As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake, Sir Tristram, and sir Guy; Yet none compar'd with brave Tom Thum, In knightly chivalry. In honor of which noble day, And for his ladies sake, A challenge in king Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did bravely make. Gainst whom these noble knights did run, Sir Chinon and the rest, Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might Did beare away the best. He likewise cleft the smallest haire From his faire ladies head, Not hurting her whose even hand Him lasting honors bred. Such were his deeds and noble acts In Arthurs court there showne, As like in all the world beside Was hardly seene or knowne. Now at these sports he toyld himselfe That he a sicknesse tooke, Through which all manly exercise He carelesly forsooke. Where lying on his bed sore sicke, King Arthurs doctor came, With cunning skill, by physicks art, To ease and cure the same. His body being so slender small, This cunning doctor tooke A fine prospective glasse, with which He did in secret looke Into his sickened body downe, And therein saw that Death Stood ready in his wasted guts To sease his vitall breath. His armes and leggs consum'd as small As was a spiders web, Through which his dying houre grew on, For all his limbes grew dead. His face no bigger than an ants, Which hardly could be seene: The losse of which renowned knight Much griev'd the king and queene. And so with peace and quietnesse He left this earth below; And up into the Fayry Land His ghost did fading goe. Whereas the Fayry Queene receiv'd With heavy mourning cheere, The body of this valiant knight Whom she esteem'd so deere. For with her dancing nymphes in greene, She fetcht him from his bed, With musicke and sweet melody So soone as life was fled: For whom king Arthur and his knights Full forty daies did mourne; And, in remembrance of his name That was so strangely borne, He built a tomb of marble gray, And yeare by yeare did come To celebrate the mournefull day, And buriall of Tom Thum. Whose fame still lives in England here, Amongst the countrey sort; Of whom our wives and children small Tell tales of pleasant sport. * * * * * KEMPION. Her mither died when she was young, Which gave her cause to make great moan; Her father married the warse woman That ever lived in Christendom. She served her well wi' foot and hand, In everything that, she could dee; But her stepmither hated her warse and warse, And a powerful wicked witch was she. "Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose; And lay your head low on my knee; The heaviest weird I will you read That ever was read to gay ladye. "Mickle dolour sail ye dree When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim; And far mair dolour sail ye dree When up to Estmere Crags ye climb.