SCENE VII.—Enter JACK-PUDDING, Drummer, Mob.

Jack-P. This is to give notice to all gentlemen, ladies, and others, that at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, this evening, will be performed the whole puppet-show called the Pleasures of the Town; in which will be shewn the whole court of nonsense, with abundance of singing, dancing, and several other entertainments: also the comical and diverting humours of Some-body and No-body; Punch and his wife Joan to be performed by figures, some of them six foot high. God save the King.

[Drum beats.

SCENE VIII.—WITMORE with a paper, meeting LUCKLESS.

Wit. Oh! Luckless, I am overjoyed to meet you; here, take this paper, and you will be discouraged from writing, I warrant you.

Luck. What is it?—Oh! one of my play-bills.

Wit. One of thy play-bills!

Luck. Even so—I have taken the advice you gave me this morning.

Wit. Explain.

Luck. Why, I had some time since given this performance of mine to be rehearsed, and the actors were all perfect in their parts; but we happened to differ about some particulars, and I had a design to have given it over; 'till having my play refused by Marplay, I sent for the managers of the other house in a passion, joined issue with them, and this very evening it is to be acted.

Wit. Well, I wish you success.

Luck. Where are you going?

Wit. Anywhere but to hear you damned, which I must, was I to go to your puppet-show.

Luck. Indulge me in this trial; and I assure thee, if it be successless, it shall be the last.

Wit. On that condition I will; but should the torrent run against you, I shall be a fashionable friend and hiss with the rest.

Luck. No, a man who could do so unfashionable and so generous a thing as Mr Witmore did this morning——

Wit. Then I hope you will return it, by never mentioning it to me more. I will now to the pit.

Luck. And I behind the scenes.

SCENE IX.—LUCKLESS, HARRIOT.

Luck. Dear Harriot!

Har. I was going to the playhouse to look after you—I am frightened out of my wits—I have left my mother at home with the strangest sort of man, who is inquiring after you: he has raised a mob before the door by the oddity of his appearance; his dress is like nothing I ever saw, and he talks of kings, and Bantam, and the strangest stuff.

Luck. What the devil can he be?

Har. One of your old acquaintance, I suppose, in disguise—one of his majesty's officers with his commission in his pocket, I warrant him.

Luck. Well, but have you your part perfect?

Har. I had, unless this fellow hath frightened it out of my head again; but I am afraid I shall play it wretchedly.

Luck. Why so?

Har. I shall never have assurance enough to go through with it, especially if they should hiss me.

Luck. Oh! your mask will keep you in countenance, and as for hissing, you need not fear it. The audience are generally so favourable to young beginners: but hist, here is your mother and she has seen us. Adieu, my dear, make what haste you can to the playhouse.

[Exit.

SCENE X.—HARRIOT, MONEYWOOD.

Har. I wish I could avoid her, for I suppose we shall have an alarum.

Money. So, so, very fine: always together, always caterwauling. How like a hangdog he stole off; and it's well for him he did, for I should have rung such a peal in his ears.—There's a friend of his at my house would be very glad of his company, and I wish it was in my power to bring them together.

Har. You would not surely be so barbarous.

Money. Barbarous! ugh! You whining, puling fool! Hussey, you have not a drop of my blood in you. What, you are in love, I suppose?

Har. If I was, madam, it would be no crime,

Money. Yes, madam, but it would, and a folly too. No woman of sense was ever in love with anything but a man's pocket. What, I suppose he has filled your head with a pack of romantick stuff of streams and dreams, and charms and arms. I know this is the stuff they all run on with, and so run into our debts, and run away with our daughters. Come, confess; are not you two to live in a wilderness together on love? Ah! thou fool! thou wilt find he will pay thee in love just as he has paid me in money. If thou wert resolved to go a-begging, why did you not follow the camp? There, indeed, you might have carried a knapsack; but here you will have no knapsack to carry. There, indeed, you might have had a chance of burying half a score husbands in a campaign; whereas a poet is a long-lived animal; you have but one chance of burying him, and that is, starving him.

Har. Well, madam, and I would sooner starve with the man I love than ride in a coach and six with him I hate: and, as for his passion, you will not make me suspect that, for he hath given me such proofs on't.

Money. Proofs! I shall die. Has he given you proofs of love?

Har. All that any modest woman can require.

Money. If he has given you all a modest woman can require, I am afraid he has given you more than a modest woman should take: because he has been so good a lodger, I suppose I shall have some more of the family to keep. It is probable I shall live to see half a dozen grandsons of mine in Grub-street.

SCENE XI.—MONEYWOOD, HARRIOT, JACK.

Jack. Oh, madam! the man whom you took for a bailiff is certainly some great man; he has a vast many jewels and other fine things about him; he offered me twenty guineas to shew him my master, and has given away so much money among the chairmen, that some folks believe he intends to stand member of parliament for Westminster.

Money. Nay, then, I am sure he is worth inquiring into. So, d'ye hear, sirrah, make as much haste as you can before me, and desire him to part with no more money till I come.

Har. So, now my mother is in pursuit of money, I may securely go in pursuit of my lover: and I am mistaken, good mamma, if e'en you would not think that the better pursuit of the two.

In generous love transporting raptures lie,
Which age, with all its treasures, cannot buy.

THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES; OR, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMB THE GREAT.

WITH THE ANNOTATIONS OF H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS

FIRST ACTED IN 1730, AND ALTERED IN 1731.

H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS,

HIS PREFACE.

THE town hath seldom been more divided in its opinion than concerning the merit of the following scenes. While some publickly affirmed that no author could produce so fine a piece but Mr P——, others have with as much vehemence insisted that no one could write anything so bad but Mr F——.

