--Irish Trot.
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 to be hang'd, she
would fain have the Credit of being thought my Widow----Really, Polly, this
is no time for a Dispute of this sort; for whenever you are talking of
Marriage, I am thinking of Hanging.
POLLY. And hast thou the Heart to persist in disowning me?
MACHEATH. And hast thou the Heart to persist in persuading me that I am
married? Why, Polly, dost thou seek to aggravate my Misfortunes?
LUCY. Really, Miss Peachum, you but expose yourself. Besides, 'tis
barbarous in you to worry a Gentleman in his Circumstances.
Air XXXVII.
POLLY.
Cease your Funning;
Force or Cunning
Never shall my Heart trepan.
All these Sallies
Are but Malice
To seduce my constant Man.
'Tis most certain,
By their flirting
Women oft have Envy shown
Pleas'd to ruin
Others wooing;
Never happy in their own!
Decency, Madam, methinks might teach you to behave yourself with some Reserve
with the Husband, while his Wife is present.
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