hang him. What would many a Wife give for such an Opportunity!

POLLY. What is a Jointure, what is Widow-hood to me? I know my
Heart. I cannot survive him.

AIR XIII. Le printems rapelle aux armes.

The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Her Lover dying,
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Laments her Dove.
Down she drops quite spent with Sighing.
Pair'd in Death, as pair'd in Love.

Thus, Sir, it will happen to your poor Polly.

MRS. PEACHUM. What, is the Fool in Love in earnest then? I hate
thee for being particular: Why, Wench, thou art a Shame to thy very
Sex.

POLLY. But hear me, Mother.--If you ever lov'd -

MRS. PEACHUM. Those cursed Play-Books she reads have been her Ruin.
One Word more, Hussy, and I shall knock your Brains out, if you have
any.

PEACHUM. Keep out of the way, Polly, for fear of Mischief, and
consider of what is proposed to you.

MRS. PEACHUM. Away, Hussy. Hang your Husband, and be dutiful.