I'm so transported, I have lost myself.[151]
Hunc. Forbid it, all ye stars, for you're so small,
That were you lost, you'd find yourself no more.
So the unhappy sempstress once, they say,
Her needle in a pottle, lost, of hay;
In vain she look'd, and look'd, and made her moan.
For ah, the needle was for ever gone.
Par. Long may they live, and love, and propagate,
Till the whole land be peopled with Tom Thumbs!
So, when the Cheshire cheese a maggot breeds,[152]