While thus I lie rolling and tossing all Night,
That Polly lies sporting on seas of Delight!
Revenge, Revenge, Revenge,
Shall appease my restless Sprite.
I have the Rats-bane ready.----I run no Risque; for I can lay her Death
upon the Ginn, and so many die of that naturally that I shall never be call'd
in question.----But say, I were to be hang'd.----I never could be hang'd for
any thing that would give me greater Comfort, than the poisoning that Slut.
Enter FILCH.
FILCH. Madam, here's Miss Polly come to wait upon you.
LUCY. Show her in.
Scene 8.
LUCY, POLLY.
LUCY. Dear Madam, your Servant.----I hope you will pardon my Passion, when
I was so happy to see you last.----I was so over-run with the Spleen,
that I was perfectly out of myself. And really when one hath the Spleen,
everything is to be excus'd by a Friend.
Air XLVIII.---Now Roger, I'll tell thee because thou'rt my Son.
When a Wife's in her Pout,
(As she's sometimes, no doubt;)
The good Husband as meek as a Lamb,
Her Vapours to still,
First grants her her Will,
And the quieting Draught is a Dram.
Poor Man!
And the quieting Draught is a Dram.
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