Lucy. When you come to the Tree, should the hangman refuse,
These fingers with pleasure could fasten the noose.

Polly. I’m bubbled, etc.

Mac. Be pacified, my dear Lucy! This is all a fetch of Polly’s to make me desperate with you in case I get off. If I am hanged, she would fain have the credit of being thought my window. Really, Polly, this is no time for a dispute of this sort; for whenever you are talking of marriage, I am thinking of hanging.

Polly. And hast thou the heart to persist in disowning me?

Mac. And hast thou the heart to persist in persuading me that I am married? Why, Polly, dost thou seek to aggravate my misfortunes?

Lucy. Really, Miss Peachum, you but expose yourself. Besides ’tis barbarous in you to worry a gentleman in his circumstances.

Air

Polly. Cease your funning,
Force or cunning,

Decency, madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some reserve with the husband, while his wife is present.

Mac. But seriously, Polly, this is carrying the joke a little too far.

Lucy. If you are determined, madam, to raise a disturbance in the prison, I shall be obliged to send for the turnkey to show you the door. I am sorry, madam, you force me to be so ill-bred.

Polly. Give me leave to tell you, madam, these forward airs don’t become you in the least, madam. And my duty, madam, obliges me to stay with my husband, madam.

Air.—Good-morrow, gossip Joan

Lucy. Why how now, Madam Flirt?

Polly. Why how now, saucy jade?

[To him.

[To her.

Enter Peachum

Peach. Where’s my wench? Ah, hussy, hussy! Come you home, you slut, and when your fellow is hanged hang yourself to make your family some amends.