Nor can we wonder at this dissension about its merit, when the learned would have not unanimously decided even the very nature of this tragedy. For though most of the universities in Europe have honoured it with the name of "Egregium et maximi pretii opus, tragoediis tam antiquis quam novis longe anteponendum;" nay, Dr B—— hath pronounced, "Citius Maevii Aeneadem quam Scribleri istrus tragoediam hanc crediderium, cujus autorem Senecam ipsum tradidisse haud dubitarim:" and the great professor Burman hath styled Tom Thumb "Heroum omnium tragicorum facile principem:" nay, though it hath, among other languages, been translated into Dutch, and celebrated with great applause at Amsterdam (where burlesque never came) by the title of Mynheer Vander Thumb, the burgomasters receiving it with that reverent and silent attention which becometh an audience at a deep tragedy. Notwithstanding all this, there have not been wanting some who have represented these scenes in a ludicrous light; and Mr D—— hath been heard to say, with some concern, that he wondered a tragical and Christian nation would permit a representation on its theatre so visibly designed to ridicule and extirpate everything that is great and solemn among us.

This learned critick and his followers were led into so great an error by that surreptitious and piratical copy which stole last year into the world; with what injustice and prejudice to our author will be acknowledged, I hope, by every one who shall happily peruse this genuine and original copy. Nor can I help remarking, to the great praise of our author, that, however imperfect the former was, even that faint resemblance of the true Tom Thumb contained sufficient beauties to give it a run of upwards of forty nights to the politest audiences. But, notwithstanding that applause which it received from all the best judges, it was as severely censured by some few bad ones, and, I believe rather maliciously than ignorantly, reported to have been intended a burlesque on the loftiest parts of tragedy, and designed to banish what we generally call fine things from the stage.

Now, if I can set my country right in an affair of this importance, I shall lightly esteem any labour which it may cost. And this I the rather undertake, first, as it is indeed in some measure incumbent on me to vindicate myself from that surreptitious copy before mentioned, published by some ill-meaning people under my name; secondly, as knowing myself more capable of doing justice to our author than any other man, as I have given myself more pains to arrive at a thorough understanding of this little piece, having for ten years together read nothing else; in which time, I think, I may modestly presume, with the help of my English dictionary, to comprehend all the meanings of every word in it.

But should any error of my pen awaken Clariss. Bentleium to enlighten the world with his annotations on our author, I shall not think that the least reward or happiness arising to me from these my endeavours.

I shall waive at present what hath caused such feuds in the learned world, whether this piece was originally written by Shakspeare, though certainly that, were it true, must add a considerable share to its merit, especially with such who are so generous as to buy and commend what they never read, from an implicit faith in the author only: a faith which our age abounds in as much as it can be called deficient in any other.

Let it suffice, that THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES; or, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMB, was written in the reign of queen Elizabeth. Nor can the objection made by Mr D——, that the tragedy must then have been antecedent to the history, have any weight, when we consider that, though the HISTORY OF TOM THUMB, printed by and for Edward M——r, at the Looking-glass on London-bridge, be of a later date, still must we suppose this history to have been transcribed from some other, unless we suppose the writer thereof to be inspired: a gift very faintly contended for by the writers of our age. As to this history's not bearing the stamp of second, third, or fourth edition, I see but little in that objection; editions being very uncertain lights to judge of books by; and perhaps Mr M——r may have joined twenty editions in one, as Mr C——l hath ere now divided one into twenty.

Nor doth the other argument, drawn from the little care our author hath taken to keep up to the letter of this history, carry any greater force. Are there not instances of plays wherein the history is so perverted, that we can know the heroes whom they celebrate by no other marks than their names? nay, do we not find the same character placed by different poets in such different lights, that we can discover not the least sameness, or even likeness, in the features? The Sophonisba of Mairet and of Lee is a tender, passionate, amorous mistress of Massinissa: Corneille and Mr Thomson give her no other passion but the love of her country, and make her as cool in her affection to Massinissa as to Syphax. In the two latter she resembles the character of queen Elizabeth; in the two former she is the picture of Mary queen of Scotland. In short, the one Sophonisba is as different from the other as the Brutus of Voltaire is from the Marius, jun., of Otway, or as the Minerva is from the Venus of the ancients.

Let us now proceed to a regular examination of the tragedy before us, in which I shall treat separately of the Fable, the Moral, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Diction. And first of the

Fable; which I take to be the most simple imaginable; and, to use the words of an eminent author, "one, regular, and uniform, not charged with a multiplicity of incidents, and yet affording several revolutions of fortune, by which the passions may be excited, varied, and driven to their full tumult of emotion."—Nor is the action of this tragedy less great than uniform. The spring of all is the love of Tom Thumb for Huncamunca; which caused the quarrel between their majesties in the first act; the passion of Lord Grizzle in the second; the rebellion, fall of Lord Grizzle and Glumdalca, devouring of Tom Thumb by the cow, and that bloody catastrophe, in the third.

Nor is the Moral of this excellent tragedy less noble than the Fable; it teaches these two instructive lessons, viz., that human happiness is exceeding transient; and that death is the certain end of all men: the former whereof is inculcated by the fatal end of Tom Thumb; the latter, by that of all the other personages.

The Characters are, I think, sufficiently described in the dramatis personae; and I believe we shall find few plays where greater care is taken to maintain them throughout, and to preserve in every speech that characteristical mark which distinguishes them from each other. "But (says Mr D——) how well doth the character of Tom Thumb, whom we must call the hero of this tragedy, if it hath any hero, agree with the precepts of Aristotle, who defineth 'Tragedy to be the imitation of a short but perfect action, containing a just greatness in itself'? &c. What greatness can be in a fellow whom history relateth to have been no higher than a span?" This gentleman seemeth to think, with serjeant Kite, that the greatness of a man's soul is in proportion to that of his body; the contrary of which is affirmed by our English physiognomical writers. Besides, if I understand Aristotle right, he speaketh only of the greatness of the action, and not of the person.

