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        • S2 E1: The Earliest Arthur: Thomas Hughes
        • S2 E2: Verse Drama Meets Opera: John Dryden
        • S2 E3: Burlesque and Verse Drama: Henry Fielding's "Tom Thumb"
        • S2 E4: Defenestrating Lancelot!
        • S2 E5: Empowering Guinevere
        • S2 E6: More Hovey, More Honey
        • S2 E7: Melodrama!
        • S2 E8: Gilbert and Sullivan Do King Arthur...Kinda
        • S2 E9: King Arthur and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Play
        • S2 E10: New Arthur, New Millennia
        • S2 E11: A Philosophical "King Arthur" by Lucy Nordberg
        • S2 E12: The First Folio in the 21st Century: Daniel James Roth's "The Tragedy of King Arthur"
        • S2 E13: Stage Violence and Verse: "The Table Round" & "The Siege Perilous" by Emily C. A. Snyder (2019)
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        • S3 E1: So You Think You Know Soliloquies?
        • S3 E2: Redefining Verse Drama, Pt. 1 - Four Types of Verse
        • S3 E3: Deep Dive: Exploring Hamlet's Seven Soliloquies
        • S3 E4: Deep Dive: Exploring Macbeth's Soliloquies
        • S3 E5: The Villain Soliloquies: Richard III, Iago, Edmund Don John...and Petruchio?
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S2 E3
Burlesque and Verse Drama:
Henry Fielding's
Tom Thumb the Great

(1730)

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S2 E3 Burlesque and Verse Drama: Henry Fielding's "Tom Thumb the Great"
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Tom Thumb, His Life and Death, by Anonymous (1630)

In Arthurs Court Tom Thumbe did liue
     a man of mickle might,
The best of all the Table round,
     and eke a doughty knight:
His stature but an inch in height,
     or quarter of a span,
Then thinke you not this little knight
     was prov'd a valiant man...

...His hat made of an Oaken leafe,
     his shirt a spiders web,
Both light and soft, for those his limbes
     that were so smally bred.

Tom Thumb, A Burlesque Tragedy (Act I, Scene 3) by Henry Fielding (1730)

KING.                       
O welcome, ever welcome to my Arms,
My dear Tom Thumb! How shall I thank thy Merit?
 
THUMB.                   
By not b'ing thank'd at all, I'm thank'd enough;
My Duty I have done, and done no more.
 
QUEEN.                    
(Aside.)
Was ever such a lovely Creature seen! [Aside.
 
KING.                       
Thy Modesty's a Candle to thy Merit,
It shines itself, and shews thy Merit too.
Vain Impudence, if it be ever found
With Virtue, like the Trumpet in a Consort,
Drowns the sweet Musick of the softer Flute.
But say, my Boy, where didst thou leave the Giants?
 
THUMB.                   
My Liege, without the Castle Gates they stand,
The Castle Gates too low for their Admittance.
 
KING.                       
What look they like?
 
THUMB.                                                       
Like twenty Things, my Liege;
Like twenty thousand Oaks, by Winter's Hand
Stripp'd of their Blossoms; like a Range of Houses,
When Fire has burnt their Timber all away.
 
KING.                       
Enough: The vast Idea fills my Soul;
I see them, yes, I see them now before me.
The monst'rous, ugly, barb'rous Sons of Whores,
Which, like as many rav'nous Wolves, of late
Frown'd grimly o'er the Land, like Lambs look now.
O Thumb, what do we to thy Valour owe!
The Princess Huncamunca is thy Prize.
 
QUEEN.                    
Ha! Be still, my Soul!
 
THUMB.                                                       
Oh, happy, happy Hearing!
Witness, ye Stars! cou'd Thumb have ever set
A Bound to his Ambition - it had been
The Princess Huncamunca, in whose Arms
Eternity would seem but half an Hour.
 
QUEEN.                    
Consider, Sir, reward your Soldier's Merit,
But give not Huncamunca to Tom Thumb.
 
KING.                       
Tom Thumb! Odzooks, my wide extended Realm
Knows not a Name so glorious as Tom Thumb.
Not Alexander, in his highest Pride,
Could boast of Merits greater than Tom Thumb.
Not Caesar, Scipio, all the Flow'rs of Rome,
Deserv'd their Triumphs better than Tom Thumb.
 
QUEEN.                    
Tho' greater yet his boasted Merit was,
He shall not have the Princess, that is Pos'.
 
KING.                       
Say you so, Madam? We will have a Trial.
When I consent, what Pow'r has your Denial?
For when the Wife her Husband over-reaches,
Give him the Petticoat, and her the Breeches.
 
NOODLE.                 
Long Health and Happiness attend the General!
Long may he live, as now, the publick Joy,
While ev'ry Voice is burthen'd with his Praise.
 
THUMB.                   
Whisper, ye Winds! that Huncamunca's mine;
Ecchoes repeat; that Huncamunca's mine!
The dreadful Bus'ness of the War is over,
And Beauty, heav'nly Beauty! crowns the Toil.
I've thrown the bloody Garment now aside,
And Hymeneal Sweets invite my Bride.
So when some Chimney-Sweeper, all the Day,
Has through dark Paths pursu'd the sooty Way,
At Night, to wash his Face and Hands he flies,
And in his t'other Shirt with his Brickdusta lies.

The Tragedy of Tragedies,or the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great (Act I, Scene 3) by Henry Fielding (1731) 

KING.                       
Oh! welcome most, most welcome to my Arms,
What Gratitude can thank away the Debt,
Your Valour lays upon me?
 
QUEEN.                                                        
[Aside.] — Oh! ye Gods!
 
TOM THUMB.        
When I'm not thank'd at all, I'm thank'd enough,
I've done my Duty, and I've done no more.
 
QUEEN.      
              
[Aside] Was ever such a Godlike Creature seen!
 
KING.                       
Thy Modesty's a Candle to thy Merit,
It shines itself, and shews thy Merit too.
But say, my Boy, where did'st thou leave the Giants?
 
TOM THUMB.        
My Liege, without the Castle Gates they stand,
The Castle Gates too low for their Admittance.
 
KING.                       
What look they like?
 
TOM THUMB.                                
Like Nothing but Themselves.
 
QUEEN.                    
And sure thou art like nothing but thy Self.
 
KING.                       
[Aside.] Enough! the vast Idea fills my Soul.
I see them, yes, I see them now before me:
The monst'rous, ugly, barb'rous Sons of Whores.
But, Ha! what Form Majestick strikes our Eyes?
So perfect, that it seems to have been drawn
By all the Gods in Council: So fair she is,
That surely at her Birth the Council paus'd,
And then at length cry'd out, This is a Woman!
 
TOM THUMB.    
    
Then were the Gods mistaken. — She is not
A Woman, but a Giantess — whom we
With much ado, have made a shift to hawl
Within the Town: for she is by a Foot,
Shorter than all her Subject Giants were.
 
GLUMDALCA.       
We yesterday were both a Queen and Wife,
One hundred thousand Giants own'd our Sway,
Twenty whereof were married to our self.
 
QUEEN.                    
Oh! happy State of Giantism — where Husbands
Like Mushrooms grow, whilst hapless we are forc'd
To be content, nay, happy thought with one.
 
GLUMDALCA.        
But then to lose them all in one black Day,
That the same Sun, which rising, saw me wife
To Twenty Giants, setting, should behold
Me widow'd of them all. — My worn out Heart,
That Ship, leaks fast, and the great heavy Lading,
My Soul, will quickly sink.
 
QUEEN.                                                                    
— Madam, believe,
I view your Sorrows with a Woman's Eye;
But learn to bear them with what Strength you may,
To-morrow we will have our Grenadiers
Drawn out before you, and you then shall choose
What Husbands you think fit.
 
GLUMDALCA.                                                       
— Madam, I am
Your most obedient, and most humble Servant.
 
KING.                       
Think, mighty Princess, think this Court your own,
Nor think the Landlord me, this House my Inn;
Call for whate'er you will, you'll Nothing pay.
I feel a sudden Pain within my Breast,
Nor know I whether it arise from Love,
Or only the Wind-Cholick. Time must shew.
Oh Thumb! What do we to thy Valour owe?
Ask some Reward, great as we can bestow.
 
TOM THUMB.        
I ask not Kingdoms, I can conquer those,
I ask not Money, Money I've enough;
For what I've done, and what I mean to do,
For Giants slain, and Giants yet unborn,
Which I will slay —if this be call'd a Debt,
Take my Receipt in full — I ask but this,
To Sun my self in Huncamunca's Eyes.
 
KING.                       
Prodigious bold Request.
 
QUEEN.                                                        
[Aside.] — Be still my Soul.
 
TOM THUMB.        
My heart is at the Threshold of your Mouth,
And waits its answer there — Oh! do not frown,
I've try'd, to Reason's Tune, to tune my Soul,
But Love did overwind and crack the String.
Tho' Jove in Thunder had cry'd out, YOU SHAN'T,
I should have love'd her still — for oh strange fate,
Then when I lov'd her least, I lov'd her most.
 
