us when the Swallow seeking Prey,
Within the Sash is closely pent,
His Consort, with bemoaning Lay,
Without sits pining for th' Event.
Her chatt'ring Lovers all around her skim;
She heeds them not (poor Bird!) her Soul's with him.

_Macheath._ [Aside.] I must disown her. [Aloud.] The Wench is
distracted.

_Lucy._ Am I then bilk'd of my Virtue? Can I have no Reparation? Sure
Men were born to lie, and Women to believe them! O Villain! Villain!

_Polly._ Am I not thy Wife? --Thy Neglect of me, thy Aversion to me too
severely proves it. --Look on me. --Tell me, am I not thy Wife?

_Lucy._ Perfidious Wretch!

_Polly._ Barbarous Husband!

_Lucy._ Hadst thou been hang'd five Months ago, I had been happy.

_Polly._ And I too-- If you had been kind to me 'till Death, it would
not have vexed me-- And that's no very unreasonable Request, (though
from a Wife) to a Man who hath not above seven or eight Days to live.

_Lucy._ Art thou then married to another? Hast thou two Wives, Monster?

_Macheath._ If Women's Tongues can cease for an Answer-- hear me.

_Lucy._ I won't. --Flesh and Blood can't bear my Usage.

_Polly._ Shall I not claim my own? Justice bids me speak.

AIR XXXIV. Have you heard of a frolicksome Ditty, &c.

[Music]

_Macheath._ How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear Charmer away!
But while you thus teaze me together,
To neither a Word will I say;
But tol de rol, &c.

_Polly._ Sure, my Dear, there ought to be some Preference shewn to a
Wife! At least she may claim the Appearance of it. He must be distracted
with his Misfortunes, or he could not use me thus.

_Lucy._ O Villain, Villain! thou hast deceiv'd me. --I could even inform
against thee with Pleasure. Not a Prude wishes more heartily to have
Facts against her intimate Acquaintance, than I now wish to have Facts
against thee. I would have her Satisfaction, and they should all out.

AIR XXXV. _Irish_ Trot.

[Music]

_Polly._ I am bubbled.
_Lucy._ . . . . I'm bubbled.
_Polly._ O how I am troubled!
_Lucy._ Bambouzled, and bit!
_Polly._ . . . . . . My Distresses are doubled.
_Lucy._ When you come to the Tree, should the Hangman refuse,
These Fingers, with Pleasure, could fasten the Noose.
_Polly._ I'm bubbled, &c.

_Macheath._ Be pacified, my dear _Lucy_-- This is all a Fetch of
_Polly's_, to make me desperate with you in case I get off. If I am
hang'd, she would fain have