Lock. Learn to bear your husband’s death like a reasonable woman. ’Tis not the fashion nowadays so much as to affect sorrow upon these occasions. No woman would ever marry, if she had not the chance of mortality for a release. Act like a woman of spirit, hussy, and thank your father for what he is doing.
Air.—Of a noble race was Shenkin
Lucy. Is then his fate decreed, sir?
When first we met so moves me yet,
Oh! see how my heart is splitting.
Lock. Look ye, there is no saving him. So I think you must even do like other widows—buy yourself weeds and be cheerful.
Air
This sentence not severe;
I hang your husband, child, ’tis true,
But with him hang your care.
Twang dang dillo dee.
Like a good wife, go moan over your dying husband. That, child, is your duty. Consider, girl, you can’t have the man and the money too. So make yourself as easy as you can, by getting all you can from him.
[Exit.
Enter Macheath
Lucy.Though the Ordinary was out of the way to-day, I hope, my dear, you will upon the first opportunity quiet my scruples. Oh, sir, my father’s hard heart is not to be softened, and I am in the utmost despair.
Mac. But if I could raise a small sum—would not twenty guineas, think you, move him? Of all the arguments in the way of business the perquisite is the most prevailing. Your father’s perquisites for the escape of prisoners must amount to a considerable sum in the year. Money, well timed and properly applied, will do anything.
Air.—London Ladies
And would not have matters neglected,
You must quicken the clerk with the perquisite too,
To do what his duty directed.
Or would you the frowns of a lady prevent,
She too has this palpable failing;
The perquisite softens her into consent;
That reason with all is prevailing.
Lucy. What love or money can do shall be done; for all my comfort depends upon your safety.
Enter Polly
Polly. Where is my dear husband? Was a rope ever intended for this neck? Oh, let me throw my arms about it and throttle thee with love! Why dost thou turn away from me? ’Tis thy Polly—’tis thy wife!
Mac. Was ever such an unfortunate rascal as I am?
Lucy. Was there ever such another villain?
Polly. Oh, Macheath, was it for this we parted? Taken! imprisoned! tried! hanged! Cruel reflection! I’ll stay with thee till death—no force shall tear thy dear wife from thee now. What means my love? Not one kind word, not one kind look! Think what thy Polly suffers to see thee in this condition!
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