TOM THUMB, HUNCAMUNCA.
_Thumb._ Where is my princess? where's my Huncamunca?
Where are those eyes, those cardmatches of love,
That light up all with love my waxen soul?[132]
Where is that face which artful nature made
In the same moulds where Venus' self was cast?[133]
_Hunc._ Oh! what is music to the ear that's deaf,[134]
Or a goose-pie to him that has no taste?
What are these praises now to me, since I
Am promised to another?
_Thumb._ Ha! promised?
_Hunc._ Too sure; 'tis written in the book of fate.
_Thumb._ Then I will tear away the leaf[135]
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.