KING.                       
It is resolv'd — the Princess is your own.
 
TOM THUMB.        
Oh! happy, happy, happy, happy, Thumb!
 
QUEEN.                    
Consider, Sir, reward your Soldiers Merit,
But give not Huncamunca to Tom Thumb.
 
KING.                       
Tom Thumb! Odzooks, my wide extended Realm
Knows not a Name so glorious as Tom Thumb.
Let Macedonia, Alexander boast,
Let Rome her Caesar's and her Scipio's show,
Her Messieurs France, let Holland boast Mynheers,
Ireland her O's, her Mac's let Scotland boast,
Let England boast no other than Tom Thumb.
 
QUEEN.                    
Tho' greater yet his boasted Merit was,
He shall not have my Daughter, that is Pos'.
 
KING.                       
Ha! sayst thou Dollalolla?
 
QUEEN.                                                        
— I say he shan't.
 
KING.                       
Then by our Royal Self we swear you lye.
 
QUEEN.                    
Who but a Dog, who but a Dog,
Would use me as thou dost? Me, who have lain
These twenty Years so loving by thy Side.
But I will be reveng'd. I'll hang my self,
Then tremble all who did this Match persuade,
For riding on a Cat, from high I'll fall,
And squirt down Royal Vengeance on you all.
 
FOODLE.                 
Her Majesty the Queen is in a Passion.
 
KING.                       
Be she, or be she not — I'll to the Girl
And pave thy Way, oh Thumb — Now, by our self,
We were indeed a pretty King of Clouts,
To truckle to her Will — For when by Force
Or Art the Wife her Husband over-reaches,
Give him the Peticoat, and her the Breeches.
 
TOM THUMB.        
Whisper, ye Winds, that Huncamunca's mine;
Echoes repeat, that Huncamunca's mine!
The dreadful Bus'ness of the War is o'er,
And Beauty, heav'nly Beauty! crowns my Toils,
I've thrown the bloody Garment now aside,
And Hymeneal Sweets invite my Bride.
So when some Chimney-Sweeper, all the Day,
Hath through dark Paths pursu'd the sooty Way,
At Night, to wash his Hands and Face he flies,
And in his t'other Shirt with his Brickdusta lies.

The Opera of Operas; Or, Tom Thumb the Great, Alter'd from the Life and Death of Tom Thumb the Great, and Set to Musick after the Italian Manner. As It Is Performing at the New Theatre in the Hay-Market (Act I, Scene I) by Eliza Haywood & William Hatchett (1733) 

King.                          
O welcome! most welcome to my arms!
What gratitude can thank--away the debt,
Thy valour lays--upon me!
 
Queen.                                                                       
Oh! ye gods!     [Aside.]
 
Thumb.                     
When I'm not thank'd at all, I'm thank'd enough;
I've done my duty, and I've done no more.
 
Queen.                       
Was ever such a god-like creature seen!     [Aside.]
 
King.                          
Thy modesty's a candle to thy merit;
It shines itself, and shews thy merit too--
But say, my Boy--
Where didst thou leave the Giants?
 
Thumb.                     
My liege, without the castle gates,
The castle gates too low for their admittance.
 
King.                          
What look they like?
 
Thumb.                                                         
Like nothing but themselves.
 
Queen.                       
And sure thou'rt like to nothing but thyself.     [Aside.]
 
King.                          
Enough! the vast idea fills my soul.
I see them--yes, I see them before me--
The monstrous, ugly, barb'rous sons of whores!--
But, ha!
What finish'd piece of human nature strikes us!
Sure she was drawn by all the gods in council!
Who paus'd, and then cry'd out--this is a woman!
 
Thumb.                     
Then, were the gods mistaken--
She's not a woman, but a giantess,
A High-German Giantess.
 
Glumdalca.               
We yesterday were both a queen and wife;
One hundred thousand Giants own'd our sway,
Twenty whereof were marry'd to ourself.
 
Queen.                       
Oh! happy state of giantism!

                         AIR III.
     Our Passions are of Giant kind,
          And have to th' full as large a sense;
     'Tis hard to one to be confin'd,
          When with a score we could dispense.

 
Glumdalca.               
But then to lose full twenty in one day!
 
Queen.                       
Madam, believe,
I view your sorrows with a woman's eye,
But be as patient as you can,
To morrow we will have our Grenadiers
Drawn out before you, when you may chuse
What Husband you think fit.
 