As for the Sentiments and the Diction, which now only remain to be spoken to; I thought I could afford them no stronger justification than by producing parallel passages out of the best of our English writers. Whether this sameness of thought and expression, which I have quoted from them, proceeded from an agreement in their way of thinking, or whether they have borrowed from our author, I leave the reader to determine. I shall adventure to affirm this of the Sentiments of our author, that they are generally the most familiar which I have ever met with, and at the same time delivered with the highest dignity of phrase; which brings me to speak of his diction. Here I shall only beg one postulatum, viz., That the greatest perfection of the language of a tragedy is, that it is not to be understood; which granted (as I think it must be), it will necessarily follow that the only way to avoid this is by being too high or too low for the understanding, which will comprehend everything within its reach. Those two extremities of stile Mr Dryden illustrates by the familiar image of two inns, which I shall term the aerial and the subterrestrial.

Horace goes farther, and sheweth when it is proper to call at one of these inns, and when at the other:

Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque,
Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.

That he approveth of the sesquipedalia verba is plain; for, had not Telephus and Peleus used this sort of diction in prosperity, they could not have dropt it in adversity. The aerial inn, therefore (says Horace), is proper only to be frequented by princes and other great men in the highest affluence of fortune; the subterrestrial is appointed for the entertainment of the poorer sort of people only, whom Horace advises,

—dolere sermone pedestri.

The true meaning of both which citations is, that bombast is the proper language for joy, and doggrel for grief; the latter of which is literally implied in the sermo pedestris, as the former is in the sesquipedalia verba.

Cicero recommendeth the former of these: "Quid est tarn furiosum vel tragicum quam verborum sonitus inanis, nulla subjecta sententia neque scientia." What can be so proper for tragedy as a set of big sounding words, so contrived together as to convey no meaning? which I shall one day or other prove to be the sublime of Longinus. Ovid declareth absolutely for the latter inn:

Omne genus scripti gravitate tragoedia vincit.

Tragedy hath, of all writings, the greatest share in the bathos; which is the profound of Scriblerus.

I shall not presume to determine which of these two stiles be properer for tragedy. It sufficeth, that our author excelleth in both. He is very rarely within sight through the whole play, either rising higher than the eye of your understanding can soar, or sinking lower than it careth to stoop. But here it may perhaps be observed that I have given more frequent instances of authors who have imitated him in the sublime than in the contrary. To which I answer, first, Bombast being properly a redundancy of genius, instances of this nature occur in poets whose names do more honour to our author than the writers in the doggrel, which proceeds from a cool, calm, weighty way of thinking. Instances whereof are most frequently to be found in authors of a lower class. Secondly, That the works of such authors are difficultly found at all. Thirdly, That it is a very hard task to read them, in order to extract these flowers from them. And lastly, it is very difficult to transplant them at all; they being like some flowers of a very nice nature, which will flourish in no soil but their own: for it is easy to transcribe a thought, but not the want of one. The EARL OF ESSEX, for instance, is a little garden of choice rarities, whence you can scarce transplant one line so as to preserve its original beauty. This must account to the reader for his missing the names of several of his acquaintance, which he had certainly found here, had I ever read their works; for which, if I have not a just esteem, I can at least say with Cicero, "Quae non contemno, quippe quae nunquam legerim." However, that the reader may meet with due satisfaction in this point, I have a young commentator from the university, who is reading over all the modern tragedies, at five shillings a dozen, and collecting all that they have stole from our author, which shall be shortly added as an appendix to this work.

DRAMATIS PERSONAe.

MEN.

Tom Thumb the Great, a little hero | with a great soul, something violent in his | YOUNG temper, which is a little abated by his | VERHUYCK. love for Huncamunca. |

Ghost of Gaffer Thumb, a whimsical sort | Mr LACY. of ghost. |

Lord Grizzle, extremely zealous for the | liberty of the subject, very cholerick in his | Mr JONES. temper, and in love with Huncamunca. |

Merlin, a conjurer, and in some sort | Mr HALLAM.
father to Tom Thumb. |

Noodle, Doodle, courtiers in place, and | Mr REYNOLDS,
consequently of that party that is uppermost | Mr WATHAN.

Foodle, a courtier that is out of place, | and consequently of that party that is | Mr AYRES. undermost |

Bailiff, and Follower, of the party of | Mr PETERSON, the plaintiff. | Mr HICKS.

Parson, of the side of the church. | Mr WATSON.

WOMEN.

Queen Dollallolla, wife to king Arthur, | and mother to Huncamunca, a woman intirely | Mrs MULLART. faultless, saving that she is a little given | to drink, a little too much a virago towards | her husband, and in love with Tom Thumb. |

Glumdalca, of the giants, a captive |
queen, beloved by the king, but in love with | Mrs DOVE.
Tom Thumb. |

Cleora, Mustacha, maids of honour in love with Noodle and
Doodle.—Courtiers, Guards, Rebels, Drums, Trumpets,
Thunder and Lightning.

SCENE, the court of king Arthur, and a plain thereabouts.

ACT I.

SCENE I.—The Palace. DOODLE, NOODLE.

Doodle. Sure such a [1]day as this was never seen!
The sun himself, on this auspicious day,
Shines like a beau in a new birth-day suit:
This down the seams embroidered, that the beams.
All nature wears one universal grin.

