In great King Arthur's reign, Tom's history first begun;
A farmer's wife had sigh'd in vain to have a darling son!
A fairy listen'd to her call, and granted her the same;
But being very small, Tom Thumb she did him name.



To please him every means she'd take,
And a pudding large did for him make;
But in trying to obtain a sip,
Into the batter did he slip!
The batter in the pot went plump;
Tom made the pudding skip and jump!
His mother, with affright, did this espy,
And gave it to a tinker passing by;
Tom scream'd so loud, that, in dismay,
He threw it down, and ran away.



Tom to the fields with his mother went,
To milk the cow was her intent;
The wind blew high as they did walk,
So she tied him to a thistle stalk;
The cow the thistle view'd and cropp'd,
In her mouth, with Tom, it soon was popp'd!
Her teeth put Tom in such a fright,
That he "mother" bawl'd with all his might!
The cow, on hearing such a rout,
Open'd her jaws, and Tom step'd out.



Our hero great exploits went through;
Away with him, once, a raven flew!
A giant on him made a dish;
He once was swallow'd by a fish!
Poor Tom fell sick; when, in a trice,
There came a car with flying mice:
The queen, inside the car so grand,
Convey'd poor Tom to a fairy land.
His health restored, she, by her art,
In a gale, sent Tom to Arthur's court.



King Arthur loved good furmenty,--
The cook made a bowl for his majesty;
In conveying it to the palace, hot,
Our hero into the bowl did drop!
The cook was fill'd with great surprise,
For the liquor burnt his nose and eyes.
The bowl being broke, the angry cook
Before the king our hero took:
When the king beheld Tom's awful plight,
He pardon gave, and dubb'd him knight.



Tom, in the palace, lived content;
With the king to hunt, on a mouse he went:
One day, the mouse a cat espied,
And soon to catch him pussey tried;
Tom drew his sword, and spoilt her treat,
By slaying pussey at his feet.
Thus, Tom lived happy--without strife,
Till the queen, in anger, sought his life.
In the palace he could no longer stay;
So on a butterfly he rode away.



The butterfly flew from flower to flower;
The queen tried to catch it for many an hour;
Till at last, oh, direful tale to tell,
Into a spider's web our hero fell!
The spider ran to seize his prey;
Tom, with his sword, fought valiantly;
Till, alas! the spider's poisonous breath
Was the cause of our gallant hero's death.
In a bower of roses his tomb they rear'd,
And on it this epitaph appear'd:--



Of life deprived, by a spider's bite,
Here lies Tom Thumb, a valiant knight:
His feasts in Arthur's court, and sight,
Fill'd all with wonder and delight.
He was bold at tilt and tournament;
On a mouse, with the king, the hunt he went:
His deeds were great, tho' his size was small,
And his death was mourned by one and all.
Then, reader, pause; one tear now shed,
And cry, "Alas! Tom Thumb is dead."