The Works of Henry Fielding, vol. 12 — Background and Themes

That were the world on fire they might have drown'd The wrath of heaven, and quench'd the mighty ruin. --_Mithridates_.

One author changes the waters of grief to those of joy:

----These tears, that sprung from tides of grief, Are now augmented to a flood of joy.--_Cyrus the Great_.

Turns all the streams of heat, and makes them flow In pity's channel.--_Royal Villain_.

----Pity like a torrent pours me down, Now I am drowning all within a deluge.--_Anna Sullen_.

Cyrus drowns the whole world:

Our swelling grief Shall melt into a deluge, and the world Shall drown in tears.--_Cyrus the Great_. ]

_Dood_. My liege, I a petition have here got.

_King_. Petition me no petitions, sir, to-day: Let other hours be set apart for business. To-day it is our pleasure to be [1]drunk. And this our queen shall be as drunk as we.

[Footnote 1: An expression vastly beneath the dignity of tragedy, says Mr D--s, yet we find the word he cavils at in the mouth of Mithridates less properly used, and applied to a more terrible idea:

I would be drunk with death.--_Mithridates_.

The author of the New Sophonisba taketh hold of this monosyllable, and uses it pretty much to the same purpose:

The Carthaginian sword with Roman blood Was drunk.

I would ask Mr D--s which gives him the best idea, a drunken king, or a drunken sword?

Mr Tate dresses up King Arthur's resolution in heroick:

Merry, my lord, o' th' captain's humour right, I am resolved to be dead drunk to-night.

Lee also uses this charming word:

Love's the drunkenness of the mind.--_Gloriana_. ]

_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:

So perfect, that the very gods who form'd you wonder'd At their own skill, and cry'd, A lucky hit Has mended our design! Their envy hindered, Or you had been immortal, and a pattern, When Heaven would work for ostentation sake, To copy out again.--_All for Love_.

Banks prefers the works of Michael Angelo to that of the gods:

A pattern for the gods to make a man by, Or Michael Angelo to form a statue. ]