Macheath. _Which way shall I turn me_—_How can I decide_? _Wives_, _the Day of our Death_, _are as fond as a Bride_. _One Wife is too much for most Husbands to hear_, _But two at a time there’s no mortal can bear_. _This way_, _and that way_, _and which way I will_, _What would comfort the one_, _t’ other Wife would take ill_. _Polly_. But if his own Misfortunes have made him insensible to mine—A Father sure will be more compassionate—Dear, dear Sir, sink the material Evidence, and bring him off at his Trial—_Polly_ upon her Knees begs it of you. AIR LIII. I am a poor Shepherd undone. _When my Heroe in Court appears_, _And stands arraign’d for his Life_; _Then think of poor_ Polly’s _Tears_; _For Ah_! _poor_ Polly’s _his Wife_. _Like the Sailor he holds up his hand_, _Distrest on the dashing Wave_. _To die a dry Death at Land_, _Is as bad as a watery Grave_. _And alas_, _poor_ Polly! _Alack_, _and well-a-day_! _Before I was in Love_, _Oh_! _every Month was_ May. _Lucy_. If _Peachum’s_ Heart is harden’d; sure you, Sir, will have more Compassion on a Daughter.—I know the Evidence is in your Power.—How then can you be a Tyrant to me? [_Kneeling_. AIR LIV. _Ianthe_ the lovely, &c. _When he holds up his Hand arraign’d for his Life_, _O think of your Daughter_, _and think I’m his Wife_! _What are Canons_, _or Bombs_, _or clashing of Swords_? _For Death is more certain by Witnesses Words_. _Then nail up their Lips_; _that dread Thunder allay_; _And each Month of my Life will hereafter be May_. _Lockit_. _Macheath’s_ Time is come, _Lucy_.—We know our own Affairs, therefore let us have no more Whimpering or Whining. AIR LV. A Cobler there was, &c. _Ourselves_, _like the Great_, _to secure a Retreat_, _When Matters require it_, _must give up our Gang_: _And good reason why_, _Or_, _instead of the Fry_, _Ev’n_ Peachum _and I_. _Like poor petty Rascals_, _might hang_, _hang_; _Like poor petty Rascals_, _might hang_. _Peachum_. Set your Heart at rest, _Polly_.—Your Husband is to die to-day.—Therefore if you are not already provided, ’tis high time to look about for another. There’s Comfort for you, you Slut. _Lockit_. We are ready, Sir, to conduct you to the _Old Baily_. AIR LVI. Bonny _Dundee_.