The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12. Fielding Harold
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Название: The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12
Автор: Fielding Harold
Издательство: Public Domain
Жанр: Зарубежная классика
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Queen. – [1] Oh! ye gods! [Aside.
[Footnote 1: A tragical exclamation.]
Thumb. When I'm not thank'd at all, I'm thank'd enough. [1] I've done my duty, and I've done no more,
[Footnote 1: This line is copied verbatim in the Captives.]
Queen. Was ever such a godlike creature seen? [Aside.
King. Thy modesty's a [1]candle to thy merit, It shines itself, and shews thy merit too. But say, my boy, where didst thou leave the giants?
[Footnote 1: We find a candlestick for this candle in two celebrated authors:
– Each star withdraws
His golden head, and burns within the socket. —Nero.
A soul grown old and sunk into the socket. —Sebastian.
]
Thumb. My liege, without the castle gates they stand, The castle gates too low for their admittance.
King. What look they like?
Thumb. Like nothing but themselves.
Queen. [1]And sure thou art like nothing but thyself. [Aside.
[Footnote 1: This simile occurs very frequently among the dramatic writers of both kinds.]
King. Enough! the vast idea fills my soul.
I see them – yes, I see them now before me:
The monstrous, ugly, barb'rous sons of whores.
But ha! what form majestick strikes our eyes?
[1]So perfect, that it seems to have been drawn
By all the gods in council: so fair she is,
That surely at her birth the council paused,
And then at length cry'd out, This is a woman!
[Footnote 1: Mr Lee hath stolen this thought from our author:
This perfect face, drawn by the gods in council,
Which they were long a making. —Luc. Jun. Brut.
– At his birth the heavenly council paused,
And then at last cry'd out, This is a man!
Dryden hath improved this hint to the utmost perfection:
So perfect, that the very gods who form'd you wonder'd
At their own skill, and cry'd, A lucky hit
Has mended our design! Their envy hindered,
Or you had been immortal, and a pattern,
When Heaven would work for ostentation sake,
To copy out again. —All for Love.
Banks prefers the works of Michael Angelo to that of the gods:
A pattern for the gods to make a man by,
Or Michael Angelo to form a statue.
]
Thumb. Then were the gods 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 assigns the same honour to lowness of stature which they did to height. The gods 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 passage 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 passage 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:
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