_Queen_. (Though I already[1] half seas over am) If the capacious goblet overflow With arrack punch----'fore George! I'll see it out: Of rum and brandy I'll not taste a drop. [Footnote 1: Dryden hath borrowed this, and applied it improperly: I'm half seas o'er in death.--_Cleomenes_ ] _King_. Though rack, in punch, eight shillings be a quart, And rum and brandy be no more than six, Rather than quarrel you shall have your will. [_Trumpets_. But, ha! the warrior comes--the great Tom Thumb, The little hero, giant-killing boy, Preserver of my kingdom, is arrived. SCENE III.--TOM THUMB _to them, with_ Officers, Prisoners, _and_ Attendants. King. [1] Oh! welcome most, most welcome to my arms. What gratitude can thank away the debt Your valour lays upon me? [Footnote 1: This figure is in great use among the tragedians: 'Tis therefore, therefore 'tis.--_Victim_. I long, repent, repent, and long again.--_Busiris_. ] _Queen_.----------[1] Oh! ye gods! [_Aside_. [Footnote 1: A tragical exclamation.] _Thumb_. When I'm not thank'd at all, I'm thank'd enough. [1] I've done my duty, and I've done no more, [Footnote 1: This line is copied verbatim in the Captives.] _Queen_. Was ever such a godlike creature seen? [_Aside_. _King_. Thy modesty's a [1]candle to thy merit, It shines itself, and shews thy merit too. But say, my boy, where didst thou leave the giants? [Footnote 1: We find a candlestick for this candle in two celebrated authors: ------Each star withdraws His golden head, and burns within the socket.--_Nero_. A soul grown old and sunk into the socket.--_Sebastian_. ] _Thumb_. My liege, without the castle gates they stand, The castle gates too low for their admittance. _King_. What look they like? _Thumb_. Like nothing but themselves. _Queen_. [1]And sure thou art like nothing but thyself. [_Aside_. [Footnote 1: This simile occurs very frequently among the dramatic writers of both kinds.] _King_. Enough! the vast idea fills my soul. I see them--yes, I see them now before me: The monstrous, ugly, barb'rous sons of whores. But ha! what form majestick strikes our eyes? [1]So perfect, that it seems to have been drawn By all the gods in council: so fair she is, That surely at her birth the council paused, And then at length cry'd out, This is a woman! [Footnote 1: Mr Lee hath stolen this thought from our author: This perfect face, drawn by the gods in council, Which they were long a making.--_Luc. Jun. Brut_. --At his birth the heavenly council paused, And then at last cry'd out, This is a man! Dryden hath improved this hint to the utmost perfection: