tood ready in his wasted frame
To cease his vital breath.

His arms and legs consum'd as small
As was a spider's web,
Through which his dying hour grew on,
For all his limbs grew dead.

His face no bigger than an ant's,
Which hardly could be seen;
The loss of which renowned knight
Much grieved the king and queen.

And so with peace and quietness
He left this earth below;
And up into the fairy-land
His ghost did fading go,

Whereas the fairy-queen receiv'd,
With heavy mourning cheer,
The body of this valiant knight,
Whom she esteem'd so dear.

For with her dancing nymphs in green,
She fetch'd him from his bed,
With music and sweet melody,
So soon as life was fled;

For whom king Arthur and his knights
Full forty days did mourn;
And, in remembrance of his name,
That was so strangely born--

He built a tomb of marble gray,
And year by year did come
To celebrate ye mournful death
And burial of Tom Thumb.

Whose fame still lives in England here,
Amongst the country sort;
Of whom our wives and children small
Tell tales of pleasant sport.

[Footnote *: "I have an old edition of this author by me, the
title of which is more sonorous and heroical than those of
later date, which, for the better information of the reader,
it may not be improper to insert in this place, 'Tom Thumb his
Life and Death; wherein is declar'd his many marvellous Acts
of Manhood, full of wonder and strange merriment.' Then he
adds, 'Which little Knight liv'd in King Arthur's time, in the
court of Great Britain.' Indeed, there are so many spurious
editions of this piece upon one account or other, that I wou'd
advise my readers to be very cautious in their choice."--_A
Comment upon the History of T. T._ 1711. A "project for the
reprinting of Tom Thumb, with marginal notes and cuts," is
mentioned in the old play of _The Projectours_, 1665, p. 41.]

LXII.

[The following lines, slightly altered, occur in a little
black-letter book by W. Wagner, printed about the year 1561;
entitled, 'A very mery and pythie commedie, called, the longer
thou livest, the more foole thou art.' See also a whole
song, ending with these lines, in Ritson's 'North Country
Chorister,' 8vo, Durham, 1802, p. 1.]

Bryan O'Lin, and his wife, and wife's mother,
They all went over a