'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 k