Griz. Oh! speak.
Hunc. Hum!
Griz. Ha! your every word is hum: [1] You force me still to answer you, Tom Thumb. Tom Thumb—I'm on the rack—I'm in a flame. [2]Tom Thumb, Tom Thumb, Tom Thumb—you love the name; So pleasing is that sound, that were you dumb, You still would find a voice to cry Tom Thumb.
[Footnote 1:
Your every answer still so ends in that,
You force me still to answer you Morat. —Aurengzebe.
]
[Footnote 2: Morat, Morat, Morat! you love the name.—Aurengzebe.]
Hunc. Oh! be not hasty to proclaim my doom! My ample heart for more than one has room: A maid like me Heaven form'd at least for two. [1]I married him, and now I'll marry you.
[Footnote 1: "Here is a sentiment for the virtuous Huncamunca!" says
Mr D——s. And yet, with the leave of this great man, the virtuous
Panthea, in Cyrus, hath an heart every whit as ample:
For two I must confess are gods to me,
Which is my Abradatus first, and thee.—Cyrus the Great.
Nor is the lady in Love Triumphant more reserved, though not so intelligible:
I am so divided,
That I grieve most for both, and love both most.
]