_Lucy_. O Villain, Villain! thou hast deceiv’d me—I could even inform against thee with Pleasure. Not a Prude wishes more heartily to have Facts against her intimate Acquaintance, than I now wish to have Facts against thee. I would have her Satisfaction, and they should all out. AIR XXXV. _Irish_ Trot. Polly. _I am bubbled_. Lucy. . . . _I’m bubbled_. Polly. _O how I am troubled_! Lucy. _Bambouzled_, _and bit_! Polly. . . . _My Distresses are doubled_. Lucy. _When you come to the Tree_, _should the Hangman refuse_, _These Fingers_, _with Pleasure_, _could fasten the Noose_. Polly. I’m bubbled, &c. _Macheath_. Be pacified, my dear _Lucy_—This is all a Fetch of _Polly’s_, to make me desperate with you in case I get off. If I am hang’d, she would fain have the Credit of being thought my Widow—Really, _Polly_, this is no time for a Dispute of this sort; for whenever you are talking of Marriage, I am thinking of Hanging. _Polly_. And hast thou the Heart to persist in disowning me? _Macheath_. And hast thou the Heart to persist in persuading me that I am married? Why, _Polly_, dost thou seek to aggravate my Misfortunes? _Lucy_. Really, Miss _Peachum_, you but expose yourself. Besides, ’tis barbarous in you to worry a Gentleman in his Circumstances. AIR XXXVI. Polly. _Cease your Funning_; _Force or Cunning_ _Never shall my Heart trapan_. _All these Sallies_ _Are but Malice_ _To seduce my constant Man_. _’Tis most certain_, _By their flirting_ _Women oft’ have Envy shown_. _Pleas’d_, _to ruin_ _Others wooing_; _Never happy in their own_. _Polly_. Decency, Madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some Reserve with the Husband, while his Wife is present. _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.]