_Lockit_. Look ye, Captain, we know what is fittest for our Prisoners. When a Gentleman uses me with Civility, I always do the best I can to please him.—Hand them down I say.—We have them of all Prices, from one Guinea to ten, and ’tis fitting every Gentleman should please himself. _Macheath_. I understand you, Sir. [_Gives Money_.] The Fees here are so many, and so exorbitant, that few Fortunes can bear the Expence of getting off handsomly, or of dying like a Gentleman. _Lockit_. Those, I see, will fit the Captain better—Take down the further Pair. Do but examine them, Sir.—Never was better work. How genteely they are made!—They will fit as easy as a Glove, and the nicest Man in _England_ might not be asham’d to wear them. [_He puts on the Chains_.] If I had the best Gentleman in the Land in my Custody I could not equip him more handsomly. And so, Sir—I now leave you to your private Meditations. [_Exeunt leaving_ Macheath _solus_. Macheath. AIR XXV. Courtiers, Courtiers, think it no Harm, &c. _Man may escape from Rope and Gun_; _Nay_, _some have out liv’d the Doctor’s Pill_; _Who takes a Woman must be undone_, _That Basilisk is sure to kill_. _The Fly that sips Treacle is lost in the Sweets_, _So he that tastes Woman_, _Woman_, _Woman_, _He that tastes Woman_, _ruin meets_. To what a woful Plight have I brought myself! Here must I (all Day long, ’till I am hang’d) be confin’d to hear the Reproaches of a Wench who lays her Ruin at my Door—I am in the Custody of her Father, and to be sure, if he knows of the matter, I shall have a fine time on’t betwixt this and my Execution.—But I promis’d the Wench Marriage—What signifies a Promise to a Woman? Does not Man in Marriage itself promise a hundred things that he never means to perform? Do all we can, Women will believe us; for they look upon a Promise as an Excuse for following their own Inclinations.—But here comes _Lucy_, and I cannot get from her.—Wou’d I were deaf! _Enter_ Lucy. _Lucy_. You base Man you,—how can you look me in the Face after what hath passed between us?—See here, perfidious Wretch, how I am forc’d to bear about the Load of Infamy you have laid upon me—O _Macheath_! thou hast robb’d me of my Quiet—to see thee tortur’d would give me Pleasure. AIR XXVI. A lovely Lass to a Friar came, &c. _Thus when a good Housewife sees a Rat_ _In her Trap in the Morning taken_, _With Pleasure her Heart goes pit-a-pat_, _In Revenge for her Loss of Bacon_. _Then she throws him_ _To the Dog or Cat_, _To be worried_, _crush’d and shaken_. _Macheath_. Have you no Bowels, no Tenderness, my dear _Lucy_, to see a Husband in these Circumstances? _Lucy_. A Husband!