_A Fox may steal your Hens_, _Sir_, _A Whore your Health and Pence_, _Sir_, _Your Daughter rob your Chest_, _Sir_, _Your Wife may steal your Rest_, _Sir_. _A Thief your Goods and Plate_. _But this is all but picking_, _With Rest_, _Pence_, _Chest and Chicken_; _It ever was decreed_, _Sir_, _If Lawyer’s Hand is fee’d_, _Sir_, _He steals your whole Estate_. The Lawyers are bitter Enemies to those in our Way. They don’t care that any body should get a clandestine Livelihood but themselves. _Enter_ Polly. _Polly_. ’Twas only _Nimming Ned_. He brought in a Damask Window-Curtain, a Hoop-Petticoat, a pair of Silver Candlesticks, a Periwig, and one Silk Stocking, from the Fire that happen’d last Night. _Peachum_. There is not a Fellow that is cleverer in his way, and saves more Goods out of the Fire than _Ned_. But now, _Polly_, to your Affair; for Matters must not be left as they are. You are married then, it seems? _Polly_. Yes, Sir. _Peachum_. And how do you propose to live, Child? _Polly_. Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband. _Mrs. Peachum_. What, is the Wench turn’d Fool? A Highwayman’s Wife, like a Soldier’s, hath as little of his Pay, as of his Company. _Peachum_. And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in your Marriage, _Polly_? _Polly_. I don’t know what you mean, Sir. _Peachum_. Of a Jointure, and of being a Widow. _Polly_. But I love him, Sir; how then could I have Thoughts of parting with him? _Peachum_. Parting with him! Why, this is the whole Scheme and Intention of all Marriage-Articles. The comfortable Estate of Widow-hood, is the only Hope that keeps up a Wife’s Spirits. Where is the Woman who would scruple to be a Wife, if she had it in her Power to be a Widow, whenever she pleas’d? If you have any Views of this sort, _Polly_, I shall think the Match not so very unreasonable. _Polly_. How I dread to hear your Advice! Yet I must beg you to explain yourself. _Peachum_. Secure what he hath got, have him peach’d the next Sessions, and then at once you are made a rich Widow. _Polly_. What, murder the Man I love! The Blood runs cold at my Heart with the very thought of it. _Peachum_. Fie, _Polly_! What hath Murder to do in the Affair? Since the thing sooner or later must happen, I dare say, the Captain himself would like that we should get the Reward for his Death sooner than a Stranger. Why, _Polly_, the Captain knows, that as ’tis his Employment to rob, so ’tis ours to take Robbers; every Man in his Business. So that there is no Malice in the Case. _Mrs. Peachum_. Ay, Husband, now you have nick’d the Matter. To have him peach’d is the only thing could ever make me forgive her. AIR XII. Now ponder well, ye Parents dear.