icking. I carried a silver-flowered Lutestring, and
a Piece of black Padesoy to Mr. _Peachum's_ Lock but last Week.

_Mrs. Vixen._ There's _Molly Brazen_ hath the Ogle of a Rattle-Snake.
She rivetted a Linen-Draper's Eye so fast upon her, that he was nick'd
of three Pieces of Cambric before he could look off.

_Brazen._ Oh dear Madam! --But sure nothing can come up to your handling
of Laces! And then you have such a sweet deluding Tongue! To cheat a Man
is nothing; but the Woman must have fine Parts indeed who cheats a
Woman.

_Mrs. Vixen._ Lace, Madam, lies in a small Compass, and is of easy
Conveyance. But you are apt, Madam, to think too well of your Friends.

_Mrs. Coaxer._ If any woman hath more Art than another, to be sure, 'tis
_Jenny Diver_. Though her Fellow be never so agreeable, she can pick his
Pocket as coolly, as if money were her only Pleasure. Now that is a
Command of the Passions uncommon in a Woman!

_Jenny._ I never go to the Tavern with a Man, but in the View of
Business. I have other Hours, and other sort of Men for my Pleasure. But
had I your Address, Madam--

_Macheath._ Have done with your Compliments, Ladies; and drink about:
You are not so fond of me, _Jenny_, as you use to be.

_Jenny._ 'Tis not convenient, Sir, to shew my Fondness among so many
Rivals. 'Tis your own Choice, and not the Warmth of my Inclination that
will determine you.

AIR XXIII. All in a misty Morning, &c.

[Music]

Before the Barn-Door crowing,
The Cock by Hens attended,
His Eyes around him throwing,
Stands for a while suspended.

Then One he singles from the Crew,
And cheers the happy Hen;
With how do you do, and how do you do,
And how do you do again.

_Macheath._ Ah _Jenny!_ thou art a dear Slut.

_Jenny._ A Man of Courage should never put any thing to the Risk but his
Life. These are the Tools of a Man of Honour. Cards and Dice are only
fit for cowardly Cheats, who prey upon their Friends.

[She takes up his Pistol. _Tawdry_ takes up the other.

_Tawdry._ This, Sir, is fitter for your Hand. Besides your Loss of
Money, 'tis a Loss to the Ladies. Gaming takes you off from Women. How
fond could I be of you! but before Company 'tis ill bred.

_Macheath._ Wanton Hussies!

_Jenny._ I must and will have a Kiss to give my Wine a Zest.

[They take him about the Neck and make signs to _Peachum_ and
Constables, who rush in upon him.

_Peachum._ I seize you, Sir, as m