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.]