_Peachum._ But really, my Dear, it grieves one's Heart to take off a great Man. When I consider his Personal Bravery, his fine Stratagem, how much we have already got by him, and how much more we may get, methinks I can't find in my Heart to have a hand in his Death. I wish you could have made _Polly_ undertake it. _Mrs. Peachum._ But in a Case of Necessity-- our own Lives are in danger. _Peachum._ Then, indeed, we must comply with the Customs of the World, and make Gratitude give way to Interest. --He shall be taken off. _Mrs. Peachum._ I'll undertake to manage _Polly_. _Peachum._ And I'll prepare Matters for the _Old-Baily_. [Exeunt severally. _Polly._ Now I'm a Wretch, indeed. --Methinks I see him already in the Cart, sweeter and more lovely than the Nosegay in his Hand! --I hear the Crowd extolling his Resolution and Intrepidity! --What Vollies of Sighs are sent from the Windows of _Holborn_, that so comely a Youth should be brought to Disgrace! --I see him at the Tree! The whole Circle are in Tears! --even Butchers weep! --_Jack Ketch_ himself hesitates to perform his Duty, and would be glad to lose his Fee, by a Reprieve. What then will become of _Polly_! --As yet I may inform him of their Design, and aid him in his Escape. --It shall be so-- But then he flies, absents himself, and I bar myself from his dear dear Conversation! That too will distract me. --If he keep out of the way, my Papa and Mama may in time relent, and we may be happy. --If he stays, he is hang'd, and then he is lost for ever! --He intended to lie conceal'd in my Room, 'till the Dusk of the Evening: If they are abroad I'll this Instant let him out, lest some Accident should prevent him. [Exit, and returns with _Macheath_. _Macheath._ AIR XIV. Pretty Parrot, say-- [Music] _Macheath._ Pretty _Polly_, say, When I was away, Did your fancy never stray To some newer Lover? _Polly._ Without Disguise, Heaving Sighs, Doting Eyes, My constant Heart discover. Fondly let me loll! _Macheath._ O pretty, pretty _Poll_. _Polly._ And are _you_ as fond as ever, my Dear? _Macheath._ Suspect my Honour, my Courage, suspect any thing but my Love. --May my Pistols miss Fire, and my Mare slip her Shoulder while I am pursu'd, if I ever forsake thee! _Polly._ Nay, my Dear, I have no Reason to doubt you, for I find in the Romance you lent me, none of the great Heroes were ever false in Love. AIR XV. Pray, Fair one, be kind-- [Music] _Macheath._ My Heart was so free, It rov'd like the Bee, 'Till _Polly_ my Passion requited; I sipt each Flower, I chang'd every Hour, But here every Flower is united. _Polly._ Were you sentenc'd to Transportation, sure, my Dear, you could not leave me behind you-- could you?