Bring thy quiver to her aid;
With equal ardour wound the swain;
Beauty should never sigh in vain.
Let him feel the pleasing smart,
Drive the arrow through his heart:
When one you wound, you then destroy;
When both you kill, you kill with joy.
Hunc. O Tom Thumb! Tom Thumb! wherefore art thou Tom Thumb?[119]
Why hadst thou not been born of royal race?