MRS. PEACHUM. You know, my Dear, I never meddle in matters of Death; I
always leave those Affairs to you. Women indeed are bitter bad Judges in
these cases, for they are so partial to the Brave that they think every Man
handsome who is going to the Camp or the Gallows.
Air III.--Cold and raw, &c.
If any Wench Venus's Girdle wear,
Though she be never so ugly;
Lilies and Roses will quickly appear,
And her Face look wond'rously smugly.
Beneath the left Ear so fit but a Cord,
(A Rope so charming a a Zone is!)
The Youth in his Cart hath the Air of a Lord,
And we cry, There goes an Adonis!
But really Husband, you should not be too hard-hearted, for you never had a
finer, braver set of Men than at present. We have not had a Murder among
them all, these seven Months. And truly, my Dear, that is a great Blessing.
PEACHUM. What a dickens is the Woman always a whimpring about Murder for?
No Gentleman is ever look'd upon the worse for killing a Man in his own
Defense; and if Business cannot be carried on without it, what would you
have a Gentleman do?
MRS. PEACHUM. If I am in the wrong, my Dear, you must excuse me, for no
body can help the Frailty of an over-scrupulous Conscience.
PEACHUM. Murder is as fashionable a Crime as a Man can be guilty of. How
many fine Gentlemen have we in Newgate every Year, purely upon that
Article! If they have wherewithal to persuade the Jury to bring it in
Manslaughter, what are they the worse for it? So, my Dear, have done upon
this Subject.
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