my dear Polly, we are both of us a cup too low—Let me prevail upon you to accept of my offer.
Air L. Come, sweet lass.
Come, sweet lass, Let’s banish sorrow ’Till tomorrow; Come, sweet lass, Let’s take a chirping glass. Wine can clear The vapours of despair And make us light as air; Then drink, and banish care.
I can’t bear, child, to see you in such low spirits.—And I must persuade you to what I know will do you good. Aside. I shall now soon be even with the hypocritical strumpet. Exit.
Polly
All this wheedling of Lucy cannot be for nothing.—At this time too! when I know she hates me!—The dissembling of a woman is always the forerunner of mischief.—By pouring strong-waters down my throat, she thinks to pump some secrets out of me—I’ll be upon my guard, and won’t taste a drop of her liquor, I’m resolved.
Reenter Lucy, with strong-waters.
Lucy
Come, Miss Polly.
Polly
Indeed, child, you have given yourself trouble to no purpose.—You must, my dear, excuse me.
Lucy
Really, Miss Polly, you are as squeamishly affected about taking a cup of strong-waters as a lady before company. I vow, Polly, I shall take it monstrously ill if you refuse me.—Brandy and men (though women love them ever so well) are always taken by us with some reluctance—unless ’tis in private.
Polly
I protest, madam, it goes against me.—What do I see! Macheath again in custody!—Now every glimm’ring of happiness is lost.
Drops the glass of liquor on the ground.
Lucy
Since things are thus, I’m glad the wench hath escaped: for by this event, ’tis plain, she was not happy enough to deserve to be poisoned.
Enter Lockit, Macheath, Peachum.
Lockit
Set your heart to rest, Captain.—You have neither the chance of love or money for another escape—for you are ordered to be called down upon your trial immediately.
Peachum
Away, hussies!—This is not a time for a man to be hampered with his wives.—You see, the gentleman is in chains already.
Lucy
O husband, husband, my heart longed to see thee; but to see thee thus distracts me?
Polly
Will not my dear husband look upon his Polly? Why hadst thou not flown to me for protection? with me thou hadst been safe.
Air LI. The last time I went o’er the moor.
Polly
Hither, dear husband, turn your eyes.
Lucy
Bestow one glance to cheer me.
Polly
Think with that look, thy Polly dies.
Lucy
O shun me not—but hear me.
Polly
’Tis Polly sues.
Lucy
’Tis Lucy speaks.
Polly
Is thus true love requited?
Lucy
My heart is bursting.
Polly
Mine too breaks.
Lucy
Must I
Polly
Must I be slighted?
Macheath
What would you have me say, ladies?—You see this affair will soon be at an end, without my disobliging either of you.
Peachum
But the settling this point, Captain, might prevent a lawsuit between your two widows.
Air LII. Tom Tinker’s my true love.
Macheath
Which way shall I turn me—How can I decide? Wives, the day of our death, are as fond as a bride. One wife is too much for most husbands to hear, But two at a time there’s no mortal can bear. This way, and that way, and which way I will, What would comfort the one, t’ other wife would take ill.
Polly
But if his own misfortunes have made him insensible to mine—A father sure will be more compassionate—Dear, dear sir, sink the material evidence, and bring him off at his trial—Polly upon her knees begs it of you.
Air LIII. I am a poor shepherd undone.
When my hero in court appears, And stands arraigned for his life; Then think of poor Polly’s tears; For ah! poor Polly’s his wife. Like the sailor he holds up his hand, Distressed on the dashing wave. To die a dry death at land, Is as bad as a watery grave. And alas, poor Polly! Alack, and well-a-day! Before I was in love, Oh! every month was May.
Lucy
If Peachum’s heart is hardened; sure you, sir, will have more compassion on a daughter.—I know the evidence is in your power.—How then can you be a tyrant to me? Kneeling.
Air LIV. Ianthe the lovely, etc.
When he holds up his hand arraigned for his life, O think of your daughter, and think I’m his wife! What are cannons, or bombs, or clashing of swords? For death is more certain by witnesses words. Then nail up their lips; that dread thunder allay; And each month of my life will hereafter be May.
Lockit
Macheath’s time is come, Lucy.—We know our own affairs, therefore let us have no more whimpering or whining.
Air LV. A cobbler there was, etc.
Ourselves, like the great, to secure a retreat, When matters require it, must give up our gang: And good reason why, Or, instead of the fry, Ev’n Peachum and I. Like poor petty rascals, might hang, hang; Like poor petty rascals, might hang.
Peachum
Set your heart at rest, Polly.—Your husband is to die today.—Therefore if you are not already provided, ’tis high time to look about for another. There’s comfort for you, you slut.
Lockit
We are ready, sir, to conduct you to the Old Bailey.
