_Peachum_. We shall never fall out about an Execution—But as to that Article, pray how stands our last Year’s Account?
_Lockit_. If you will run your Eye over it, you’ll find ’tis fair and clearly stated.
_Peachum_. This long Arrear of the Government is very hard upon us! Can it be expected that we would hang our Acquaintance for nothing, when our Betters will hardly save theirs without being paid for it. Unless the People in Employment pay better, I promise them for the future, I shall let other Rogues live besides their own.
_Lockit_. Perhaps, Brother, they are afraid these Matters may be carried too far. We are treated too by them with Contempt, as if our Profession were not reputable.
_Peachum_. In one respect indeed our Employment may be reckon’d dishonest, because, like Great Statesmen, we encourage those who betray their Friends.
_Lockit_. Such Language, Brother, any where else, might turn to your Prejudice. Learn to be more guarded, I beg you.
_When you censure the Age_, _Be cautious and sage_, _Lest the Courtiers offended should be_: _If you mention Vice or Bribe_, _’Tis so pat to all the Tribe_; _Each cries_—_That was levell’d at me_.
_Peachum_. Here’s poor _Ned Clincher’s_ Name, I see. Sure, Brother _Lockit_, there was a little unfair Proceeding in _Ned’s_ Case: for he told me in the Condemn’d Hold, that for Value receiv’d, you had promis’d him a Session or two longer without Molestation.
_Lockit_. Mr. _Peachum_—this is the first time my Honour was ever call’d in Question.
_Peachum_. Business is at an end—if once we act dishonourably.
_Lockit_. He that attacks my Honour, attacks my Livelihood.—And this Usage—Sir—is not to be borne.
_Peachum_. Since you provoke me to speak—I must tell you too, that Mrs. _Coaxer_ charges you with defrauding her of her Information-Money, for the apprehending of curl-pated _Hugh_. Indeed, indeed, Brother, we must punctually pay our Spies, or we shall have no Information.
_Lockit_. Is this Language to me, Sirrah,—who have sav’d you from the Gallows, Sirrah!
_Peachum_. If I am hang’d, it shall be for ridding the World of an arrant Rascal.
_Lockit_. This Hand shall do the Office of the Halter you deserve, and throttle you—you Dog!—
_Peachum_. Brother, Brother—We are both in the Wrong—We shall be both Losers in the Dispute—for you know we have it in our Power to hang each other. You should not be so passionate.