_Mrs. Peachum_. Then all the Hopes of our Family are gone for ever and ever!
_Peachum_. And _Macheath_ may hang his Father and Mother-in-law, in hope to get into their Daughter’s Fortune.
_Polly_. I did not marry him (as ’tis the Fashion) coolly and deliberately for Honour or Money. But, I love him.
_Mrs. Peachum_. Love him! worse and worse! I thought the Girl had been better bred. Oh Husband, Husband! her Folly makes me mad! my Head swims! I’m distracted! I can’t support myself—Oh!
_Peachum_. See, Wench, to what a Condition you have reduc’d your poor Mother! a Glass of Cordial, this instant. How the poor Woman takes it to heart!
[Polly_ goes out_, _and returns with it_.
Ah, Hussy, now this is the only Comfort your Mother has left!
_Polly_. Give her another Glass, Sir! my Mama drinks double the Quantity whenever she is out of Order. This, you see, fetches her.
_Mrs. Peachum_. The Girl shews such a Readiness, and so much Concern, that I could almost find in my Heart to forgive her.
AIR IX. O _Jenny_, O _Jenny_, where hast thou been.
_O_ Polly, _you might have toy’d and kist_. _By keeping Men off_, _you keep them on_. Polly. _But he so teaz’d me_, _And he so pleas’d me_, _What I did_, _you must have done_.
_Mrs. Peachum_. Not with a Highwayman.—You sorry Slut!
_Peachum_. A Word with you, Wife. ’Tis no new thing for a Wench to take Man without Consent of Parents. You know ’tis the Frailty of Women, my Dear.
_Mrs. Peachum_. Yes, indeed, the Sex is frail. But the first time a Woman is frail, she should be somewhat nice methinks, for then or never is the time to make her Fortune. After that, she hath nothing to do but to guard herself from being found out, and she may do what she pleases.
_Peachum_. Make yourself a little easy; I have a Thought shall soon set all Matters again to rights. Why so melancholy, _Polly_? since what is done cannot be undone, we must all endeavour to make the best of it.
_Mrs. Peachum_. Well, _Polly_; as far as one Woman can forgive another, I forgive thee.—Your Father is too fond of you, Hussy.
_Polly_. Then all my Sorrows are at an end.
_Mrs. Peachum_. A mighty likely Speech in troth, for a Wench who is just married!
Polly. _I_, _like a Ship in Storms_, _was tost_; _Yet afraid to put in to Land_: _For seiz’d in the Port the Vessel’s lost_, _Whose Treasure is contreband_. _The Waves are laid_, _My Duty’s paid_. _O Joy beyond Expression_! _Thus_, _safe a-shore_, _I ask no more_, _My All is in my Possession_.