_Griz_. What means my lovely Huncamunca?

_Hunc_. Hum!

_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: