– He shall be taken off.

MRS PEACHUM. I'll undertake to manage Polly.

PEACHUM. And I'll prepare Matters for the Old- Baily.

 

Scene XII

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 my self 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 lye 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.

 

 

Scene XIII

Polly, 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,

Doating 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 ev'ry Hour,

But here ev'ry Flower is united.

 

POLLY. Were you sentenc'd to Transportation, sure, my Dear, you could not leave me behind you – could you?

MACHEATH. Is there any Power, any Force that could tear me from thee? You might sooner tear a Pension out of the Hands of a Courtier, a Fee from a Lawyer, a pretty Woman from a Looking-glass, or any Woman from Quadrille. – But to tear me from thee is impossible!

 

Air XVI. Over the Hills and far away.

 

Were I laid on Greenland's Coast,

And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass;

Warm amidst eternal Frost,

Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.

POLLY.

Were I sold on Indian Soil,

Soon as the burning Day was clos'd,

I could mock the sultry Toil,

When on my Charmer's Breast repos'd.

MACHEATH.

And I would love you all the Day,

POLLY.

Every Night would kiss and play,

MACHEATH.

If with me you'd fondly stray

POLLY.

Over the Hills and far away.

 

Yes, I would go with thee. But oh! – how shall I speak it? I must be torn from thee. We must part.

MACHEATH. How! Part!

POLLY. We must, we must. – My Papa and Mama are set against thy Life. They now, even now are in Search after thee. They are preparing Evidence against thee. Thy Life depends upon a Moment.

 

Air XVII. Gin thou wert mine awn thing –

O what Pain it is to part!

Can I leave thee, can I leave thee?

O what Pain it is to part!

Can thy Polly ever leave thee?

But lest Death my Love should thwart,

And bring thee to the fatal Cart,

Thus I tear thee from my bleeding Heart!

Fly hence, and let me leave thee.

 

One Kiss and then – one Kiss – begone – farewell.

MACHEATH. My Hand, my Heart, my Dear, is so rivited to thine, that I cannot unloose my Hold.

POLLY. But my Papa may intercept thee, and then I should lose the very glimmering of Hope.