[Footnote 1: Corneille recommends some very remarkable day wherein to fix the action of a tragedy. This the best of our tragical writers have understood to mean a day remarkable for the serenity of the sky, or what we generally call a fine summer's day; so that, according to this their exposition, the same months are proper for tragedy which are proper for pastoral. Most of our celebrated English tragedies, as Cato, Mariamne, Tamerlane, &c., begin with their observations on the morning. Lee seems to have come the nearest to this beautiful description of our author's:

  The morning dawns with an unwonted crimson,
  The flowers all odorous seem, the garden birds
  Sing louder, and the laughing sun ascends
  The gaudy earth with an unusual brightness;
  All nature smiles.—Caes. Borg.

Massinissa, in the New Sophonisba, is also a favourite of the sun:

  ———The sun too seems
  As conscious of my joy, with broader eye
  To look abroad the world, and all things smile
  Like Sophonisba.

Memnon, in the Persian Princess, makes the sun decline rising, that he may not peep on objects which would profane his brightness:

  ——The morning rises slow,
  And all those ruddy streaks that used to paint
  The day's approach are lost in clouds, as if
  The horrors of the night had sent 'em back,
  To warn the sun he should not leave the sea,
  To peep, &c.
]

Nood. This day, O Mr Doodle, is a day
Indeed!—A day, [1] we never saw before.
The mighty [2] Thomas Thumb victorious comes;
Millions of giants crowd his chariot wheels,
[3] Giants! to whom the giants in Guildhall
Are infant dwarfs. They frown, and foam, and roar,
While Thumb, regardless of their noise, rides on.
So some cock-sparrow in a farmer's yard,
Hops at the head of an huge flock of turkeys.

[Footnote 1: This line is highly conformable to the beautiful simplicity of the antients. It hath been copied by almost every modern.

Not to be is not to be in woe.—State of Innocence.

Love is not sin but where 'tis sinful love.—Don Sebastian.

Nature is nature, Laelius.—Sophonisba.

Men are but men, we did not make ourselves.—Revenge. ]

[Footnote 2: Dr B—y reads, The mighty Tall-mast Thumb. Mr D—s, The mighty Thumbing Thumb. Mr T—d reads, Thundering. I think Thomas more agreeable to the great simplicity so apparent in our author.]

[Footnote 3: That learned historian Mr S—n, in the third number of his criticism on our author, takes great pains to explode this passage. "It is," says he, "difficult to guess what giants are here meant, unless the giant Despair in the Pilgrim's Progress, or the giant Greatness in the Royal Villain; for I have heard of no other sort of giants in the reign of king Arthur." Petrus Burmannus makes three Tom Thumbs, one whereof he supposes to have been the same person whom the Greeks called Hercules; and that by these giants are to be understood the Centaurs slain by that hero. Another Tom Thumb he contends to have been no other than the Hermes Trismegistus of the antients. The third Tom Thumb he places under the reign of king Arthur; to which third Tom Thumb, says he, the actions of the other two were attributed. Now, though I know that this opinion is supported by an assertion of Justus Lipsius, "Thomam illum Thumbum non alium quam Herculem fuisse satis constat," yet shall I venture to oppose one line of Mr Midwinter against them all:

In Arthur's court Tom Thumb did live.

"But then," says Dr B—y, "if we place Tom Thumb in the court of king Arthur, it will be proper to place that court out of Britain, where no giants were ever heard of." Spenser, in his Fairy Queen, is of another opinion, where, describing Albion, he says,

———Far within a savage nation dwelt
Of hideous giants.

And in the same canto:

  Then Elfar, with two brethren giants had,
  The one of which had two heads———
                  The other three.

Risum teneatis, amici. ]

Dood. When Goody Thumb first brought this Thomas forth, The Genius of our land triumphant reign'd; Then, then, O Arthur! did thy Genius reign.

Nood. They tell me it is [1]whisper'd in the books
Of all our sages, that this mighty hero,
By Merlin's art begot, hath not a bone
Within his skin, but is a lump of gristle.

[Footnote 1: "To whisper in books," says Mr D—s, "is arrant nonsense." I am afraid this learned man does not sufficiently understand the extensive meaning of the word whisper. If he had rightly understood what is meant by the "senses whisp'ring the soul," in the Persian Princess, or what "whisp'ring like winds" is in Aurengzebe, or like thunder in another author, he would have understood this. Emmeline in Dryden sees a voice, but she was born blind, which is an excuse Panthea cannot plead in Cyrus, who hears a sight:

  ————Your description will surpass
  All fiction, painting, or dumb shew of horror,
  That ever ears yet heard, or eyes beheld.

When Mr D—s understands these, he will understand whispering in books. ]

Dood. Then 'tis a gristle of no mortal kind;
Some God, my Noodle, stept into the place
Of Gaffer Thumb, and more than [1]half begot
This mighty Tom.

[Footnote 1: Some ruffian stept into his father's place, And more than half begot him.—Mary Queen of Scots]

Nood.—[1] Sure he was sent express From Heaven to be the pillar of our state. Though small his body be, so very small A chairman's leg is more than twice as large, Yet is his soul like any mountain big; And as a mountain once brought forth a mouse, [2] So doth this mouse contain a mighty mountain.

[Footnote 1: For Ulamar seems sent express from Heaven, To civilize this rugged Indian clime.—Liberty Asserted]

[Footnote 2: "Omne majus continet in se minus, sed minus non in se majus continere potest," says Scaliger in Thumbo. I suppose he would have cavilled at these beautiful lines in the Earl of Essex:

——Thy most inveterate soul,
That looks through the foul prison of thy body.

And at those of Dryden:

The palace is without too well design'd;
Conduct me in, for I will view thy mind.—Aurengzebe.
]

Dood. Mountain indeed! So terrible his name, [1]The giant nurses frighten children with it, And cry Tom Thumb is come, and if you are Naughty, will surely take the child away.

