given yourself trouble to no purpose.
--You must, my Dear, excuse me.

_Lucy._ Really, Miss _Polly_, you are as squeamishly affected about
taking a Cup of Strong-Waters as a Lady before Company. I vow, _Polly_,
I shall take it monstrously ill if you refuse me. --Brandy and Men
(though Women love them ever so well) are always taken by us with some
Reluctance-- unless 'tis in private.

_Polly._ I protest, Madam, it goes against me. --What do I see!
_Macheath_ again in Custody! --Now every Glimm'ring of Happiness is
lost.

[Drops the Glass of Liquor on the Ground.

_Lucy._ Since things are thus, I'm glad the Wench hath escap'd: for by
this Event, 'tis plain, she was not happy enough to deserve to be
poison'd.

Enter _Lockit_, _Macheath_, _Peachum_.

_Lockit._ Set your Heart to rest, Captain. --You have neither the Chance
of Love or Money for another Escape,-- for you are order'd to be call'd
down upon your Trial immediately.

_Peachum._ Away, Hussies! --This is not a Time for a Man to be hamper'd
with his Wives. --You see, the Gentleman is in Chains already.

_Lucy._ O Husband, Husband, my Heart long'd to see thee; but to see thee
thus distracts me?

_Polly._ Will not my dear Husband look upon his _Polly_? Why hadst thou
not flown to me for Protection? with me thou hadst been safe.

AIR LI. The last time I went o'er the Moor.

[Music]

_Polly._ Hither, dear Husband, turn your Eyes.

_Lucy._ Bestow one Glance to cheer me.

_Polly._ Think with that Look, thy _Polly_ dies.

_Lucy._ O shun me not-- but hear me.

_Polly._ 'Tis _Polly_ sues.

_Lucy._ --'Tis _Lucy_ speaks.

_Polly._ Is thus true Love requited?

_Lucy._ My Heart is bursting.

_Polly._ --Mine too breaks.

_Lucy._ Must I

_Polly._ --Must I be slighted?

_Macheath._ What would you have me say, Ladies? --You see this affair
will soon be at an end, without my disobliging either of you.

_Peachum._ But the settling this Point, Captain, might prevent a
Law-Suit between your two Widows.

AIR LII. _Tom Tinker's_ my true Love.

[Music]

_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.