Never was a Man more out of the way in an Argument than my Husband? Why 
must our Polly, forsooth, differ from her Sex, and love only her Husband? 
And why must Polly's Marriage, contrary to all Observation, make her the 
less followed by other Men? All Men are Thieves in Love, and like a Woman 
the better for being another's Property.
 
                Air V.--Of all the simple Things we do, &c.
              
              A Maid is like the Golden Ore,
                Which hath Guineas intrinsical in't,
              Whose Worth is never known, before
                It is try'd and imprest in the Mint.
              A wife's like a Guinea in Gold,
                Stampt with the Name of her Spouse;
              Now here, now there; is bought, or is sold;
                And is current in every House.
 
 
                                  Scene 6.
                            MRS. PEACHUM, FILCH.
  MRS. PEACHUM. Come here, Filch. I am as fond of the Child, as though my 
Mind misgave me he were my own. He hath as fine a Hand at picking a Pocket 
as a Woman, and is as nimble-finger'd as a Juggler. If an unlucky Session 
does not cut the Rope of thy Life, I pronounce, Boy, thou wilt be a great 
Man in History. Where was your Post last Night, my Boy?
  FILCH. I ply'd at the Opera, Madam; and considering 'twas neither dark 
nor rainy, so that there was no great Hurry in getting Chairs and Coaches, 
made a tolerable Hand on't. These seven Handkerchiefs, Madam.
  MRS. PEACHUM. Colour'd ones, I see. They are of sure Sale from our 
Warehouse at Redriff among the Seamen.
  FILCH. And this Snuff-box.
  MRS. PEACHUM. Set in Gold! A pretty Encouragement this to a young 
Beginner.
  FILCH. I had a fair Tug at charming Gold Watch. Pox take the Tailors for 
making the Fobs so deep and narrow! It stuck by the way, and I was 
forc'd to make my Escape under a Coach. Really, Madam, I fear I shall be 
cut off in the Flower of my Youth, so that every now and then (since I was 
pumpt) I have Thoughts of taking up and going to Sea. 
  MRS. PEACHUM. You should go to Hockley in the Hole, and to Mary-bone, 
Child, to learn Valour. These are the Schools that have bred so many brave 
Men. I thought, Boy, by this time thou hadst lost Fear as well as Shame. 
Poor Lad! how little does he know yet of the Old Baily! For the first 
Fact I'll insure thee from being hang'd; and going to Sea, Filch, will come 
time enough upon a Sentence of Transportation. But now, since you have 
nothing better to do, ev'n go to your Book, and learn your Catechism; for 
really a Man makes but an ill Figure in the Ordinary's Paper, who 
cannot give a satisfactory Answer to his Questions. But hark you, my Lad. 
Don't tell me a Lye; for you know that I hate a Liar. Do you know of 
anything that hath pass'd between Captain Macheath and our Polly? 
  FILCH. I beg you, Madam, don't ask me; for I must either tell a Lye to 
you or to Miss Polly; for I promis'd her I would not tell.
  MRS. PEACHUM. But when the Honour of our Family is concern'd---
  FILCH. I shall lead a sad Life with Miss Polly, if she ever comes to know 
that I told you. Besides, I would not willingly forfeit my own Honour by 
betraying any body.
  MRS. PEACHUM. Yonder comes my Husband and Polly. Come, Filch, you shall 
go with me into my own Room, and tell me the whole Story. I'll give thee a 
most delicious Glass of a Cordial that I keep for my own drinking.
 
 
                                  Scene 7. 
                              PEACHUM, POLLY. 
  POLLY. I know as well as any of the fine Ladies how to make the most of 
myself and of my Man too. A Woman knows how to be mercenary, though she 
hath never been in a Court or at an Assembly. We have it in our Natures, 
Papa. If I allow Captain Macheath some trifling Liberties, I have this 
Watch and other visible Marks of his Favour to show for it. A Girl who 
cannot grant some Things, and refuse what is most material, will make but a 
poor hand of her Beauty, and soon be thrown upon the Common. 
 
         Air VI.--What shall I do to show 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.
 
 
                                  Scene 8.
                       PEACHUM, POLLY, MRS. PEACHUM.
 
                    Air VII.--Oh London is a fine Town.
                   MRS. PEACHUM, in a very great Passion.
 
    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 Cowcumber, she flings herself away.
    Our Polly is a sad slut, &c.