[Footnote 1: Mr Banks hath copied this almost verbatim:

  It was enough to say, here's Essex come,
  And nurses still'd their children with the fright.
    —Earl of Essex.
]

Nood. But hark! [1]these trumpets speak the king's approach.

[Footnote 1: The trumpet in a tragedy is generally as much as to say, Enter king, which makes Mr Banks, in one of his plays, call it the trumpet's formal sound.]

Dood. He comes most luckily for my petition.

[Flourish.

SCENE II.—KING, QUEEN, GRIZZLE, NOODLE, DOODLE, FOODLE.

King. [1] Let nothing but a face of joy appear; The man who frowns this day shall lose his head, That he may have no face to frown withal. Smile Dollallolla—Ha! what wrinkled sorrow [2] Hangs, sits, lies, frowns upon thy knitted brow? Whence flow those tears fast down thy blubber'd cheeks, Like a swoln gutter, gushing through the streets?

[Footnote 1: Phraortes, in the Captives, seems to have been acquainted with King Arthur:

  Proclaim a festival for seven days' space,
  Let the court shine in all its pomp and lustre,
  Let all our streets resound with shouts of joy;
  Let musick's care-dispelling voice be heard;
  The sumptuous banquet and the flowing goblet
  Shall warm the cheek and fill the heart with gladness.
  Astarbe shall sit mistress of the feast.

]

[Footnote 2:

Repentance frowns on thy contracted brow.—Sophonisba.

Hung on his clouded brow, I mark'd despair.—Ibid.

—A sullen gloom
Scowls on his brow.—Busiris.
]

Queen. [1]Excess of joy, my lord, I've heard folks say, Gives tears as certain as excess of grief.

[Footnote 1: Plato is of this opinion, and so is Mr Banks:

Behold these tears sprung from fresh pain and joy.
—Earl of Essex.
]

King. If it be so, let all men cry for joy, [1]Till my whole court be drowned with their tears; Nay, till they overflow my utmost land, And leave me nothing but the sea to rule.

[Footnote 1: These floods are very frequent in the tragick authors:

  Near to some murmuring brook I'll lay me down,
  Whose waters, if they should too shallow flow,
  My tears shall swell them up till I will drown.
    —Lee's Sophonisba.

  Pouring forth tears at such a lavish rate,
  That were the world on fire they might have drown'd
  The wrath of heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin.
    —Mithridates.

One author changes the waters of grief to those of joy:

——These tears, that sprung from tides of grief,
Are now augmented to a flood of joy.—Cyrus the Great.

Another:

Turns all the streams of heat, and makes them flow
In pity's channel.—Royal Villain.

One drowns himself:

——Pity like a torrent pours me down,
Now I am drowning all within a deluge.—Anna Sullen.

Cyrus drowns the whole world:

  Our swelling grief
  Shall melt into a deluge, and the world
  Shall drown in tears.—Cyrus the Great.
]

Dood. My liege, I a petition have here got.

King. Petition me no petitions, sir, to-day:
Let other hours be set apart for business.
To-day it is our pleasure to be [1]drunk.
And this our queen shall be as drunk as we.

[Footnote 1: An expression vastly beneath the dignity of tragedy, says
Mr D—s, yet we find the word he cavils at in the mouth of
Mithridates less properly used, and applied to a more terrible
idea:

I would be drunk with death.—Mithridates.

The author of the New Sophonisba taketh hold of this monosyllable, and uses it pretty much to the same purpose:

The Carthaginian sword with Roman blood
Was drunk.

I would ask Mr D—s which gives him the best idea, a drunken king, or a drunken sword?

Mr Tate dresses up King Arthur's resolution in heroick:

Merry, my lord, o' th' captain's humour right,
I am resolved to be dead drunk to-night.

Lee also uses this charming word:

Love's the drunkenness of the mind.—Gloriana. ]

Queen. (Though I already[1] half seas over am)
If the capacious goblet overflow
With arrack punch——'fore George! I'll see it out:
Of rum and brandy I'll not taste a drop.

[Footnote 1: Dryden hath borrowed this, and applied it improperly:

I'm half seas o'er in death.—Cleomenes ]

King. Though rack, in punch, eight shillings be a quart, And rum and brandy be no more than six, Rather than quarrel you shall have your will. [Trumpets. But, ha! the warrior comes—the great Tom Thumb, The little hero, giant-killing boy, Preserver of my kingdom, is arrived.

SCENE III.—TOM THUMB to them, with Officers, Prisoners, and Attendants.

King. [1] Oh! welcome most, most welcome to my arms.
What gratitude can thank away the debt
Your valour lays upon me?

[Footnote 1: This figure is in great use among the tragedians:

'Tis therefore, therefore 'tis.—Victim.

I long, repent, repent, and long again.—Busiris. ]

Queen.—————[1] Oh! ye gods! [Aside.

[Footnote 1: A tragical exclamation.]

Thumb. When I'm not thank'd at all, I'm thank'd enough. [1] I've done my duty, and I've done no more,

[Footnote 1: This line is copied verbatim in the Captives.]

Queen. Was ever such a godlike creature seen? [Aside.

King. Thy modesty's a [1]candle to thy merit, It shines itself, and shews thy merit too. But say, my boy, where didst thou leave the giants?

[Footnote 1: We find a candlestick for this candle in two celebrated authors:

———Each star withdraws
His golden head, and burns within the socket.—Nero.

A soul grown old and sunk into the socket.—Sebastian.
]

Thumb. My liege, without the castle gates they stand, The castle gates too low for their admittance.

King. What look they like?

