_Polly_. What is a Jointure, what is Widow-hood to me? I know my Heart. I cannot survive him.
_The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying_, _Her Lover dying_, _The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying_, _Laments her Dove_. _Down she drops quite spent with Sighing_. _Pair’d in Death_, _as pair’d in Love_.
Thus, Sir, it will happen to your poor _Polly_.
_Mrs. Peachum_. What, is the Fool in Love in earnest then? I hate thee for being particular: Why, Wench, thou art a Shame to thy very Sex.
_Polly_. But hear me, Mother.—If you ever lov’d—
_Mrs. Peachum_. Those cursed Play-Books she reads have been her Ruin. One Word more, Hussy, and I shall knock your Brains out, if you have any.
_Peachum_. Keep out of the way, _Polly_, for fear of Mischief, and consider of what is proposed to you.
_Mrs. Peachum_. Away, Hussy. Hang your Husband, and be dutiful.
_Re-enter_ Polly, _and listens behind column_.
_Mrs. Peachum_. The Thing, Husband, must and shall be done. For the sake of Intelligence we must take other measures, and have him peached the next Session without her Consent. If she will not know her Duty, we know ours.
_Peachum_. But really, my Dear, it grieves one’s Heart to take off a great Man. When I consider his Personal Bravery, his fine Stratagem, how much we have already got by him, and how much more we may get, methinks I can’t find in my Heart to have a hand in his Death. I wish you could have made _Polly_ undertake it.
_Mrs. Peachum_. But in a Case of Necessity—our own Lives are in danger.
_Peachum_. Then, indeed, we must comply with the Customs of the World, and make Gratitude give way to Interest.—He shall be taken off.
_Mrs. Peachum_. I’ll undertake to manage _Polly_.
_Peachum_. And I’ll prepare Matters for the _Old-Baily_.
_Polly_. Now I’m a Wretch, indeed.—Methinks I see him already in the Cart, sweeter and more lovely than the Nosegay in his Hand!—I hear the Crowd extolling his Resolution and Intrepidity!—What Vollies of Sighs are sent from the Windows of _Holborn_, that so comely a Youth should be brought to Disgrace!—I see him at the Tree! The whole Circle are in Tears!—even Butchers weep!—_Jack Ketch_ himself hesitates to perform his Duty, and would be glad to lose his Fee, by a Reprieve. What then will become of _Polly_!—As yet I may inform him of their Design, and aid him in his Escape.—It shall be so—But then he flies, absents himself, and I bar myself from his dear dear Conversation! That too will distract me.—If he keep out of the way, my Papa and Mama may in time relent, and we may be happy.—If he stays, he is hang’d, and then he is lost for ever!—He intended to lie conceal’d in my Room, ’till the Dusk of the Evening: If they are abroad I’ll this Instant let him out, lest some Accident should prevent him.