_Thumb_. Then were the G.o.ds mistaken--she is not A woman, but a giantess----whom we, [1] With much ado, have made a shift to hawl Within the town:[2] for she is by a foot Shorter than all her subject giants were.

[Footnote 1: It is impossible, says Mr W----, sufficiently to admire this natural easy line.]

[Footnote 2: This tragedy, which in most points resembles the ancients, differs from them in this--that it a.s.signs the same honour to lowness of stature which they did to height. The G.o.ds and heroes in Homer and Virgil are continually described higher by the head than their followers, the contrary of which is observed by our author. In short, to exceed on either side is equally admirable; and a man of three foot is as wonderful a sight as a man of nine.]

_Glum_. We yesterday were both a queen and wife, One hundred thousand giants own'd our sway, Twenty whereof were married to ourself.

_Queen_. Oh! happy state of giantism where husbands Like mushrooms grow, whilst hapless we are forced To be content, nay, happy thought, with one.

_Glum_. But then to lose them all in one black day, That the same sun which, rising, saw me wife To twenty giants, setting should behold Me widow'd of them all.----[1]My worn-out heart, That ship, leaks fast, and the great heavy lading, My soul, will quickly sink.

[Footnote 1:

My blood leaks fast, and the great heavy lading My soul will quickly sink.--_Mithridates_.

My soul is like a ship.--_Injured Love_.

_Queen_. Madam, believe I view your sorrows with a woman's eye: But learn to bear them with what strength you may, To-morrow we will have our grenadiers Drawn out before you, and you then shall choose What husbands you think fit.

_Glum_. [1]Madam, I am Your most obedient and most humble servant.

[Footnote 1: This well-bred line seems to be copied in the Persian Princess:--

To be your humblest and most faithful slave.

_King_. Think, mighty princess, think this court your own, Nor think the landlord me, this house my inn; Call for whate'er you will, you'll nothing pay.

[1]I feel a sudden pain within my breast, Nor know I whether it arise from love Or only the wind-cholick. Time must shew.

O Thumb! what do we to thy valour owe!

Ask some reward, great as we can bestow.

[Footnote 1: This doubt of the king puts me in mind of a pa.s.sage in the Captives, where the noise of feet is mistaken for the rustling of leaves.

------Methinks I hear The sound of feet: No; 'twas the wind that shook yon cypress boughs.

_Thumb_. [1] I ask not kingdoms, I can conquer those; I ask not money, money I've enough; For what I've done, and what I mean to do, For giants slain, and giants yet unborn, Which I will slay---if this be called a debt, Take my receipt in full: I ask but this,-- [2] To sun myself in Huncamunca's eyes.

[Footnote 1: Mr Dryden seems to have had this pa.s.sage in his eye in the first page of Love Triumphant.]

[Footnote 2: Don Carlos, in the Revenge, suns himself in the charms of his mistress:

While in the l.u.s.tre of her charms I lay.

_King_. Prodigious bold request. [_Aside_.

_Queen_. --------[1] Be still, my soul. [_Aside_.

[Footnote 1: A tragical phrase much in use.]

_Thumb_. [1]My heart is at the threshold of your mouth, And waits its answer there.--Oh! do not frown.

I've try'd to reason's tune to tune my soul, But love did overwind and crack the string.

Though Jove in thunder had cry'd out, YOU SHAN'T, I should have loved her still--for oh, strange fate, Then when I loved her least I loved her most!

[Footnote 1: This speech hath been taken to pieces by several tragical authors, who seem to have rifled it, and shared its beauties among them.

My soul waits at the portal of thy breast, To ravish from thy lips the welcome news.--_Anna Bullen_.

My soul stands list'ning at my ears.--_Cyrus the Great_.

Love to his tune my jarring heart would bring, But reason overwinds, and cracks the string.--_D. of Guise_.

-------I should have loved, Though Jove, in muttering thunder, had forbid it.

--_New Sophonisba_.

And when it (_my heart_) wild resolves to love no more, Then is the triumph of excessive love.--_Ibid_.

_King_. It is resolv'd--the princess is your own.

_Thumb_. Oh! [1]happy, happy, happy, happy Thumb.

[Footnote 1: Ma.s.sinissa is one-fourth less happy than Tom Thumb.]

Oh! happy, happy, happy!--_Ibid_.

_Queen_. Consider, sir; reward your soldier's merit, But give not Huncamunca to Tom Thumb.

_King_. Tom Thumb! Odzooks! my wide-extended realm, Knows not a name so glorious as Tom Thumb.

Let Macedonia Alexander boast, Let Rome her Caesars and her Scipios show, Her Messieurs France, let Holland boast Mynheers, Ireland her O's, her Macs let Scotland boast, Let England boast no other than Tom Thumb.

_Queen_. Though greater yet his boasted merit was, He shall not have my daughter, that is pos'.

_King_. Ha! sayst thou, Dollallolla?

_Queen_.---------I say he shan't.

_King_. [1]Then by our royal self we swear you lie.

[Footnote 1: No by myself.--_Anna Bullen_.]

_Queen_. [1] Who but a dog, who but a dog Would use me as thou dost? Me, who have lain [2] These twenty years so loving by thy side!

But I will be revenged. I'll hang myself.

Then tremble all who did this match persuade, [3] For, riding on a cat, from high I'll fall, And squirt down royal vengeance on you all.