By keeping Men off, you keep them on.

_Polly._ But he so teaz'd me,
And he so pleas'd me,
What I did, you must have done.

_Mrs. Peachum._ Not with a Highwayman. --You sorry Slut!

_Peachum._ A Word with you, Wife. 'Tis no new thing for a Wench to take
Man without Consent of Parents. You know 'tis the Frailty of Women, my
Dear.

_Mrs. Peachum._ Yes, indeed, the Sex is frail. But the first time a
Woman is frail, she should be somewhat nice methinks, for then or never
is the time to make her Fortune. After that, she hath nothing to do but
to guard herself from being found out, and she may do what she pleases.

_Peachum._ Make yourself a little easy; I have a Thought shall soon set
all Matters again to rights. Why so melancholy, _Polly_? since what is
done cannot be undone, we must all endeavour to make the best of it.

_Mrs. Peachum._ Well, _Polly_; as far as one Woman can forgive another,
I forgive thee. --Your Father is too fond of you, Hussy.

_Polly._ Then all my Sorrows are at an end.

_Mrs. Peachum._ A mighty likely Speech in troth, for a Wench who is just
married!

AIR X. _Thomas_, I cannot, &c.

[Music]

_Polly._ I, like a Ship in Storms, was tost;
Yet afraid to put in to Land:
For seiz'd in the Port the Vessel's lost,
Whose Treasure is contreband.
The Waves are laid,
My Duty's paid.
O Joy beyond Expression!
Thus, safe a-shore,
I ask no more,
My All is in my Possession.

_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 Reputatio