[_Exeunt_. ACT III. SCENE I. Scene, _Newgate_. Lockit, Lucy. _Lockit_. To be sure, Wench, you must have been aiding and abetting to help him to this Escape. _Lucy_. Sir, here hath been _Peachum_ and his Daughter _Polly_, and to be sure they know the Ways of _Newgate_ as well as if they had been born and bred in the Place all their Lives. Why must all your Suspicion light upon me? _Lockit_. _Lucy_, _Lucy_, I will have none of these shuffling Answers. _Lucy_. Well then—If I know any thing of him I wish I may be burnt! _Lockit_. Keep your Temper, _Lucy_, or I shall pronounce you guilty. _Lucy_. Keep yours, Sir,—I do wish I may be burnt. I do—And what can I say more to convince you? _Lockit_. Did he tip handsomly?—How much did he come down with? Come, Hussy, don’t cheat your Father; and I shall not be angry with you—Perhaps, you have made a better Bargain with him than I could have done—How much, my good Girl? _Lucy_. You know, Sir, I am fond of him, and would have given Money to have kept him with me. _Lockit_. Ah _Lucy_! thy Education might have put thee more upon thy Guard; for a Girl in the Bar of an Ale-house is always besieg’d. _Lucy_. Dear Sir, mention not my Education—for ’twas to that I owe my Ruin. AIR XL. If Love’s a sweet Passion, &c. _When young at the Bar you first taught me to score_, _And bid me be free of my Lips_, _and no more_; _I was kiss’d by the Parson_, _the Squire_, _and the Sot_, _When the Guest was departed_, _the Kiss was forgot_. _But his Kiss was so sweet_, _and so closely he prest_, _That I languish’d and pin’d till I granted the rest_. If you can forgive me, Sir, I will make a fair Confession, for to be sure he hath been a most barbarous Villain to me. _Lockit_. And so you have let him escape, Hussy—Have you? _Lucy_. When a Woman loves; a kind Look, a tender Word can persuade her to any thing—And I could ask no other Bribe. _Lockit_. Thou wilt always be a vulgar Slut, _Lucy_.—If you would not be look’d upon as a Fool, you should never do any thing but upon the foot of Interest. Those that act otherwise are their own Bubbles. _Lucy_. But Love, Sir, is a Misfortune that may happen to the most discreet Women, and in Love we are all Fools alike—Notwithstanding all he swore, I am now fully convinc’d that _Polly Peachum_ is actually his Wife.—Did I let him escape, (Fool that I was!) to go to her?—_Polly_ will wheedle herself into his Money, and then _Peachum_ will hang him, and cheat us both. _Lockit_. So I am to be ruin’d, because, forsooth, you must be in Love!—a very pretty Excuse! _Lucy_. I could murder that impudent happy Strumpet:—I gave him his Life, and that Creature enjoys the Sweets of it.—Ungrateful _Macheath_! AIR XLI. _South-Sea_ Ballad.