Re-enter Failer

Fail. Miss Polly and Miss Lucy entreat a word with you.

Mac. Gentlemen, adieu!

[Exeunt Ben Budge and Mat of the Mint.

Enter Lucy and Polly

Mac. My dear Lucy, my dear Polly, whatsoever hath passed between us is now at an end. If you are fond of marrying again, the best advice I can give you is to ship yourselves off for the West Indies, where you’ll have a fair chance of getting a husband apiece, or by good luck two or three, as you like best.

Polly. How can I support this sight?

Lucy. There is nothing moves one so much as a great man in distress.

Air.—All you that must take a leap, etc.

Lucy. Would I might be hanged!

Polly. And I would so too!

Lucy. To be hanged with you.

Polly. My dear, with you.

Mac. O leave me to thought! I fear! I doubt! I tremble! I droop! See, my courage is out.

[Turns up the empty bottle.

Polly. No token of love?

Mac. See, my courage is out.

[Turns up the empty pot.

Lucy. No token of love?

Polly. Adieu!

Lucy. Farewell!

Mac. But hark! I hear the toll of the bell.

Chorus. Tol de rol, lol, etc.

Fail. Four women more, Captain, with a child apiece. See, here they come.

Enter Women and Children

Mac. What, four wives more! This is too much. Here, tell the sheriff’s officers I am ready.

[Exit Macheath guarded.