_Drawer_. I expect him back every Minute. But you know, Sir, you sent him as far as _Hockley in the Hole_ for three of the Ladies, for one in _Vinegar-Yard_, and for the rest of them somewhere about _Lewkner’s-Lane_. Sure some of them are below, for I hear the Bar-Bell. As they come I will shew them up. Coming, Coming. _Enter Mrs._ Coaxer, Dolly Trull, _Mrs._ Vixen, Betty Doxy, Jenny Diver, _Mrs._ Slammekin, Suky Tawdry, _and_ Molly Brazen. _Macheath_. Dear Mrs. _Coaxer_, you are welcome. You look charmingly to-day. I hope you don’t want the Repairs of Quality, and lay on Paint.—_Dolly Trull_! kiss me, you Slut; are you as amorous as ever, Hussy? You are always so taken up with stealing Hearts, that you don’t allow yourself Time to steal any thing else.—Ah _Dolly_, thou wilt ever be a Coquette! Mrs. _Vixen_, I’m yours, I always lov’d a Woman of Wit and Spirit; they make charming Mistresses, but plaguy Wives—_Betty Doxy_! Come hither, Hussy. Do you drink as hard as ever? You had better stick to good wholesom Beer; for in troth, _Betty_, Strong-Waters will in time ruin your Constitution. You should leave those to your Betters.—What! and my pretty _Jenny Diver_ too! As prim and demure as ever! There is not any Prude, though ever so high bred, hath a more sanctify’d Look, with a more mischievous Heart. Ah! thou art a dear artful Hypocrite.—Mrs. _Slammekin_! as careless and genteel as ever! all you fine Ladies, who know your own Beauty, affect an Undress.—But see, here’s _Suky Tawdry_ come to contradict what I was saying. Every thing she gets one way she lays out upon her Back. Why, _Suky_, you must keep at least a Dozen Tallymen. _Molly Brazen_! [_She kisses him_.] That’s well done. I love a free-hearted Wench. Thou hast a most agreeable Assurance, Girl, and art as willing as a Turtle.—But hark! I hear Music. The Harper is at the Door. _If Music be the Food of Love_, _play on_. Ere you seat yourselves, Ladies, what think you of a Dance? Come in. [_Enter Harper_.] Play the _French_ Tune, that Mrs. _Slammekin_ was so fond of. [_A Dance_ a la ronde _in the_ French _manner_; _near the end of it this song and Chorus_. AIR XXII. Cotillon. _Youth’s the Season made for Joys_, _Love is then our Duty_, _She alone who that employs_, _Well deserves her Beauty_. _Let’s be gay_, _While we may_, _Beauty’s a Flower_, _despis’d in Decay_. _Youth’s the Season_, &c. _Let us drink and sport to-day_, _Ours is not to-morrow_. _Love with Youth flies swift away_, _Age is nought but Sorrow_. _Dance and sing_, _Time’s on the Wing_. _Life never knows the Return of Spring_. Chorus. _Let us drink_, &c.