The Beggars Opera | Page 7

VI. What shall I do to shew how much I love her, &c.
Virgins are like the fair Flower in its Lustre, Which in the Garden
enamels the Ground; Near it the Bees in play flutter and cluster, And
gaudy Butterflies frolick around. But, when once pluck'd, 'tis no longer
alluring, To Covent-Garden 'tis sent (as yet sweet), There fades, and
shrinks, and grows past all enduring, Rots, stinks, and dies, and is trod
under feet.
PEACHUM. You know, Polly, I am not against your toying and trifling
with a Customer in the way of Business, or to get out a Secret, or so.
But if I find out that you have play'd the Fool and are married, you Jade
you, I'll cut your Throat, Hussy. Now you know my Mind.
[Enter Mrs. Peachum, in a very great Passion.]
AIR 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,