_Peachum._ I hear Customers in t'other Room: Go, talk with 'em, _Polly_; but come to us again, as soon as they are gone. --But, hark ye, Child, if 'tis the Gentleman who was here Yesterday about the Repeating Watch; say, you believe we can't get Intelligence of it 'till to-morrow. For I lent it to _Suky Straddle_, to make a figure with it to-night at a Tavern in _Drury-Lane_. If t'other Gentleman calls for the Silver-hilted Sword; you know _Beetle-brow'd Jemmy_ hath it on, and he doth not come from _Tunbridge_ 'till _Tuesday_ Night; so that it cannot be had 'till then. [Exit _Polly_. _Peachum._ Dear Wife, be a little pacified, Don't let your Passion run away with your Senses. _Polly_, I grant you, hath done a rash thing. _Mrs. Peachum._ If she had only an Intrigue with the Fellow, why the very best Families have excus'd and huddled up a Frailty of that sort. 'Tis Marriage, Husband, that makes it a Blemish. _Peachum._ But Money, Wife, is the true Fuller's Earth for Reputations, there is not a Spot or a Stain but what it can take out. A rich Rogue now-a-days is fit Company for any Gentleman; and the World, my Dear, hath not such a Contempt for Roguery as you imagine. I tell you, Wife, I can make this Match turn to our Advantage. _Mrs. Peachum._ I am very sensible, Husband, that Captain _Macheath_ is worth Money, but I am in doubt whether he hath not two or three Wives already, and then if he should die in a Session or two, _Polly's_ Dower would come into Dispute. _Peachum._ That, indeed, is a Point which ought to be consider'd. AIR XI. A Soldier and a Sailor. [Music] A Fox may steal your Hens, Sir, A Whore your Health and Pence, Sir, Your Daughter rob your Chest, Sir, Your Wife may steal your Rest, Sir. A Thief your Goods and Plate. But this is all but picking, With Rest, Pence, Chest and Chicken; It ever was decreed, Sir, If Lawyer's Hand is fee'd, Sir, He steals your whole Estate. The Lawyers are bitter Enemies to those in our Way. They don't care that any body should get a clandestine Livelihood but themselves. Enter _Polly_. _Polly._ 'Twas only _Nimming Ned_. He brought in a Damask Window-Curtain, a Hoop-Petticoat, a pair of Silver Candlesticks, a Periwig, and one Silk Stocking, from the Fire that happen'd last Night. _Peachum._ There is not a Fellow that is cleverer in his way, and saves more Goods out of the Fire than _Ned_. But now, _Polly_, to your Affair; for Matters must not be left as they are. You are married then, it seems? _Polly._ Yes, Sir. _Peachum._ And how do you propose to live, Child? _Polly._ Like other Women, Sir, upon the Industry of my Husband. _Mrs. Peachum._ What, is the Wench turn'd Fool? A Highwayman's Wife, like a Soldier's, hath as little of his Pay, as of his Company. _Peachum._ And had not you the common Views of a Gentlewoman in your Marriage, _Polly_? _Polly._ I don't know what you mean, Sir. _Peachum._ Of a Jointure, and of being a Widow.