Macheath. _Pretty_ Polly, _say_, _When I was away_, _Did your fancy never stray_ _To some newer Lover_?
Polly. _Without Disguise_, _Heaving Sighs_, _Doting Eyes_, _My constant Heart discover_. _ Fondly let me loll_!
_Polly_. And are _you_ as fond as ever, my Dear?
_Macheath_. Suspect my Honour, my Courage, suspect any thing but my Love.—May my Pistols miss Fire, and my Mare slip her Shoulder while I am pursu’d, if I ever forsake thee!
_Polly_. Nay, my Dear, I have no Reason to doubt you, for I find in the Romance you lent me, none of the great Heroes were ever false in Love.
Macheath. _My Heart was so free_, _It rov’d like the Bee_, ’_Till_ Polly _my Passion requited_; _I sipt each Flower_, _I chang’d every Hour_, _But here every Flower is united_.
_Polly_. Were you sentenc’d to Transportation, sure, my Dear, you could not leave me behind you—could you?
_Macheath_. Is there any Power, any Force that could tear me from thee? You might sooner tear a Pension out of the Hands of a Courtier, a Fee from a Lawyer, a pretty Woman from a Looking-glass, or any Woman from Quadrille.—But to tear me from thee is impossible!
_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_. Yes, I would go with thee. But oh!—how shall I speak it? I must be torn from thee. We must 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.
_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_, _And bring thee to the fatal Cart_, _Thus I tear thee from my bleeding Heart_! _Fly hence_, _and let me leave thee_.
One Kiss and then—one Kiss—be gone—farewel.
_Macheath_. My Hand, my Heart, my Dear, is so riveted to thine, that I cannot unloose my Hold.