[Footnote 1:
D — n your delay, ye torturers, proceed;
I will not hear one word but Almahide.
— Conquest of Granada.
]
Nood. By this time she is married to Tom Thumb.
Griz. My Huncamunca!
[Footnote 1: Mr Dryden hath imitated this in All for Love.]
Nood. Your Huncamunca, Tom Thumb’s Huncamunca, every man’s Huncamunca.
Griz. If this be true, all womankind are damn’d.
Nood. If it be not, may I be so myself.
Griz. See where she comes! I’ll not believe a word Against that face, upon whose ample brow Sits innocence with majesty enthroned.
[Footnote 1: This Miltonic style abounds in the New Sophonisba:
— And on her ample brow
Sat majesty.
]
GRIZZLE, HUNCAMUNCA.
Griz. Where has my Huncamunca been? See here. The licence in my hand!
Hunc. Alas! Tom Thumb.
Griz. Why dost thou mention him?
Hunc. Ah, me! Tom Thumb.
Griz. What means my lovely Huncamunca?
Hunc. Hum!
Griz. Oh! speak.
Hunc. Hum!
Griz. Ha! your every word is hum:
You force me still to answer you, Tom Thumb.
Tom Thumb — I’m on the rack — I’m in a flame.
Tom Thumb, Tom Thumb, Tom Thumb — you love the name;
So pleasing is that sound, that were you dumb,
You still would find a voice to cry Tom Thumb.
[Footnote 1:
Your every answer still so ends in that,
You force me still to answer you Morat. — Aurengzebe.
]
[Footnote 2: Morat, Morat, Morat! you love the name. — Aurengzebe.]
Hunc. Oh! be not hasty to proclaim my doom!
My ample heart for more than one has room:
A maid like me Heaven form’d at least for two.
I married him, and now I’ll marry you.
[Footnote 1: “Here is a sentiment for the virtuous Huncamunca!” says
Mr D —— s. And yet, with the leave of this great man, the virtuous
Panthea, in Cyrus, hath an heart every whit as ample:
For two I must confess are gods to me,
Which is my Abradatus first, and thee. — Cyrus the Great.
Nor is the lady in Love Triumphant more reserved, though not so intelligible:
I am so divided,
That I grieve most for both, and love both most.
]
Griz. Ha! dost thou own thy falsehood to my face?
Think’st thou that I will share thy husband’s place?
Since to that office one cannot suffice,
And since you scorn to dine one single dish on,
Go, get your husband put into commission.
Commissioners to discharge (ye gods! it fine is)
The duty of a husband to your highness.
Yet think not long I will my rival bear,
Or unrevenged the slighted willow wear;
The gloomy, brooding tempest, now confined
Within the hollow caverns of my mind,
In dreadful whirl shall roll along the coasts,
Shall thin the land of all the men it boasts,
And cram up ev’ry chink of hell with ghosts.
So have I seen, in some dark winter’s day,
A sudden storm rush down the sky’s highway,
Sweep through the streets with terrible ding-dong,
Gush through the spouts, and wash whole crouds along.
The crouded shops the thronging vermin skreen,
Together cram the dirty and the clean,
And not one shoe-boy in the street is seen.
[Footnote 1: A ridiculous supposition to any one who considers the great and extensive largeness of hell, says a commentator; but not so to those who consider the great expansion of immaterial substance. Mr Banks makes one soul to be so expanded, that heaven could not contain it:
The heavens are all too narrow for her soul. — Virtue Betrayed.
The Persian Princess hath a passage not unlike the author of this:
We will send such shoals of murder’d slaves,
Shall glut hell’s empty regions.
This threatens to fill hell, even though it was empty; Lord Grizzle, only to fill up the chinks, supposing the rest already full. ]
[Footnote 2: Mr Addison is generally thought to have had this simile in his eye when he wrote that beautiful one at the end of the third act of his Cato.]
Hunc. Oh, fatal rashness! should his fury slay
My helpless bridegroom on his wedding-day,
I, who this morn of two chose which to wed,
May go again this night alone to bed.
So have I seen some wild unsettled fool,
Who had her choice of this and that joint-stool,
To give the preference to either loth,
And fondly coveting to sit on both,
While the two stools her sitting-part confound,
Between ‘em both fall squat upon the ground.
[Footnote 1: This beautiful simile is founded on a proverb which does honour to the English language:
Between two stools the breech falls to the ground.
I am not so well pleased with any written remains of the ancients as with those little aphorisms which verbal tradition hath delivered down to us under the title of proverbs. It were to be wished that, instead of filling their pages with the fabulous theology of the pagans, our modern poets would think it worth their while to enrich their works with the proverbial sayings of their ancestors. Mr Dryden hath chronicled one in heroick;
Two ifs scarce make one possibility. — Conquest of Granada.
