Griz. Tom Thumb!
Thumb. Rebel!
Griz. Tom Thumb!
Thumb. Hell!
Griz. Huncamunca!
Thumb. Thou hast it there.
Griz. Too sure I feel it.
Thumb. To hell then, like a rebel as you are, And give my service to the rebels there.
Griz. Triumph not, Thumb, nor think thou shalt enjoy, Thy Huncamunca undisturb'd; I'll send [1] My ghost to fetch her to the other world; [2] It shall but bait at heaven, and then return. [3] But, ha! I feel death rumbling in my brains: [4] Some kinder sprite knocks softly at my soul, And gently whispers it to haste away. I come, I come, most willingly I come. [5] So when some city wife, for country air, To Hampstead or to Highgate does repair, Her to make haste her husband does implore, And cries, "My dear, the coach is at the door:" With equal wish, desirous to be gone, She gets into the coach, and then she cries—"Drive on!"
[Footnote 1: This last speech of my lord Grizzle hath been of great service to our poets: