Air LIII. I Am a Poor Shepherd Undone
When my Heroe in Court appears,
And stands arraign’d for his Life;
Then think of poor Polly’s Tears;
For Ah! poor Polly’s his Wife.
Like the Sailor he holds up his hand,
Distrest on the dashing Wave.
To die a dry Death at Land,
Is as bad as a watery Grave.
And alas, poor Polly!
Alack, and well-a-day!
Before I was in Love,
Oh! every Month was May.
Lucy. If Peachum’s Heart is harden’d; sure you, Sir, will have more Compassion on a Daughter.—I know the Evidence is in your Power.—How then can you be a Tyrant to me? Kneeling.