_Macheath._ I beg you, Gentlemen, act with Conduct and Discretion. A Pistol is your last Resort. _Matt._ He knows nothing of this Meeting. _Macheath._ Business cannot go on without him. He is a Man who knows the World, and is a necessary Agent to us. We have had a slight Difference, and 'till it is accommodated I shall be oblig'd to keep out of his way. Any private Dispute of mine shall be of no ill consequence to my Friends. You must continue to act under his Direction, for the moment we break loose from him, our Gang is ruin'd. _Matt._ As a Bawd to a Whore, I grant you, he is to us of great Convenience. _Macheath._ Make him believe I have quitted the Gang, which I can never do but with Life. At our private Quarters I will continue to meet you. A Week or so will probably reconcile us. _Matt._ Your Instructions shall be observ'd. 'Tis now high time for us to repair to our several Duties; so 'till the Evening at our Quarters in Moor-Fields we bid you farewel. _Macheath._ I shall wish myself with you. Success attend you. [Sits down melancholy at the Table. AIR XX. March in _Rinaldo_, with Drums and Trumpets. [Music] _Matt._ Let us take the Road. Hark! I hear the Sound of Coaches! The Hour of Attack approaches, To your Arms, brave Boys, and load. See the Ball I hold! Let the Chymists toil like Asses, Our Fire their Fire surpasses, And turns all our Lead to Gold. [The Gang, rang'd in the Front of the Stage, load their Pistols, and stick them under their Girdles; then go off singing the first Part in Chorus. _Macheath._ What a Fool is a fond Wench! _Polly_ is most confoundedly bit. --I love the Sex. And a Man who loves Money, might as well be contented with one Guinea, as I with one Woman. The Town perhaps have been as much obliged to me, for recruiting it with free-hearted Ladies, as to any Recruiting Officer in the Army. If it were not for us, and the other Gentlemen of the Sword, _Drury-Lane_ would be uninhabited. AIR XXI. Would you have a young Virgin, &c. [Music] If the Heart of a Man is deprest with Cares, The Mist is dispell'd when a Woman appears; Like the Notes of a Fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly Raises the Spirits, and charms our Ears, Roses and Lilies her Cheeks disclose, But her ripe Lips are more sweet than those. Press her, Caress her, With Blisses, Her Kisses Dissolve us in Pleasure, and soft Repose. I must have Women. There is nothing unbends the Mind like them. Money is not so strong a Cordial for the Time. Drawer-- [Enter Drawer.] Is the Porter gone for all the Ladies according to my Directions? _Drawer._ I expect him back every Minute. But you know, Sir, you sent him as far as _Hockley in the Hole_ for three of the Ladies, for one in _Vinegar-Yard_, and for the rest of them somewhere about _Lewkner's-Lane_. Sure some of them are below, for I hear the Bar-Bell. As they come I will shew them up. Coming, Coming.