The Tragedy of Tragedies ; Or The Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great | ||
SCENE VI.
Tom Thumb, Huncamunca.Thumb.
Where is my Princess, where's my Huncamunca?
Where are those Eyes, those Cardmatches of Love,
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Where is that Face which artful Nature made.
In the same Moulds where Venus self was cast?
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Oh! What is Musick to the Ear that's deaf,
Or a Goose-Pye to him that has no taste?
What are these Praises now to me, since I
Am promis'd to another?
Thumb.
Ha! promis'd.
Hunc.
Too sure; it's written in the Book of Fate.
Thumb.
Then I will tear away the Leaf
Wherein it's writ, or if Fate won't allow
So large a Gap within its Journal-Book,
I'll blot it out at least.
This Image too very often occurs;
------Bright as when thy Eye'First lighted up our Loves.
Aurengzebe. This not a Crown alone lights up my Name.
Busiris.
There is great Dissension among the Poets concerning the Method of making Man. One tells his Mistress that the Mold she was made in being lost, Heaven cannot form such another. Lucifer, in Dryden, gives a merry Description of his own Formation;
Whom Heaven neglecting, made and scarce design'd,But threw me in for Number to the rest.
State of Innocency.
In one Place, the same Poet supposes Man to be made of Metal;
I was form'dOf that coarse Metal, which when she was made,
The Gods threw by for Rubbish.
All for Love.
In another, of Dough;
When the Gods moulded up the Paste of Man,Some of their Clay was left upon their Hands,
And so they made Egyptians.
Cleomenes.
In another of Clay;
—Rubbish of remaining Clay.Sebastian.
One makes the Soul of Wax;
Her waxen Soul begins to melt apace.Anna Bullen.
Another of Flint.
Sure our two Souls have somewhere been acquaintedIn former Beings, or struck out together,
One Spark to Africk flew, and one to Portugal.
Sebastian.
To omit the great Quantities of Iron, Brazen and Leaden Souls which are so plenty in modern Authors—I cannot omit the Dress of a Soul as we find it in Dryden;
Souls shirted but with Air.King Arthur.
Nor can I pass by a particular sort of Soul in a particular sort of Description, in the New Sophonisba.
Ye mysterious Powers,—Whether thro' your gloomy Depths I wander,
Or on the Mountains walk; give me the calm,
The steady smiling Soul, where Wisdom sheds
Eternal Sun-shine, and eternal Joy.
The Tragedy of Tragedies ; Or The Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great | ||