Thumb. Like nothing but themselves.

Queen. [1]And sure thou art like nothing but thyself. [Aside.

[Footnote 1: This simile occurs very frequently among the dramatic writers of both kinds.]

King. Enough! the vast idea fills my soul.
I see them—yes, I see them now before me:
The monstrous, ugly, barb'rous sons of whores.
But ha! what form majestick strikes our eyes?
[1]So perfect, that it seems to have been drawn
By all the gods in council: so fair she is,
That surely at her birth the council paused,
And then at length cry'd out, This is a woman!

[Footnote 1: Mr Lee hath stolen this thought from our author:

This perfect face, drawn by the gods in council,
Which they were long a making.—Luc. Jun. Brut.

—At his birth the heavenly council paused,
And then at last cry'd out, This is a man!

Dryden hath improved this hint to the utmost perfection:

  So perfect, that the very gods who form'd you wonder'd
  At their own skill, and cry'd, A lucky hit
  Has mended our design! Their envy hindered,
  Or you had been immortal, and a pattern,
  When Heaven would work for ostentation sake,
  To copy out again.—All for Love.

Banks prefers the works of Michael Angelo to that of the gods:

A pattern for the gods to make a man by,
Or Michael Angelo to form a statue.
]

Thumb. Then were the gods mistaken—she is not A woman, but a giantess——whom we, [1] With much ado, have made a shift to hawl Within the town:[2] for she is by a foot Shorter than all her subject giants were.

[Footnote 1: It is impossible, says Mr W——, sufficiently to admire this natural easy line.]

[Footnote 2: This tragedy, which in most points resembles the ancients, differs from them in this—that it assigns the same honour to lowness of stature which they did to height. The gods and heroes in Homer and Virgil are continually described higher by the head than their followers, the contrary of which is observed by our author. In short, to exceed on either side is equally admirable; and a man of three foot is as wonderful a sight as a man of nine.]

Glum. We yesterday were both a queen and wife, One hundred thousand giants own'd our sway, Twenty whereof were married to ourself.

Queen. Oh! happy state of giantism where husbands Like mushrooms grow, whilst hapless we are forced To be content, nay, happy thought, with one.

Glum. But then to lose them all in one black day,
That the same sun which, rising, saw me wife
To twenty giants, setting should behold
Me widow'd of them all.——[1]My worn-out heart,
That ship, leaks fast, and the great heavy lading,
My soul, will quickly sink.

[Footnote 1:

My blood leaks fast, and the great heavy lading
My soul will quickly sink.—Mithridates.

My soul is like a ship.—Injured Love.
]

Queen. Madam, believe
I view your sorrows with a woman's eye:
But learn to bear them with what strength you may,
To-morrow we will have our grenadiers
Drawn out before you, and you then shall choose
What husbands you think fit.

Glum. [1]Madam, I am Your most obedient and most humble servant.

[Footnote 1: This well-bred line seems to be copied in the Persian
Princess:—

To be your humblest and most faithful slave.
]

King. Think, mighty princess, think this court your own,
Nor think the landlord me, this house my inn;
Call for whate'er you will, you'll nothing pay.
[1]I feel a sudden pain within my breast,
Nor know I whether it arise from love
Or only the wind-cholick. Time must shew.
O Thumb! what do we to thy valour owe!
Ask some reward, great as we can bestow.

[Footnote 1: This doubt of the king puts me in mind of a passage in the Captives, where the noise of feet is mistaken for the rustling of leaves.

  ———Methinks I hear
  The sound of feet:
  No; 'twas the wind that shook yon cypress boughs.
]

Thumb. [1] I ask not kingdoms, I can conquer those; I ask not money, money I've enough; For what I've done, and what I mean to do, For giants slain, and giants yet unborn, Which I will slay—-if this be called a debt, Take my receipt in full: I ask but this,— [2] To sun myself in Huncamunca's eyes.

[Footnote 1: Mr Dryden seems to have had this passage in his eye in the first page of Love Triumphant.]

[Footnote 2: Don Carlos, in the Revenge, suns himself in the charms of his mistress:

While in the lustre of her charms I lay.
]

King. Prodigious bold request. [Aside.

Queen. ————[1] Be still, my soul. [Aside.

[Footnote 1: A tragical phrase much in use.]

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.]

Oh! happy, happy, happy!—Ibid.
]

Queen. Consider, sir; reward your soldier's merit, But give not Huncamunca to Tom Thumb.

King. Tom Thumb! Odzooks! my wide-extended realm,
Knows not a name so glorious as Tom Thumb.
Let Macedonia Alexander boast,
Let Rome her Caesars and her Scipios show,
Her Messieurs France, let Holland boast Mynheers,
Ireland her O's, her Macs let Scotland boast,
Let England boast no other than Tom Thumb.

Queen. Though greater yet his boasted merit was, He shall not have my daughter, that is pos'.

King. Ha! sayst thou, Dollallolla?

Queen.————-I say he shan't.

King. [1]Then by our royal self we swear you lie.

[Footnote 1: No by myself.—Anna Bullen.]

Queen. [1] Who but a dog, who but a dog Would use me as thou dost? Me, who have lain [2] These twenty years so loving by thy side! But I will be revenged. I'll hang myself. Then tremble all who did this match persuade, [3] For, riding on a cat, from high I'll fall, And squirt down royal vengeance on you all.

[Footnote 1: —————Who caused
This dreadful revolution in my fate.
Ulamar. Who but a dog—who but a dog?—Liberty As.
]

[Footnote 2: ——————A bride, Who twenty years lay loving by your side.—Banks. ]

[Footnote 3: For, borne upon a cloud, from high I'll fall, And rain down royal vengeance on you all.—Alb. Queens. ]

Food. [1]Her majesty the queen is in a passion.

