In spite of ghosts I'll on.
]

_Ghost_. Were the Red Sea a sea of Hollands gin,
The liquor (when alive) whose very smell
I did detest--did loathe--yet, for the sake
Of Thomas Thumb, I would be laid therein.

_King_. Ha! said you?

_Ghost_. Yes, my liege, I said Tom Thumb,
Whose father's ghost I am--once not unknown
To mighty Arthur. But, I see, 'tis true,
The dearest friend, when dead, we all forget.

_King_. 'Tis he--it is the honest Gaffer Thumb.
Oh! let me press thee in my eager arms,
Thou best of ghosts! thou something more than ghost!

_Ghost_. Would I were something more, that we again
Might feel each other in the warm embrace.
But now I have th' advantage of my king,
[1] For I feel thee, whilst thou dost not feel me.

[Footnote 1: The ghost of Lausaria, in Cyrus, is a plain copy of this,
and is therefore worth reading:

Ah, Cyrus!
Thou may'st as well grasp water, or fleet air,