Were I laid on Greenland's Coast,
And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass;
Warm amidst eternal Frost,
Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.
POLLY. Were I sold on Indian Soil,
Soon as the burning Day was clos'd,
I could mock the sultry Toil
When on my Charmer's Breast repos'd.
MACHEATH. And I would love you all the Day,
POLLY. Every Night would kiss and play,
MACHEATH. If with me you'd fondly stray
POLLY. Over the Hills and far away.

POLLY. Yes, I would go with thee. But oh!--how shall I speak it? I
must be torn from thee. We must part.

MACHEATH. How! Part!

POLLY. We must, we must.--My Papa and Mama are set against thy Life.
They now, even now are in Search after thee. They are preparing
Evidence against thee. Thy Life depends upon a moment.

AIR XVII. Gin thou wert mine awn thing -

Oh what Pain it is to part!
Can I leave thee, can I leave thee?
O what pain it is to part!
Can thy Polly ever leave thee?
But lest Death my Love should thwart,