_King_. Tom Thumb.

_Hunc_. Is it possible?

_King_. Ha! the window-blinds are gone;
[1]A country-dance of joy is in your face.
Your eyes spit fire, your cheeks grow red as beef.

[Footnote 1:
Her eyes resistless magick bear;
Angels, I see, and gods, are dancing there
--_Lee's Sophonisba_.
]

_Hunc_. O, there's a magick-musick in that sound,
Enough to turn me into beef indeed!
Yes, I will own, since licensed by your word,
I'll own Tom Thumb the cause of all my grief.
For him I've sigh'd, I've wept, I've gnaw'd my sheets.

_King_. Oh! thou shalt gnaw thy tender sheets no more.
A husband thou shalt have to mumble now.

_Hunc_. Oh! happy sound! henceforth let no one tell
That Huncamunca shall lead apes in hell.
Oh! I am overjoy'd!

_King_. I see thou art.
[1] Joy lightens in thy eyes, and thunders from thy brows;
Transports, like lightning, dart along thy soul,