come;
When King Arthur shone,
This court was my home.
In me he delighted,
By him I was knighted;
Did you never hear of
Sir Thomas Thumb?"

The king was so charmed with this address, that he ordered a little
chair to be made, in order that Tom might sit on his table, and also a
palace of gold a span high, with a door an inch wide, for little Tom
to live in. He also gave him a coach drawn by six small mice, This
made the queen angry, because she had not a new coach too: therefore,
resolving to ruin Tom, she complained to the king that he had behaved
very insolently to her. The king sent for him in a rage. Tom, to
escape his fury, crept into an empty snail-shell, and there lay till
he was almost starved; when, peeping out of the hole, he saw a fine
butterfly settle on the ground: he now ventured out, and getting
astride, the butterfly took wing, and mounted into the air with
little Tom on his back. Away he flew from field to field, from tree to
tree, till at last he flew to the king's court. The king, queen, and
nobles, all strove to catch the butterfly, but could not. At length
poor Tom, having neither bridle nor saddle, slipped from his seat, and
fell into a watering-pot, where he was found almost drowned. The queen
vowed he should be guillotined; but while the guillotine was getting
ready, he was secured once more in a mouse-trap; when the cat, seeing
something stir, and supposing it to be a mouse, patted the trap about
till she broke it, and set Tom at liberty. Soon afterwards a spider,
taking him for a fly, made at him. Tom drew his sword and fought
valiantly, but the spider's poisonous breath overcame him:--

"He fell dead on the ground where late he had stood,
And the spider suck'd up the last drop of his blood."

King Thunstone and his whole court went into mourning for little Tom
Thumb. They buried him under a rosebush, and raised a nice white
marble monument over his grave, with the following epitaph:--

"Here lies Tom Thumb, King Arthur's knight,
Who died by a spider's cruel bite.
He was well known in Arthur's court,
Where he afforded gallant sport;
He rode at tilt and tournament,
And on a mouse a-hunting went;
Alive he fill'd the court with mirth,
His death to sorrow soon gave birth.
Wipe, wipe your eyes, and shake your head,
And cry, 'Alas! Tom Thumb is dead.'"

RUMPELSTILZCHEN.

There was once a miller who was very p