My lord Bacon is of opinion that whatever is known of arts and sciences might be proved to have lurked in the Proverbs of Solomon. I am of the same opinion in relation to those above-mentioned; at least I am confident that a more perfect system of ethicks, as well as oeconomy, might be compiled out of them than is at present extant, either in the works of the ancient philosophers, or those more valuable, as more voluminous ones of the modern divines. ]
ACT III.
SCENE I. — KING ARTHUR’S Palace.
Ghost (solus). Hail! ye black horrors of midnight’s
midnoon’
Ye fairies, goblins, bats, and screech-owls, hail!
And, oh! ye mortal watchmen, whose hoarse throats
Th’ immortal ghosts dread croakings counterfeit,
All hail! — Ye dancing phantoms, who, by day,
Are some condemn’d to fast, some feast in fire,
Now play in churchyards, skipping o’er the graves,
To the loud music of the silent bell,
All hail!
[Footnote 1: Of all the particulars in which the modern stage falls short of the ancient, there is none so much to be lamented as the great scarcity of ghosts Whence this proceeds I will not presume to determine Some are of opinion that the moderns are unequal to that sublime language which a ghost ought to speak One says, ludicrously, that ghosts are out of fashion, another, that they are properer for comedy, forgetting, I suppose, that Aristotle hath told us that a ghost is the soul of tragedy, for so I render the [Greek text: psychae o muythos taes tragodias], which M. Dacier, amongst others, hath mistaken, I suppose, misled by not understanding the Fabula of the Latins, which signifies a ghost as well as fable.
“Te premet nox, fabulaeque manes” — Horace
Of all the ghosts that have ever appeared on the stage, a very learned and judicious foreign critick gives the preference to this of our author. These are his words speaking of this tragedy— “Nec quidquam in illa admirabilius quam phasma quoddam horrendum, quod omnibus abis spectris quibuscum scatet Angelorum tragoedia longe (pace D — ysn V Doctiss dixerim) praetulerim.” ]
[Footnote 2: We have already given instances of this figure
.]
SCENE II. — KING, GHOST.
King. What noise is this? What villain dares, At this dread hoar, with feet and voice profane, Disturb our royal walls?
Ghost. One who defies Thy empty power to hurt him; one who dares Walk in thy bedchamber.
[Footnote 1: Almanzor reasons in the same manner:
A ghost I’ll be;
And from a ghost, you know, no place is free.
— Conquest of Granada.
]
King. Presumptuous slave! Thou diest.
Ghost. Threaten others with that word: I am a ghost, and am already dead.
[Footnote 1: “The man who writ this wretched pun,” says Mr D., “would have picked your pocket:” which he proceeds to shew not only bad in itself, but doubly so on so solemn an occasion. And yet, in that excellent play of Liberty Asserted, we find something very much resembling a pun in the mouth of a mistress, who is parting with the lover she is fond of:
Ul. Oh, mortal woe! one kiss, and then farewell. Irene. The gods have given to others to fare well. O! miserably must Irene fare.
Agamemnon, in the Victim, is full as facetious on the most solemn occasion — that of sacrificing his daughter:
Yes, daughter, yes; you will assist the priest;
Yes, you must offer up your vows for Greece,
]
King. Ye stars! ‘tis well, Were thy last hour to come,
This moment had been it; yet by thy shroud
I’ll pull thee backward, squeeze thee to a bladder,
Till thou dost groan thy nothingness away.
Thou fly’st! ‘Tis well. [Ghost retires.
I thought what was the courage of a ghost!
Yet, dare not, on thy life — Why say I that,
Since life thou hast not? — Dare not walk again
Within these walls, on pain of the Red Sea.
For, if henceforth I ever find thee here,
As sure, sure as a gun, I’ll have thee laid —
[Footnote 1:
I’ll pull thee backwards by thy shroud to light,
Or else I’ll squeeze thee, like a bladder, there,
And make thee groan thyself away to air.
— Conquest of Granada.
Snatch me, ye gods, this moment into nothing.
— Cyrus the Great.
]
[Footnote 2:
So, art thou gone? Thou canst no conquest boast.
I thought what was the courage of a ghost.
— Conquest of Granada.
King Arthur seems to be as brave a fellow as Almanzor, who says most heroically,
In spite of ghosts I’ll on.
]
Ghost. Were the Red Sea a sea of Hollands gin,
The liquor (when alive) whose very smell
I did detest — did loathe — yet, for the sake
Of Thomas Thumb, I would be laid therein.
King. Ha! said you?
Ghost. Yes, my liege, I said Tom Thumb,
Whose father’s ghost I am — once not unknown
To mighty Arthur. But, I see, ‘tis true,
The dearest friend, when dead, we all forget.
King. ‘Tis he — it is the honest Gaffer Thumb. Oh! let me press thee in my eager arms, Thou best of ghosts! thou something more than ghost!
