 | The Beggar's Opera |  |
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 Spleen104, 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 Dram105.
Poor Man!
And the quieting Draught is a Dram.
—I wish all our Quarrels might have so comfortable a Reconciliation.
POLLY.
I have no Excuse for my own Behaviour, Madam, but my Misfortunes. —And really, Madam, I suffer too upon your Account.
LUCY.
But, Miss Polly—in the way of Friendship, will you give me leave to propose a Glass of cordial to you?
POLLY.
Strong-Waters are apt to give me the Head-Ache—I hope, Madam, you will excuse me.
LUCY.
Not the greatest Lady in the Land could have better in her Closet, for her own private drinking.—You seem mighty low in Spirits, my Dear.
POLLY.
I am sorry, Madam, my Health will not allow me to accept of your Offer—I should not have left you in the rude manner I did when we met last, Madam, had not my Papa haul'd me away so unexpectedly—I was indeed somewhat provok'd, and perhaps might use some Expressions that were disrespectful.—But really, Madam, the Captain treated me with so much Contempt and Cruelty, that I deserv'd your Pity, rather than your Resentment.
LUCY.
But since his Escape, no doubt all Matters are made up again.—Ah Polly! Polly! 'tis I am the unhappy Wife; and he loves you as if you were only his Mistress.
POLLY.
Sure, Madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your Jealousy.—A Man is always afraid of a Woman who loves him too well— —so that I must expect to be neglected and avoided.
LUCY.
Then our Cases, my dear Polly, are exactly alike. Both of us indeed have been too fond.
| The Beggar's Opera | |