]

_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;