In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did live,
A man of mickle might,
The best of all the table round,
And eke a doughty knight:
His stature but an inch in height,
Or quarter of a span;
Then thinke you not this little knight,
Was prov'd a valiant man?
His father was a plow-man plaine,
His mother milkt the cow,
But yet the way to get a sonne
This couple knew not how,
Untill such time this good old man
To learned Merlin goes,
And there to him his deepe desires
In secret manner showes,
How in his heart he wisht to have
A childe, in time to come,
To be his heire, though it might be
No bigger than his Thumbe.
Of which old Merlin thus foretold,
That he his wish should have,
And so this sonne of stature small
The charmer to him gave.
No blood nor bones in him should be,
In shape and being such,
That men should heare him speake, but not
His wandring shadow touch:
But all unseene to goe or come
Whereas it pleasd him still;
And thus King Arthurs Dwarfe was born,
To fit his fathers will:
And in foure minutes grew so fast,
That he became so tall
As was the plowmans thumbe in height,
And so they did him call
Tom Thumbe, the which the Fayry-Queene
There gave him to his name,
Who, with her traine of Goblins grim,
Unto his christning came.
Whereas she cloath'd him richly brave,
In garments fine and faire,
Which lasted him for many yeares
In seemely sort to weare.
His hat made of an oaken leafe,
His shirt a spiders web,
Both light and soft for those his limbes
That were so smally bred;
His hose and doublet thistle downe,
Togeather weav'd full fine;
His stockins of an apple greene,
Made of the outward rine;
His garters were two little haires,
Pull'd from his mothers eye,
His bootes and shooes a mouses skin,
There tand most curiously.
Thus, like a lustie gallant, he
Adventured forth to goe,
With other children in the streets
His pretty trickes to show.
Where he for counters, pinns, and points,
And cherry stones did play,
Till he amongst those gamesters young
Had loste his stocke away,
Yet could he soone renew the same,
When as most nimbly he
Would dive into their cherry-baggs,
And there partaker be,
Unseene or felt by any one,
Untill a scholler shut
This nimble youth into a boxe,
Wherein his pins he put.
Of whom to be reveng'd, he tooke
(In mirth and pleasant game)
Black pots, and glasses, which he hung
Upon a bright sunne-beam.
The other boyes to doe the like,
In pieces broke them quite;
For which they were most soundly whipt,
Whereat he laught outright.
And so Tom Thumbe restrained was
From these his sports and play,
And by his mother after that
Compel'd at home to stay.
Whereas about a Christmas time,
His father a hog had kil'd,
And Tom would see the puddings made,
For fear they should be spil'd.
He sate upon the pudding-boule,
The candle for to hold;
Of which there is unto this day
A pretty pastime told:
For Tom fell in, and could not be
For ever after found,
For in the blood and batter he
Was strangely lost and drownd.
Where searching long, but all in vaine,
His mother after that
Into a pudding thrust her sonne,
Instead of minced fat.
Which pudding of the largest size
Into the kettle throwne,
Made all the rest to fly thereout,
As with a whirle-wind blowne.
For so it tumbled up and downe,
Within the liquor there,
As if the devill had been boiled;
Such was his mothers feare,
That up she took the pudding strait.
And gave it at the door
Unto a tinker, which from thence
In his blacke budget bore.
From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last
And home return'd againe:
Where he from following dangers long
In safety did remaine.
Now after this, in sowing time,
His father would him have
Into the field to drive his plow,
And thereupon him gave
A whip made of a barly straw
To drive the cattle on:
Where, in a furrow'd land new sowne,
Poore Tom was lost and gon.
Now by a raven of great strength
Away he thence was borne,
And carried in the carrions beake
Even like a graine of corne,
Unto a giants castle top,
In which he let him fall,
Where soone the giant swallowed up
His body, cloathes and all.
But in his stomach did Tom Thumbe
So great a rumbling make,
That neither day nor night he could
The smallest quiet take,
Untill the giant had him spewd
Three miles into the sea,
Whereas a fish soone tooke him up
And bore him thence away.
Which lusty fish was after caught
And to king Arthur sent,
Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe,
Whereas his dayes he spent
Long time in lively jollity,
Belov'd of all the court,
And none like Tom was then esteem'd
Among the noble sort.
Amongst his deedes of courtship done,
His highnesse did command,
That he should dance a galliard brave
Upon his queenes left hand.
The which he did, and for the same
The king his signet gave,
Which Tom about his middle wore
Long time a girdle brave.
Now after this the king would not
Abroad for pleasure goe,
But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him,
Plac'd on his saddle-bow.
Where on a time when as it rain'd,
Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept
In at a button hole, where he
Within his bosome slept.
And being neere his highnesse heart,
He crav'd a wealthy boone,
A liberall gift, the which the king
Commanded to be done,
For to relieve his fathers wants,
And mothers, being old;
Which was so much of silver coin
As well his armes could hold.
And so away goes lusty Tom,
With three pence on his backe,
A heavy burthen, which might make
His wearied limbes to cracke.
So travelling two dayes and nights,
With labour and great paine,
He came into the house whereas
His parents did remaine;
Which was but halfe a mile in space
From good king Arthurs court,
The which in eight and forty houres
He went in weary sort.
But comming to his fathers doore,
He there such entrance had
As made his parents both rejoice,
And he thereat was glad.
His mother in her apron tooke
Her gentle sonne in haste,
And by the fier side, within
A walnut shell, him plac'd:
Whereas they feasted him three dayes
Upon a hazell nut,
Whereon he rioted so long
He them to charges put;
And thereupon grew wonderous sicke,
Through eating too much meate,
Which was sufficient for a month
For this great man to eate.
But now his businesse call'd him foorth,
King Arthurs court to see,
Whereas no longer from the same
He could a stranger be.
But yet a few small April drops,
Which settled in the way,
His long and weary journey forth
Did hinder and so stay.
Until his carefull father tooke
A hollow straw in sport,
And with one blast blew this his sonne
Into king Arthurs court.
Now he with tilts and turnaments
Was entertained so,
That all the best of Arthurs knights
Did him much pleasure show.
As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake,
Sir Tristram, and sir Guy;
Yet none compar'd with brave Tom Thum,
In knightly chivalry.
In honor of which noble day,
And for his ladies sake,
A challenge in king Arthurs court
Tom Thumbe did bravely make.
Gainst whom these noble knights did run,
Sir Chinon and the rest,
Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might
Did beare away the best.
He likewise cleft the smallest haire
From his faire ladies head,
Not hurting her whose even hand
Him lasting honors bred.
Such were his deeds and noble acts
In Arthurs court there showne,
As like in all the world beside
Was hardly seene or knowne.
Now at these sports he toyld himselfe
That he a sicknesse tooke,
Through which all manly exercise
He carelesly forsooke.
Where lying on his bed sore sicke,
King Arthurs doctor came,
With cunning skill, by physicks art,
To ease and cure the same.
His body being so slender small,
This cunning doctor tooke
A fine prospective glasse, with which
He did in secret looke
Into his sickened body downe,
And therein saw that Death
Stood ready in his wasted guts
To sease his vitall breath.
His armes and leggs consum'd as small
As was a spiders web,
Through which his dying houre grew on,
For all his limbes grew dead.
His face no bigger than an ants,
Which hardly could be seene:
The losse of which renowned knight
Much griev'd the king and queene.
And so with peace and quietnesse
He left this earth below;
And up into the Fayry Land
His ghost did fading goe.
Whereas the Fayry Queene receiv'd
With heavy mourning cheere,
The body of this valiant knight
Whom she esteem'd so deere.
For with her dancing nymphes in greene,
She fetcht him from his bed,
With musicke and sweet melody
So soone as life was fled:
For whom king Arthur and his knights
Full forty daies did mourne;
And, in remembrance of his name
That was so strangely borne,
He built a tomb of marble gray,
And yeare by yeare did come
To celebrate the mournefull day,
And buriall of Tom Thum.
Whose fame still lives in England here,
Amongst the countrey sort;
Of whom our wives and children small
Tell tales of pleasant sport.
* * * * *