Air XLIV. Down in the North Country, &c.
Lockit.
What Gudgeons are we Men!
Ev’ry Woman’s easy Prey.
Though we have felt the Hook, agen
We bite and they betray.
The Bird that hath been trapt,
When he hears his calling Mate,
To her he flies, again he’s clapt
Within the wiry Grate.
Peachum. But what signifies catching the Bird, if your Daughter Lucy will set open the Door of the Cage?
Lockit. If men were answerable for the Follies and Frailties of their Wives and Daughters, no Friends could keep a good Correspondence together for two Days.—This in unkind of you, Brother; for among good Friends, what they say or do goes for nothing.
Enter a Servant.
Servant. Sir, here’s Mrs. Diana Trapes wants to speak with you.
Peachum. Shall we admit her, Brother Lockit?
Lockit. By all means,—She’s a good Customer, and a fine-spoken Woman—And a Woman who drinks and talks so freely, will enliven the Conversation.
Peachum. Desire her to walk in. Exit Servant.
Peachum, Lockit, Mrs. Trapes.
Peachum. Dear Mrs. Dye, your Servant—One may know by your Kiss, that your Ginn is excellent.
Mrs. Trapes. I was always very curious in my Liquors.
Lockit. There is no perfum’d Breath like it—I have been long acquainted with the Flavour of those Lips—Han’t I, Mrs. Dye.
Mrs. Trapes. Fill it up—I take as large Draughts of Liquor, as I did of Love.—I hate a Flincher in either.