_Lockit_. _Macheath’s_ Time is come, _Lucy_.—We know our own Affairs, therefore let us have no more Whimpering or Whining.
_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 to-day.—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 Baily_.
Macheath. _The Charge is prepar’d_; _the Lawyers are met_, _The Judges all rang’d_ (_a terrible Show_!) _I go_, _undismay’d_.—_For Death is a Debt_, _A Debt on Demand_.—_So take what I owe_. _Then farewell_, _my Love_—_Dear Charmers_, _adieu_. _Contented I die_—_’Tis the better for you_. _Here ends all Disputes the rest of our Lives_, _For this way at once I please all my Wives_.
Now, Gentlemen, I am ready to attend you.
[_Exeunt_ Macheath, Lockit, _and_ Peachum.
_Polly_. Follow them, _Filch_, to the Court. And when the Trial is over, bring me a particular Account of his Behaviour, and of every thing that happen’d—You’ll find me here with Miss _Lucy_. [_Exit_ Filch.] But why is all this Musick?
_Lucy_. The Prisoners, whose Trials are put off ’till next Session, are diverting themselves.
_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.
_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_.
_Since I must swing_,—_I scorn_, _I scorn to wince or whine_.
_But now again my Spirits sink_; _I’ll raise them high with Wine_.
_But Valour the stronger grows_, _The stronger Liquor we’er drinking_; _And how can we feel our Woes_, _When we’ve lost the Trouble of Thinking_?