 | The Opera of Operas ; or, Tom Thumb the Great |  |
SCENE I.
SCENE The Street.Enter Bailiff and Follower.
Recitativo.
Bail.Come, trusty follower, come on,
This day stand by me, and at night
Three double mugs of beer and beer expect—
This way must Noodle pass.
Foll.
No more, oh, Bailiff! ev'ry word
Inspires my soul with virtue.
Oh! I long to meet the fish, and nab him;
To lay arresting hands upon his back,
And nobly drag him to the spunging-house.
Bail.
Oh! glorious thought!
But see our prey! let us retire—
[they go aside.
Thum.
O Noodle! I am wondrous sick;
For tho' I love the gentle Huncamunca,
Yet at the thought of marriage, I grow pale;
For oh!—
Noodle.
Oh! what?
Thum.
My grand-mamma hath often said,
Tom Thumb, beware of marriage!
19
Cou'd you indeed the princess gain without,
I would not have you marry,
But Sir, be jealous of old women's sayings,
If they're against it, 'tis because they're past it.
Oh! think of all the joy your soul will have.
While on her panting breast, dissolv'd in bliss,
You pour out all Tom Thumb in every kiss.
Thum.
Oh! friend thou fir'st my eager soul;
Spight of my grand-mother, she shall be mine.
AIR X.
I'll hug, I'll eat her up with love,
Whole days, and nights and years:
Our Bed shall be a shady grove,
A soft retreat from cares.
Whole days, and nights and years:
Our Bed shall be a shady grove,
A soft retreat from cares.
I will my loving gut so cram,
I never will give o'er,
Like baby, who at breast of Mam,
Tho' bursting, cries for more.
I never will give o'er,
Like baby, who at breast of Mam,
Tho' bursting, cries for more.
Noodle.
Oh, Sir! this purpose of your soul pursue.
Bail.
Oh, Sir! I have an action against you.
Noodle.
At whose suit?
Bail.
At your Taylor's Sir.
Thum.
Ha! dogs! arrest my friend before my face!
Take here your fees—
[draws and stabs 'em both.
20
Oh! I'm slain!
Fol.
And, I also.
Nood.
Go both to hell like rascals as ye are.
Thumb.
Thus perish all the bailiffs in the land.
AIR XI.
Come triumph, ye Debtors, a Bailiff, vile Foe,
I've genteely sent to th'Infernals below;
And tell me where else shou'd Bailiffs go,
Who Fiendlike infest this great Town?
I've genteely sent to th'Infernals below;
And tell me where else shou'd Bailiffs go,
Who Fiendlike infest this great Town?
Let all such rank weeds of the State go to pot,
May stewing and boiling fall out to their lot;
Without more ado pluck 'em up by the root,
We cannot destroy them too soon.
May stewing and boiling fall out to their lot;
Without more ado pluck 'em up by the root,
We cannot destroy them too soon.
[Exeunt.
| The Opera of Operas ; or, Tom Thumb the Great | |