]
AIR VII. Oh London is a fine Town.
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 Cucumber, she flings herself away.
Our Polly is a sad Slut! &c.
You Baggage! you Hussy! you inconsiderate Jade! had you been hang'd,
it would not have vex'd me, for that might have been your Misfortune;
but to do such a mad thing by Choice; The Wench is married, Husband.
PEACHUM. Married! the Captain is a bold Man, and will risk any thing
for Money; to be sure he believes her a Fortune. Do you think your
Mother and I should have liv'd comfortably so long together, if ever
we had been married? Baggage!
MRS. PEACHUM. I knew she was always a proud Slut; and now the Wench
hath play'd the Fool and Married, because forsooth she would do like
the Gentry.
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