The Beggars Opera | Page 7

VII. Oh London is a fine Town.
Our Polly is a sad Slut! nor heeds what we have taught her. I wonder any Man alive will ever rear a Daughter! For she must have both Hoods and Gowns, and Hoops to swell her Pride, With Scarfs and Stays, and Gloves and Lace; and she will have Men beside; And when she's drest with Care and Cost, all tempting, fine and gay, As Men should serve a Cucumber, she flings herself away. Our Polly is a sad Slut! &c.
You Baggage! you Hussy! you inconsiderate Jade! had you been hang'd, it would not have vex'd me, for that might have been your Misfortune; but to do such a mad thing by Choice; The Wench is married, Husband.
PEACHUM. Married! the Captain is a bold Man, and will risk any thing for Money; to be sure he believes her a Fortune. Do you think your Mother and I should have liv'd comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!
MRS. PEACHUM. I knew she was always a proud Slut; and now the Wench hath play'd the Fool and Married, because forsooth she would do like the Gentry. Can you support the Expence of a Husband, Hussy, in Gaming, Drinking and Whoring? Have you Money enough to carry on the daily Quarrels of Man and Wife about who shall squander most? There are not many Husbands and Wives, who can bear the Charges of plaguing one another in a handsom way. If you must be married, could you introduce no body into our Family but a Highwayman? Why, thou foolish Jade, thou wilt be as ill-us'd, and as much neglected, as if thou hadst married a Lord!
PEACHUM. Let not your Anger, my Dear, break through the Rules of Decency, for the Captain looks upon himself in the Military Capacity, as a Gentleman by his Profession. Besides what he hath already, I know he is in a fair way of getting, or of dying; and both these ways, let me tell you, are most excellent Chances for a Wife. Tell me, Hussy, are you ruin'd or no?
MRS. PEACHUM. With Polly's Fortune, she might very well have gone off to a Person of Distinction. Yes, that you might, you pouting Slut!
PEACHUM. What is the Wench dumb? Speak, or I'll make you plead by squeezing out an Answer from you. Are you really bound Wife to him, or are you only upon liking? [Pinches her.]
POLLY. Oh! [Screaming.]
MRS. PEACHUM. How the Mother is to be pitied who hath handsom Daughters! Locks, Bolts, Bars, and Lectures of Morality are nothing to them: They break through them all. They have as much Pleasure in cheating a Father and Mother, as in cheating at Cards.
PEACHUM. Why, Polly, I shall soon know if you are married, by Macheath's keeping from our House.
AIR VIII. Grim King of the Ghosts, &c.
POLLY. Can Love be control'd by Advice? Will Cupid our Mothers obey? Though my Heart were as frozen as Ice, At his Flame 'twould have melted away. When he kist me so closely he prest, 'Twas so sweet that I must have comply'd: So I thought it both safest and best To marry, for fear you should chide.
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! [Faints.]
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.
POLLY. O Polly, you might have toy'd and kist. By keeping Men off, you keep them on. 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