A country-dance of joy is in your face.[124]
Your eyes spit fire, your cheeks grow red as beef.
Hunc. Oh, there's a magic-music in that sound,
Enough to turn me into beef indeed!
Yes, I will own, since licensed by your word,
I'll own Tom Thumb the cause of all my grief.
For him I've sigh'd, I've wept, I've gnaw'd my sheets.
King. Oh! thou shalt gnaw thy tender sheets no more.
A husband thou shalt have to mumble now.