Unseene or felt by any one,
Untill a scholler shut
This nimble youth into a boxe,
Wherein his pins he put.

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

The other boyes to doe the like,
In pieces broke them quite;
For which they were most soundly whipt,
Whereat he laught outright.

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

Whereas about a Christmas time,
His father a hog had kil'd,
And Tom would see the puddings made,
For fear they should be spil'd.

He sate upon the pudding-boule,
The candle for to hold;
Of which there is unto this day
A pretty pastime told: