MACHEATH. But seriously, Polly, this is carrying the Joke a little
too far.
LUCY. If you are determin'd, Madam, to raise a Disturbance in the
Prison, I shall be obliged to send for the Turnkey to shew 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 XXXVII. Good-morrow, Gossip Joan.
LUCY. Why how now, Madam Flirt?
If you thus must chatter;
And are for flinging Dirt,
Let's try who best can spatter;
Madam Flirt.
POLLY. Why how now, saucy Jade;
Sure the Wench is tipsy!
How can you see me made [To him.]
The Scoff of such a Gipsy?
Saucy Jade! [To her.]
[Enter Peachum.]
PEACHUM. Where's my Wench? Ah Hussy! Hussy!--Come you home, you
Slut; and when your Fellow is hang'd, hang yourself, to make your
Family some Amends.
POLLY. Dear, dear Father, do not tear me from him--I must speak; I
have more to say to him--Oh! twist thy Fetters about me, that he may
not haul me from thee!
PEACHUM.
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