[Footnote 1: An information very like this we have in the tragedy of Love, where, Cyrus having stormed in the most violent manner, Cyaxares observes very calmly,

Why, nephew Cyrus, you are moved.
]

King. [1] Be she, or be she not, I'll to the girl
And pave thy way, oh Thumb—Now by ourself,
We were indeed a pretty king of clouts
To truckle to her will—For when by force
Or art the wife her husband over-reaches,
Give him the petticoat, and her the breeches.

[Footnote 1: 'Tis in your choice. Love me, or love me not.—Conquest of Granada. ]

Thumb. [1] Whisper ye winds, that Huncamunca's mine!
Echoes repeat, that Huncamunca's mine!
The dreadful bus'ness of the war is o'er,
And beauty, heav'nly beauty! crowns my toils!
I've thrown the bloody garment now aside
And hymeneal sweets invite my bride.

So when some chimney-sweeper all the day
Hath through dark paths pursued the sooty way,
At night to wash his hands and face he flies,
And in his t'other shirt with his Brickdusta lies.

[Footnote 1: There is not one beauty in this charming speech but what hath been borrow'd by almost every tragick writer. ]

SCENE IV.

Grizzle (solus.) [1] Where art thou, Grizzle? where
are now thy glories?
Where are the drums that waken thee to honour?
Greatness is a laced coat from Monmouth-street,
Which fortune lends us for a day to wear,
To-morrow puts it on another's back.
The spiteful sun but yesterday survey'd
His rival high as Saint Paul's cupola;
Now may he see me as Fleet-ditch laid low.

[Footnote 1: Mr Banks has (I wish I could not say too servilely) imitated this of Grizzle in his Earl of Essex: Where art thou, Essex, &c.]

SCENE V.—QUEEN, GRIZZLE.

Queen. [1]Teach me to scold, prodigious-minded Grizzle,
Mountain of treason, ugly as the devil,
Teach this confounded hateful mouth of mine
To spout forth words malicious as thyself,
Words which might shame all Billingsgate to speak.

[Footnote 1: The countess of Nottingham, in the Earl of Essex, is apparently acquainted with Dollallolla.]

Griz. Far be it from my pride to think my tongue
Your royal lips can in that art instruct,
Wherein you so excel. But may I ask,
Without offence, wherefore my queen would scold?

Queen. Wherefore? Oh! blood and thunder! han't you heard (What every corner of the court resounds) That little Thumb will be a great man made?

Griz. I heard it, I confess—for who, alas! [1] Can always stop his ears?—But would my teeth, By grinding knives, had first been set on edge!

[Footnote 1: Grizzle was not probably possessed of that glew of which
Mr Banks speaks in his Cyrus.

I'll glew my ears to every word.
]

Queen. Would I had heard, at the still noon of night,
The hallalloo of fire in every street!
Odsbobs! I have a mind to hang myself,
To think I should a grandmother be made
By such a rascal!—Sure the king forgets
When in a pudding, by his mother put,
The bastard, by a tinker, on a stile
Was dropp'd.—O, good lord Grizzle! can I bear
To see him from a pudding mount the throne?
Or can, oh can, my Huncamunca bear
To take a pudding's offspring to her arms?

Griz. Oh horror! horror! horror! cease, my queen, [1] Thy voice, like twenty screech-owls, wracks my brain.

[Footnote 1: Screech-owls, dark ravens, and amphibious monsters, Are screaming in that voice.—Mary Queen of Scots. ]

Queen. Then rouse thy spirit—we may yet prevent This hated match.

Griz.—We will[1]; nor fate itself,
Should it conspire with Thomas Thumb, should cause it.
I'll swim through seas; I'll ride upon the clouds;
I'll dig the earth; I'll blow out every fire;
I'll rave; I'll rant; I'll rise; I'll rush; I'll roar;
Fierce as the man whom[2] smiling dolphins bore
From the prosaick to poetick shore.
I'll tear the scoundrel into twenty pieces.

[Footnote 1: The reader may see all the beauties of this speech in a late ode called the Naval Lyrick.]

[Footnote 2: This epithet to a dolphin doth not give one so clear an idea as were to be wished; a smiling fish seeming a little more difficult to be imagined than a flying fish. Mr Dryden is of opinion that smiling is the property of reason, and that no irrational creature can smile:

Smiles not allow'd to beasts from reason move.
—State of Innocence.
]

Queen. Oh, no! prevent the match, but hurt him not; For, though I would not have him have my daughter, Yet can we kill the man that kill'd the giants?

Griz. I tell you, madam, it was all a trick;
He made the giants first, and then he kill'd them;
As fox-hunters bring foxes to the wood,
And then with hounds they drive them out again.

Queen. How! have you seen no giants? Are there not Now, in the yard, ten thousand proper giants?

Griz. [1]Indeed I cannot positively tell, But firmly do believe there is not one.

[Footnote 1: These lines are written in the same key with those in the
Earl of Essex:

Why, say'st thou so? I love thee well, indeed
I do, and thou shalt find by this 'tis true.

Or with this in Cyrus:

The most heroick mind that ever was.

And with above half of the modern tragedies. ]

Queen. Hence! from my sight! thou traitor, hie away;
By all my stars I thou enviest Tom Thumb.
Go, sirrah! go, [1]hie away! hie!——thou art
A setting dog: be gone.

[Footnote 1: Aristotle, in that excellent work of his which is very justly stiled his masterpiece, earnestly recommends using the terms of art, however coarse or even indecent they may be. Mr Tate is of the same opinion.

Bru. Do not, like young hawks, fetch a course about. Your game flies fair.

