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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King. Prodigious bold request. [Aside.
Queen. – [1] Be still, my soul. [Aside.
[Footnote 1: A tragical phrase much in use.]
Thumb. [1]My heart is at the threshold of your mouth,
And waits its answer there. – Oh! do not frown.
I've try'd to reason's tune to tune my soul,
But love did overwind and crack the string.
Though Jove in thunder had cry'd out, YOU SHAN'T,
I should have loved her still – for oh, strange fate,
Then when I loved her least I loved her most!
[Footnote 1: This speech hath been taken to pieces by several tragical authors, who seem to have rifled it, and shared its beauties among them.
My soul waits at the portal of thy breast,
To ravish from thy lips the welcome news. —Anna Bullen.
My soul stands list'ning at my ears. —Cyrus the Great.
Love to his tune my jarring heart would bring,
But reason overwinds, and cracks the string. —D. of Guise.
– I should have loved,
Though Jove, in muttering thunder, had forbid it.
– New Sophonisba.
And when it (my heart) wild resolves to love no more,
Then is the triumph of excessive love. —Ibid.
]
King. It is resolv'd – the princess is your own.
Thumb. Oh! [1]happy, happy, happy, happy Thumb.
[Footnote 1: Massinissa is one-fourth less happy than Tom Thumb.]
Oh! happy, happy, happy! —Ibid.
]
Queen. Consider, sir; reward your soldier's merit, But give not Huncamunca to Tom Thumb.
King. Tom Thumb! Odzooks! my wide-extended realm,
Knows not a name so glorious as Tom Thumb.
Let Macedonia Alexander boast,
Let Rome her Caesars and her Scipios show,
Her Messieurs France, let Holland boast Mynheers,
Ireland her O's, her Macs let Scotland boast,
Let England boast no other than Tom Thumb.
Queen. Though greater yet his boasted merit was, He shall not have my daughter, that is pos'.
King. Ha! sayst thou, Dollallolla?
Queen. – I say he shan't.
King. [1]Then by our royal self we swear you lie.
[Footnote 1: No by myself. —Anna Bullen.]
Queen. [1] Who but a dog, who but a dog Would use me as thou dost? Me, who have lain [2] These twenty years so loving by thy side! But I will be revenged. I'll hang myself. Then tremble all who did this match persuade, [3] For, riding on a cat, from high I'll fall, And squirt down royal vengeance on you all.
[Footnote 1: – Who caused
This dreadful revolution in my fate.
Ulamar. Who but a dog – who but a dog? —Liberty As.
]
[Footnote 2: – A bride, Who twenty years lay loving by your side. —Banks. ]
[Footnote 3: For, borne upon a cloud, from high I'll fall, And rain down royal vengeance on you all. —Alb. Queens. ]
Food. [1]Her majesty the queen is in a passion.
[Footnote 1: An information very like this we have in the tragedy of Love, where, Cyrus having stormed in the most violent manner, Cyaxares observes very calmly,
Why, nephew Cyrus, you are moved.
]
King. [1] Be she, or be she not, I'll to the girl
And pave thy way, oh Thumb – Now by ourself,
We were indeed a pretty king of clouts
To truckle to her will – For when by force
Or art the wife her husband over-reaches,
Give him the petticoat, and her the breeches.
[Footnote 1: 'Tis in your choice. Love me, or love me not. —Conquest of Granada. ]
Thumb. [1] Whisper ye winds, that Huncamunca's mine!
Echoes repeat, that Huncamunca's mine!
The dreadful bus'ness of the war is o'er,
And beauty, heav'nly beauty! crowns my toils!
I've thrown the bloody garment now aside
And hymeneal sweets invite my bride.
So when some chimney-sweeper all the day
Hath through dark paths pursued the sooty way,
At night to wash his hands and face he flies,
And in his t'other shirt with his Brickdusta lies.
[Footnote 1: There is not one beauty in this charming speech but what hath been borrow'd by almost every tragick writer. ]
SCENE IV
Grizzle (solus.) [1] Where art thou, Grizzle? where
are now thy glories?
Where are the drums that waken thee to honour?
Greatness is a laced coat from Monmouth-street,
Which fortune lends us for a day to wear,
To-morrow puts it on another's back.
The spiteful sun but yesterday survey'd
His rival high as Saint Paul's cupola;
Now may he see me as Fleet-ditch laid low.
[Footnote 1: Mr Banks has (I wish I could not say too servilely) imitated this of Grizzle in his Earl of Essex: Where art thou, Essex, &c.]
SCENE V. – QUEEN, GRIZZLE
Queen. [1]Teach me to scold, prodigious-minded Grizzle,
Mountain of treason, ugly as the devil,
Teach this confounded hateful mouth of mine
To spout forth words malicious as thyself,
Words which might shame all Billingsgate to speak.
[Footnote 1: The countess of Nottingham, in the Earl of Essex, is apparently acquainted with Dollallolla.]
Griz. Far be it from my pride to think my tongue
Your royal lips can in that art instruct,
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