_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,