Who, with her train of goblins grim,
Unto his christening came.

Whereas she cloth'd him richly brave,
In garments fine and fair,
Which lasted him for many years
In seemly sort to wear.

His hat made of an oaken leaf,
His shirt a spider's web,
Both light and soft for those his limbs
That were so smally bred.

His hose and doublet thistle-down,
Together weaved full fine;
His stockings of an apple green,
Made of the outward rind;

His garters were two little hairs
Pull'd from his mother's eye;
His boots and shoes, a mouse's skin,
Were tann'd most curiously

Thus like a lusty gallant, he
Adventured forth to go,
With other children in the streets,
His pretty tricks to show.

Where he for counters, pins, and points,
And cherry-stones did play,
Till he amongst those gamesters young
Had lost his stock away.

Yet could he soon renew the same,
Whereas most nimbly he
Would dive into their cherry-bags,
And their partaker be,

Unseen or felt by any one,
Until this scholar shut
This nimble youth into a box,
Wherein his pins he put.

Of whom to be reveng'd, he took,
In mirth and pleasant game,
Black pots and glasses, which he hung
Upon a bright sun-beam.

The other boys to do the like,
In pieces broke them quite;
For which they were most soundly whipt;
Whereat he laughed outright.

And so Tom Thumb restrained was,
From these his sports and play;
And by his mother after that,
Compell'd at home to stay.

Until such time his mother went
A-milking of her kine;
Where Tom unto a thistle fast
She linked with a twine.

A thread that held him to the same,
For fear the blustering wind
Should blow him hence,--that so she might
Her son in safety find.

But mark the hap! a cow came by,
And up the thistle eat;
Poor Tom withal, that, as a dock,
Was made the red cow's meat.

Who, being miss'd, his mother went
Him calling everywhere;
Where art thou, Tom? Where art thou, Tom?
Quoth he, here, mother, here!

Within the red cow's stomach here,
Your son is swallowed up:
The which into her fearful heart,
Most careful dolours put.

Meanwhile the cow was troubled much,
And soon releas'd Tom Thumb;
No rest she had till out her mouth,
In bad plight he did come.

Now after this, in sowing time,
His