_Macheath._ For my having broke Prison, you see, Gentlemen, I am order'd immediate Execution. --The Sheriff's Officers, I believe, are now at the Door. --That _Jemmy Twitcher_ should peach me, I own surpris'd me! --'Tis a plain Proof that the World is all alike, and that even our Gang can no more trust one another than other People. Therefore, I beg you, Gentlemen, look well to yourselves, for in all probability you may live some Months longer. _Matt._ We are heartily sorry, Captain, for your Misfortune. --But 'tis what we must all come to. _Macheath._ _Peachum_ and _Lockit_, you know, are infamous Scoundrels. Their Lives are as much in your Power, as yours are in theirs. --Remember your dying Friend! --'Tis my last Request. --Bring those Villains to the Gallows before you, and I am satisfied. _Matt._ We'll do't. _Jailor._ Miss _Polly_ and Miss _Lucy_ intreat a Word with you. _Macheath._ Gentlemen, adieu. [Exeunt _Ben Budge_ and _Matt_. Enter _Lucy_ and _Polly_. _Macheath._ My dear _Lucy_-- My dear _Polly_-- Whatsoever hath pass'd between us is now at an end-- If you are fond of marrying again, the best Advice I can give you, is to Ship yourselves off for the _West-Indies_, where you'll have a fair Chance of getting a Husband a-piece, or by good Luck, two or three, as you like best. _Polly._ How can I support this Sight! _Lucy._ There is nothing moves one so much as a great Man in Distress. AIR LXVII. All you that must take a Leap, &c. [Music] _Lucy._ Would I might be hang'd! _Polly._ --And I would so too! _Lucy._ To be hang'd with you. _Polly._ --My Dear, with you. _Macheath._ O leave me to Thought! I fear! I doubt! I tremble! I droop! --See, my Courage is out. [Turns up the empty Bottle. _Polly._ No Token of Love? _Macheath._ --See, my Courage is out. [Turns up the empty Pot. _Lucy._ No Token of Love? _Polly._ --Adieu. _Lucy._ --Farewell. _Macheath._ But hark! I hear the Toll of the Bell. _Chorus._ Tol de rol lol, &c. _Jailor._ Four Women more, Captain, with a Child apiece! See, here they come. [Enter Women and Children. _Macheath._ What-- four Wives more! --This is too much-- Here-- tell the Sheriff's Officers I am ready. [Exit _Macheath_ guarded. _To them, Enter _Player_ and _Beggar_._ _Player._ But, honest Friend, I hope you don't intend that _Macheath_ shall be really executed. _Beggar._ Most certainly, Sir. --To make the Piece perfect, I was for doing strict poetical Justice. --_Macheath_ is to be hang'd; and for the other Personages of the Drama, the Audience must have suppos'd they were all either hang'd or transported. _Player._ Why then, Friend, this is a downright deep Tragedy. The Catastrophe is manifestly wrong, for an Opera must end happily.