Ghost. Would I were something more, that we again Might feel each other in the warm embrace. But now I have th’ advantage of my king, For I feel thee, whilst thou dost not feel me.
[Footnote 1: The ghost of Lausaria, in Cyrus, is a plain copy of this, and is therefore worth reading:
Ah, Cyrus!
Thou may’st as well grasp water, or fleet air,
As think of touching my immortal shade.
— Cyrus the Great.
]
King. But say, thou dearest air, oh! say what dread, Important business sends thee back to earth?
[Footnote 1:
Thou better part of heavenly air.
— Conquest of Granada,.
]
Ghost. Oh! then prepare to hear — which but to hear
Is full enough to send thy spirit hence.
Thy subjects up in arms, by Grizzle led,
Will, ere the rosy-finger’d morn shall ope
The shutters of the sky, before the gate
Of this thy royal palace, swarming spread.
So have I seen the bees in clusters swarm,
So have I seen the stars in frosty nights,
So have I seen the sand in windy days,
So have I seen the ghosts on Pluto’s shore,
So have I seen the flowers in spring arise,
So have I seen the leaves in autumn fall,
So have I seen the fruits in summer smile,
So have I seen the snow in winter frown.
[Footnote 1: “A string of similes,” says one, “proper to be hung up in the cabinet of a prince.”]
King. D — n all thou hast seen! — dost thou, beneath the shape Of Gaffer Thumb, come hither to abuse me With similes, to keep me on the rack? Hence — or, by all the torments of thy hell, I’ll run thee through the body, though thou’st none.
[Footnote 1: This passage hath been understood several different ways by the commentators. For my part, I find it difficult to understand it at all. Mr Dryden says —
I’ve heard something how two bodies meet,
But how two souls join I know not.
So that, till the body of a spirit be better understood, it will be difficult to understand how it is possible to run him through it. ]
Ghost. Arthur, beware! I must this moment hence,
Not frighted by your voice, but by the cocks!
Arthur, beware, beware, beware, beware!
Strive to avert thy yet impending fate;
For, if thou’rt kill’d to-day,
To-morrow all thy care will come too late.
SCENE III. — KING (solus).
King. Oh! stay, and leave me not uncertain thus!
And, whilst thou tellest me what’s like my fate,
Oh! teach me how I may avert it too!
Curst be the man who first a simile made!
Curst ev’ry bard who writes! — So have I seen
Those whose comparisons are just and true,
And those who liken things not like at all.
The devil is happy that the whole creation
Can furnish out no simile to his fortune.
SCENE IV. — KING, QUEEN.
Queen. What is the cause, my Arthur, that you steal
Thus silently from Dollallolla’s breast?
Why dost thou leave me in the dark alone,
When well thou know’st I am afraid of sprites?
[Footnote 1: Cydaria is of the same fearful temper with Dollallolla.
I never durst in darkness be alone.
— Indian Emperor.
]
King. Oh, Dollallolla! do not blame my love!
I hop’d the fumes of last night’s punch had laid
Thy lovely eyelids fast. — But, oh! I find
There is no power in drams to quiet wives;
Each morn, as the returning sun, they wake,
And shine upon their husbands.
Queen. Think, oh think! What a surprise it must be to the sun, Rising, to find the vanish’d world away. What less can be the wretched wife’s surprise When, stretching out her arms to fold thee fast, She found her useless bolster in her arms. Think, think, on that. — Oh! think, think well on that. I do remember also to have read In Dryden’s Ovid’s Metamorphoses, That Jove in form inanimate did lie With beauteous Danae: and, trust me, love, I fear’d the bolster might have been a Jove.
[Footnote 1:
Think well of this, think that, think every way. — Sophon.]
[Footnote 2: These quotations are more usual in the comick than in the tragick writers.]
[Footnote 3: “This distress,” says Mr D — , “I must allow to be extremely beautiful, and tends to heighten
the virtuous character of Dollallolla, who is so exceeding delicate, that she is in the highest apprehension from the inanimate embrace of a bolster. An example worthy of imitation for all our writers of tragedy.”]
King. Come to my arms, most virtuous of thy sex!
Oh, Dollallolla! were all wives like thee,
So many husbands never had worn horns.
Should Huncamunca of thy worth partake,
Tom Thumb indeed were blest. — Oh, fatal name,
For didst thou know one quarter what I know,
Then would’st thou know — Alas! what thou would’st
know!
Queen. What can I gather hence? Why dost thou speak
Like men who carry rareeshows about?
“Now you shall see, gentlemen, what you shall see.”
O, tell me more, or thou hast told too much.
SCENE V. — KING, QUEEN, NOODLE.
Nood. Long life attend your majesties serene,
Great Arthur, king, and Dollallolla, queen!
Lord Grizzle, with a bold rebellious crowd,
Advances to the palace, threat’ning loud,
Unless the princess be deliver’d straight,
And the victorious Thumb, without his pate,
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 256
