Merl. Tom Thumb!
Glum. It calls again.
Thumb. Appear, whoe'er thou art; I fear thee not.
Merl. Thou hast no cause to fear—I am thy friend, Merlin by name, a conjuror by trade, And to my art thou dost thy being owe.
Thumb. How!
Merl. Hear, then, the mystick getting of Tom Thumb.
[1] His father was a ploughman plain,
His mother milk'd the cow;
And yet the way to get a son
This couple knew not how,
Until such time the good old man
To learned Merlin goes,
And there to him, in great distress,
In secret manner shows
How in his heart he wish'd to have
A child, in time to come,
To be his heir, though it may be
No bigger than his thumb:
Of which old Merlin was foretold
That he his wish should have;
And so a son of stature small
The charmer to him gave.
Thou'st heard the past—look up and see the future.
[Footnote 1: See the History of Tom Thumb, page 2.]
Thumb. [1] Lost in amazement's gulf, my senses sink; See there, Glumdalca, see another [2] me!