BALLAD. (Is it little Tom Thumb that you…)

Is it little Tom Thumb that you mean, and his battles? Arrah send him for playthings some whistles and rattles: At the sight of a sword all his nerves would be quaking, He fight! he kill giants! is it game you are making?

As well may you tell us that eagles fear larks, That mice eat up lions, and sprats swallow sharks: Then talk not of any such nonsense to me— Wid your confounded boderum bumboodle liddle let.

Tom Thumb! such a shrimp sure no eyes ever saw— He handles his arms as a fly hugs a straw: To be sure in the wars danger's certain to quit him, For the tafe's such a flea dares no bullet can hit him.

And then as to courage, my jewel—hoot, hoot— Arrah did not I find him chin deep in my boot? Then talk not of any such nonsense to me, Wid your confounded boderum bumboodle liddle lee.

Tom Thumb marry you!—musha honey be easy, Were it not for your sense I should think you gone crazy: Shall a fine stately ostrich thus wed a cock sparrow? 'Twere a halbard stuck up by the side of an arrow—

Or a fly on a church, or a mountain and mouse, Or a pismire that crawls by the side of a house: Then talk not of any such nonsense to me, With your confounded boderum bumboodle liddle lec.