TOM THUMB, HUNCAMUNCA, PARSON.
_Par._ Happy's the wooing that's not long a-doing;
For, if I guess right, Tom Thumb this night
Shall give a being to a new Tom Thumb.
_Thumb._ It shall be my endeavour so to do.
_Hunc._ Oh! fie upon you, sir, you make me blush.
_Thumb._ It is the virgin's sign, and suits you well:
I know not where, nor how, nor what I am;[150]
I'm so transported, I have lost myself.[151]
_Hunc._ Forbid it, all ye stars, for you're so small,
That were you lost, you'd find yourself no more.
So the unhappy sempstress once, they say,
Her needle in a pottle, lost, of hay;
In vain she look'd, and look'd, and made her moan.
For ah, the needle was for ever gone.
_Par._ Long may they live, and love, and propagate,
Till the whole land be peopled with Tom Thumbs!
So, when the Cheshire cheese a maggot breeds,[152]
Another and another still succeeds:
By thousands and ten thousands they increase,
Till one continued maggot fills the rotten cheese.