POLLY. Were you sentenc'd to Transportation, sure, my Dear, you
could not leave me behind you--could you?
MACHEATH. Is there any Power, any Force that could tear me from
thee? You might sooner tear a Pension out of the Hands of a
Courtier, a Fee from a Lawyer, a pretty Woman from a Looking-glass,
or any Woman from Quadrille.--But to tear me from thee is impossible!
AIR XVI. Over the Hills and far away.
Were I laid on Greenland's Coast,
And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass;
Warm amidst eternal Frost,
Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.
POLLY. Were I sold on Indian Soil,
Soon as the burning Day was clos'd,
I could mock the sultry Toil
When on my Charmer's Breast repos'd.
MACHEATH. And I would love you all the Day,
POLLY. Every Night would kiss and play,
MACHEATH. If with me you'd fondly stray
POLLY. Over the Hills and far away.
POLLY. Yes, I would go with thee. But oh!--how shall I speak it? I
must be torn from thee. We must part.
MACHEATH. How! Part!
POLLY. We must, we must.
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