 | The Tragedy of Tragedies ; Or The Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great |  |
SCENE VIII.
King Glumdalca.King.
Sure never was so sad a King as I,
My Life is worn as ragged as a Coat
A Beggar wears; a Prince should put it off,
To love a Captive and a Giantess.
Oh Love! Oh Love! how great a King art thou!
My Tongue's thy Trumpet, and thou Trumpetest,
Unknown to me, within me. oh Glumdalca!
Heaven thee design'd a Giantess to make,
But an Angelick Soul was shuffled in.
I am a Multitude of Walking Griefs,
And only on her Lips the Balm is found,
To spread a Plaister that might cure them all.
Glum.
What do I hear?
King.
What do I see?
Oh!
King.
Ah!
Glum.
Ah Wretched Queen!
King.
Oh! Wretched King!
Glum.
Ah!
King.
Oh!
Must a King beg! But Love's a greater King,
A Tyrant, nay a Devil that possesses me.
He tunes the Organ of my Voice and speaks,
Unknown to me, within me.
Sebastian.
But a Brute Soul by chance was shuffled in.
Aurengzebe. —I am a Multitude.
Our Author, who every where shews his great Penetration into human Nature, here outdoes himself: Where a less judicious Poet would have raised a long Scene of whining Love. He who understood the Passions better, and that so violent an Affection as this must be too big for Utterance, chooses rather to send his Characters off in this sullen and doleful manner: In which admirable Conduct he is imitated by the Author of the justly celebrated Eurydice. Dr. Young seems to point at this Violence of Passion;
—Passion choaksTheir Words, and they're the Statues of Despair.
And Seneca tells us, Curæleves loquuntur, ingentes stupent. The Story of the Egyptian King in Herodotus is too well known to need to be inserted; I refer the more curious Reader to the excellent Montagne, who hath written an Essay on this Subject.
| The Tragedy of Tragedies ; Or The Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great | |