Fra. Do not fear it. He answers you in your own hawking phrase. —Injured Love.

I think these two great authorities are sufficient to justify Dollallolla in the use of the phrase, "Hie away, hie!" when in the same line she says she is speaking to a setting-dog. ]

Griz. Madam, I go.
Tom Thumb shall feel the vengeance you have raised.
So, when two dogs are fighting in the streets,
With a third dog one of the two dogs meets,
With angry teeth he bites him to the bone,
And this dog smarts for what that dog has done.

SCENE VI.

Queen (sola). And whither shall I go?—Alack a day!
I love Tom Thumb—but must not tell him so;
For what's a woman when her virtue's gone?
A coat without its lace; wig out of buckle;
A stocking with a hole in't—I can't live
Without my virtue, or without Tom Thumb.
[1] Then let me weigh them in two equal scales;
In this scale put my virtue, that Tom Thumb.
Alas! Tom Thumb is heavier than my virtue.
But hold!—perhaps I may be left a widow:
This match prevented, then Tom Thumb is mine;
In that dear hope I will forget my pain.

So, when some wench to Tothill Bridewell's sent,
With beating hemp and flogging she's content;
She hopes in time to ease her present pain,
At length is free, and walks the streets again.

[Footnote 1: We meet with such another pair of scales in Dryden's King
Arthur:

Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of heaven.

Also in Sebastian:

This hour my lot is weighing in the scales. ]

ACT II.

SCENE I.—The street. Bailiff, Follower.

[Footnote: Mr Rowe is generally imagined to have taken some hints from this scene in his character of Bajazet; but as he, of all the tragick writers, bears the least resemblance to our author in his diction, I am unwilling to imagine he would condescend to copy him in this particular.]

Bail. Come on, my trusty follower, come on;
This day discharge thy duty, and at night
A double mug of beer, and beer shall glad thee.
Stand here by me, this way must Noodle pass.

Fol. No more, no more, oh Bailiff! every word
Inspires my soul with virtue. Oh! I long
To meet the enemy in the street—and nab him:
To lay arresting hands upon his back,
And drag him trembling to the spunging-house.

Bail. There when I have him, I will spunge upon him.
Oh! glorious thought! by the sun, moon, and stars,
I will enjoy it, though it be in thought!
Yes, yes, my follower, I will enjoy it.

Fol. Enjoy it then some other time, for now Our prey approaches.

Bail. Let us retire.

SCENE II.—TOM THUMB, NOODLE, Bailiff, Follower.

Thumb. Trust me, my Noodle, I am wondrous sick;
For, though I love the gentle Huncamunca,
Yet at the thought of marriage I grow pale:
For, oh!—[1] but swear thou'lt keep it ever secret,
I will unfold a tale will make thee stare.

[Footnote 1: This method of surprizing an audience, by raising their expectation to the highest pitch, and then baulking it, hath been practised with great success by most of our tragical authors]

Nood. I swear by lovely Huncamunca's charms.

Thumb. Then know—[1] my grandmamma hath often said, Tom Thumb, beware of marriage.

[Footnote: Almeyda, in Sebastian, is in the same distress:

  Sometimes methinks I hear the groan of ghosts,
  This hollow sounds and lamentable screams;
  Then, like a dying echo from afar,
  My mother's voice that cries, Wed not, Almeyda;
  Forewarn'd, Almeyda, marriage is thy crime.
]

Nood. Sir, I blush
To think a warrior, great in arms as you,
Should be affrighted by his grandmamma.
Can an old woman's empty dreams deter
The blooming hero from the virgin's arms?
Think of the joy that will your soul alarm,
When in her fond embraces clasp'd you lie,
While on her panting breast, dissolved in bliss,
You pour out all Tom Thumb in every kiss.

Thumb. Oh! Noodle, thou hast fired my eager soul; Spite of my grandmother she shall be mine; I'll hug, caress, I'll eat her up with love: Whole days, and nights, and years shall be too short For our enjoyment; every sun shall rise [1] Blushing to see us in our bed together.

[Footnote: "As very well he may, if he hath any modesty in him," says Mr D—s. The author of Busiris is extremely zealous to prevent the sun's blushing at any indecent object; and therefore on all such occasions he addresses himself to the sun, and desires him to keep out of the way.

Rise never more, O sun! let night prevail,
Eternal darkness close the world's wide scene.—Busiris.

Sun, hide thy face, and put the world in mourning.—Ibid.

Mr Banks makes the sun perform the office of Hymen, and therefore not likely to be disgusted at such a sight:

The sun sets forth like a gay brideman with you.
—Mary Queen of Scots.
]

Nood. Oh, sir! this purpose of your soul pursue.

Bail. Oh! sir! I have an action against you.

Nood. At whose suit is it?

Bail. At your taylor's, sir. Your taylor put this warrant in my hands, And I arrest you, sir, at his commands.

Thumb. Ha! dogs! Arrest my friend before my face! Think you Tom Thumb will suffer this disgrace? But let vain cowards threaten by their word, Tom Thumb shall shew his anger by his sword. [Kills Bailiff and Follower.

Bail. Oh, I am slain!

Fol. I am murdered also, And to the shades, the dismal shades below, My bailiff's faithful follower I go.

Nood. [1]Go then to hell, like rascals as you are, And give our service to the bailiffs there.

[Footnote 1: Nourmahal sends the same message to heaven;

For I would have you, when you upwards move,
Speak kindly of us to our friends above.—Aurengzebe

We find another to hell, in the Persian Princess:

Villain, get thee down
To hell, and tell them that the fray's begun.
]

Thumb. Thus perish all the bailiffs in the land, Till debtors at noon-day shall walk the streets, And no one fear a bailiff or his writ.

The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12

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