PEACHUM. Then, indeed, we must comply with the Customs of the World,
and make Gratitude give way to Interest.--He shall be taken off.
MRS. PEACHUM. I'll undertake to manage Polly.
PEACHUM. And I'll prepare Matters for the Old-Baily.
[Exeunt severally.]
POLLY. Now I'm a Wretch, indeed.--Methinks I see him already in the
Cart, sweeter and more lovely than the Nosegay in his Hand!--I hear
the Crowd extolling his Resolution and Intrepidity!--What Vollies of
Sighs are sent from the Windows of Holborn, that so comely a Youth
should be brought to Disgrace!--I see him at the Tree! The whole
Circle are in Tears!--even Butchers weep!--Jack Ketch himself
hesitates to perform his Duty, and would be glad to lose his Fee, by
a Reprieve. What then will become of Polly!--As yet I may inform him
of their Design, and aid him in his Escape.--It shall be so--But then
he flies, absents himself, and I bar myself from his dear dear
Conversation! That too will distract me.--If he keep out of the way,
my Papa and Mama may in time relent, and we may be happy.
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