The Beggars Opera | Page 9

Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband.
MRS. PEACHUM. What, is the Wench turn'd Fool? A Highwayman's
Wife, like a Soldier's, hath as little of his Pay, as of his Company.
PEACHUM. And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in
your Marriage, Polly?
POLLY. I don't know what you mean, Sir.
PEACHUM. Of a Jointure, and of being a Widow.
POLLY. But I love him, Sir; how then could I have Thoughts of
parting with him?
PEACHUM. Parting with him! Why, this is the whole Scheme and
Intention of all Marriage-Articles. The comfortable Estate of Widow-
hood, is the only Hope that keeps up a Wife's Spirits. Where is the
Woman who would scruple to be a Wife, if she had it in her Power to
be a Widow, whenever she pleas'd? If you have any Views of this sort,
Polly, I shall think the Match not so very unreasonable.
POLLY. How I dread to hear your Advice! Yet I must beg you to
explain yourself.
PEACHUM. Secure what he hath got, have him peach'd the next
Sessions, and then at once you are made a 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