Her waxen soul begins to melt apace.--_Anna Bullen_. Another of flint: Sure our two souls have somewhere been acquainted In former beings, or, struck out together, One spark to Africk flew, and one to Portugal.--_Sebastian_. To omit the great quantities of iron, brazen, and leaden souls, which are so plenty in modern authors--I cannot omit the dress of a soul as we find it in Dryden: Souls shirted but with air.--_King Arthur_. Nor can I pass by a particular sort of soul in a particular sort of description in the New Sophonisba: Ye mysterious powers, --Whether thro' your gloomy depths I wander, Or on the mountains walk, give me the calm, The steady smiling soul, where wisdom sheds Eternal sunshine, and eternal joy. ] _Hunc_. [1]Oh! what is music to the ear that's deaf, Or a goose-pie to him that has no taste? What are these praises now to me, since I Am promised to another? [Footnote 1: This line Mr Banks has plunder'd entire in his Anna Bullen.] _Thumb_. Ha! promised? _Hunc_. Too sure; 'tis written in the book of fate. _Thumb_. [1]Then I will tear away the leaf Wherein it's writ; or, if fate won't allow So large a gap within its journal-book, I'll blot it out at least. [Footnote 1: Good Heaven! the book of fate before me lay, But to tear out the journal of that day. Or, if the order of the world below Will not the gap of one whole day allow, Give me that minute when she made her vow. --_Conquest of Granada_. ] SCENE VII.--GLUMDALCA, TOM THUMB, HUNCAMUNCA _Glum_. [1]I need not ask if you are Huncamunca. Your brandy-nose proclaims---- [Footnote 1: I know some of the commentators have imagined that Mr Dryden, in the altercative scene between Cleopatra and Octavia, a scene which Mr Addison inveighs against with great bitterness, is much beholden to our author. How just this their observation is I will not presume to determine.] _Hunc_. I am a princess; Nor need I ask who you are. _Glum_. A giantess; The queen of those who made and unmade queens. _Hunc_. The man whose chief ambition is to be My sweetheart hath destroy'd these mighty giants. _Glum_. Your sweetheart? Dost thou think the man who once Hath worn my easy chains will e'er wear thine? _Hunc_. Well may your chains be easy, since, if fame Says true, they have been tried on twenty husbands. [1]The glove or boot, so many times pull'd on, May well sit easy on the hand or foot. [Footnote 1: "A cobling poet indeed," says Mr D.; and yet I believe we may find as monstrous images in the tragick authors: I'll put down one: Untie your folded thoughts, and let them dangle loose as a bride's hair.--_Injured Love_. Which line seems to have as much title to a milliner's shop as our author's to a shoemaker's.] _Glum_. I glory in the number, and when I Sit poorly down, like thee, content with one, Heaven change this face for one as bad as thine.