LUCY. 'Tis the Pleasure of all you fine Men to insult the Women you
have ruin'd.

AIR XXVII. 'Twas when the Sea was roaring, &c.

How cruel are the Traitors,
Who lye and swear in jest,
To cheat unguarded Creatures
Of Virtue, Fame, and Rest!
Whoever steals a Shilling,
Through Shame the Guilt conceals:
In Love the perjur'd Villain
With Boasts the Theft reveals.

MACHEATH. The very first Opportunity, my Dear, (have but Patience)
you shall be my Wife in whatever manner you please.

LUCY. Insinuating Monster! And so you think I know nothing of the
Affair of Miss Polly Peachum.--I could tear thy Eyes out!

MACHEATH. Sure, Lucy, you can't be such a Fool as to be jealous of
Polly!

LUCY. Are you not married to her, you Brute, you.

MACHEATH. Married! Very good. The Wench gives it out only to vex
thee, and to ruin me in thy good opinion. 'Tis true, I go to the
House; I chat with the Girl, I kiss her, I say a thousand things to
her (as all Gentlemen do) that mean nothing, to divert myself; and