Queen (sola). And whither shall I go?—Alack a day!
I love Tom Thumb—but must not tell him so;
For what's a woman when her virtue's gone?
A coat without its lace; wig out of buckle;
A stocking with a hole in't—I can't live
Without my virtue, or without Tom Thumb.
[1] Then let me weigh them in two equal scales;
In this scale put my virtue, that Tom Thumb.
Alas! Tom Thumb is heavier than my virtue.
But hold!—perhaps I may be left a widow:
This match prevented, then Tom Thumb is mine;
In that dear hope I will forget my pain.

So, when some wench to Tothill Bridewell's sent,
With beating hemp and flogging she's content;
She hopes in time to ease her present pain,
At length is free, and walks the streets again.

[Footnote 1: We meet with such another pair of scales in Dryden's King
Arthur:

Arthur and Oswald, and their different fates,
Are weighing now within the scales of heaven.

Also in Sebastian:

This hour my lot is weighing in the scales. ]