The Beggars Opera | Page 9

rich Widow.
POLLY. What, murder the Man I love! The Blood runs cold at my Heart with the very thought of it.
PEACHUM. Fie, Polly! What hath Murder to do in the Affair? Since the thing sooner or later must happen, I dare say, the Captain himself would like that we should get the Reward for his Death sooner than a Stranger. Why, Polly, the Captain knows, that as 'tis his Employment to rob, so 'tis ours to take Robbers; every Man in his Business. So that there is no Malice in the Case.
MRS. PEACHUM. Ay, Husband, now you have nick'd the Matter. To have him peach'd is the only thing could ever make me forgive her.
AIR XII. Now ponder well, ye Parents dear.
POLLY. O ponder well! be not severe; So save a wretched Wife! For on the Rope that hangs my Dear Depends poor Polly's Life.
MRS. PEACHUM. But your Duty to your Parents, Hussy, obliges you to hang him. What would many a Wife give for such an Opportunity!
POLLY. What is a Jointure, what is Widow-hood to me? I know my Heart. I cannot survive him.
AIR XIII. Le printems rapelle aux armes.
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.
[Exit Polly.]
[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.
[Exeunt severally.]
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.
[Exit, and returns with Macheath.]
Macheath.
AIR XIV. Pretty Parrot, say -
MACHEATH. Pretty Polly, say, When I was away, Did your fancy never stray To some newer Lover? POLLY. Without Disguise, Heaving Sighs, Doting Eyes, My constant Heart discover. Fondly let me loll! MACHEATH. O pretty, pretty Poll.
POLLY. And are YOU as fond as ever, my Dear?
MACHEATH. Suspect my Honour, my Courage, suspect any thing but my Love.--May my Pistols miss Fire, and my Mare slip her Shoulder while I am pursu'd, if I ever forsake thee!
POLLY. Nay, my Dear, I have no Reason to doubt you, for I find in the Romance you lent me, none of the great Heroes were ever false in Love.
AIR XV. Pray, Fair one, be kind -
MACHEATH. My Heart was so free, It rov'd like the Bee, 'Till Polly my Passion requited; I sipt each Flower, I chang'd every Hour, But here every Flower