How, like a Moth, the simple Maid
Still plays about the Flame!
If soon she be not made a Wife,
Her Honour's sing'd, and then for Life,
She's--what I dare not name.

PEACHUM. Look ye, Wife. A handsome Wench in our way of Business is
as profitable as at the Bar of a Temple Coffee-House, who looks upon
it as her livelihood to grant every Liberty but one. You see I would
indulge the Girl as far as prudently we can. In any thing, but
Marriage! After that, my Dear, how shall we be safe? Are we not
then in her Husband's Power? For a Husband hath the absolute Power
over all a Wife's Secrets but her own. If the Girl had the
Discretion of a Court-Lady, who can have a Dozen young Fellows at her
Ear without complying with one, I should not matter it; but Polly is
Tinder, and a Spark will at once set her on a Flame. Married! If
the Wench does not know her own Profit, sure she knows her own
Pleasure better than to make herself a Property! My Daughter to me
should be, like a Court-Lady to a Minister of State, a Key to the
whole Gang. Married! If the Affair is not already done, I'll
terrify her from it, by the Example of our Neighbours.

MRS. PEACHUM. May-hap, my Dear, you may injure the Girl. She loves
to imitate the fine Ladies, and she may only allow the Captain
Liberties in the view of Interest.

PEACHUM. But 'tis your Duty, my Dear, to warn the Girl against her
Ruin, and to instruct her how to make the most of her Beauty. I'll
go to her this moment, and sift her. In the meantime, Wife, rip out
the Coronets and Marks of these Dozen of Cambric Handkerchiefs, for I