁠—But perhaps, he hath a heart not capable of it.
Air XLIX. Would fate to me Belinda give.
	Among the men, coquettes we find, Who court by turns all womankind; And we grant all their hearts desired, When they are flattered, and admired. The coquettes of both sexes are self-lovers, and that is a love no other whatever can dispossess. I hear, my dear Lucy, our husband is one of those.
Lucy	Away with these melancholy reflections⁠—indeed,