Glumdalca.               
Madam, I am your most obedient Servant.
 
King.                          
Think, lovely princess, think this court your own,
Nor think my house an Inn, myself the landlord;
Call for whate'er you will, you'll nothing pay.
I feel a sudden pain within my breast;
Nor know I whether it proceeds from love,
Or only the wind-cholick--time must shew,      [Aside.]
Oh! Tom! what do we to thy valour owe?
Ask some reward, great as we can bestow.
 
Thumb.                     
I ask not kingdoms, I can conquer those;
I ask not money, money I've enough;
If what I've done be call'd a debt,
Take my receipt in full--I ask but this;
To sun myself in Huncamunca's Eyes.
 
King.                          
Prodigious bold request!
 
Queen.                                                                       
Be still my Soul!     [Aside.]
 
Thumb.                      
My heart is at the threshold of your Mouth,
And waits it's answer there.
 
King.                          
It is resolved--the princess is your own.
 
Thumb.                     
Oh! happy, happy, happy Thumb!
 
Queen.                       
Consider, Sir,--reward your Soldiers merit,
But give not Huncamunca to Tom Thumb!
 
King.                          
Tom Thumb!
Odzooks! my wide extended Realm
Knows not a name so glorious as Tom Thumb!

                    AIR IV
     Your Alexander's, Scipio's,
          Inferior are to Tommy,
     While others brag of Mac's and O's,
          Let England boast of Thummy.

     A Title is an empty name,
          Like many we have knighted;
     His merit bids us aid his fame,
          So
Tom shall not be slighted.
 
Queen.                       
Tho' greater yet his boasted merit was,
He shall not have my daughter, that is pos!
 
King.                          
Ha! sayst thou Dollalolla?
 
Queen.                                                                       
I say he shan't.
 
King.                          
Then, by our royal self we swear you lie
 
Queen.                       
Who but a dog--who but a Dog
Wou'd use me thus?
But I will be reveng'd, or hang myself.

                         AIR. V.
     Then tremble all, who ever weddings made,
     But tremble more, who did this match perswade;
     For riding on a Cat, from high I'll fall,
     And squirt down royal vengeance on you all.
     [Exit Queen.
 
Doodle.                      
Her majesty, the queen, is in a passion.
 
King.                          
Be she, or be she not--now, by ourself
We were indeed a pretty king of clouts,
To truckle to our consort's will,

                         AIR VI.
          We politic Kings,
          Know far better things
     Than e'er to our consorts stoop;
          For once you give way
          To Petticoat sway,
     You may for your Breeches go whoop.

 
King.                          
Come Thumb--I'll to the girl, and pave thy way.

Tom Thumb the Great: A Burlesque Tragedy, in Two Acts, Altered, from Fielding (Act I, Scene 1) by Kane O’Hara, Esq. (1810) 

King.                          
Welcome, thrice welcome, mighty Thomas Thumb!
Thou tiny hero—pigmy giant queller!
What gratitude can thank away the debt
Thy valour puts upon us. [Takes him up and embraces him.]
 
Queen.                                                           
Oh! ye gods! [Aside.]
 
Tom.                           
When I'm not thank'd at all I'm thank'd enough--
I've done my duty, and I've done no more       [Bows.]
 
Queen.                       
Was ever such a godlike creature seen?
 
King.                          
Thy modesty's a flambeau to thy merit;
It shines itself, and shows thy merit too.
O Tommy, Tommy Thumb! what to thy prowess do we owe!
Ask some reward—great as we can bestow.
 
Tom.                           
I ask not kingdoms, I can conquer those;
I ask not money, money I've enough:
If this be called a debt, take my receipt in full:
I ask but this, to sun myself in Huncamunca's eyes,
 
King.                          
[Aside.] Prodigious bold request!
 
Queen.                                                                       
Be still, my soul!--
 
King.                          
[After a pause.]
It is resolv'd
The princess is thy own! [To THUMB.]
 
Tom.                           
O happy Tommy! super-happy Thumb.
Whisper, ye winds, that Huncamunca's mine!
The bloody bus'ness of grim war is o'er,
And beauty, heavenly beauty, crowns my toils.

                       AIR.—TOM.

   As when the chimney-sweeper
       Has, all the live-long day,
   Through darksome paths a creeper,
       Pursued his sooty way:

   At night, to wash in water
       His hands and face he flies;
   And, in his t'other tatter,
       With his Brickdusta lies.

[Exit;—flourish of Trumpets.
 
King.                          
[Looking fondly at GLUMDALCA.]
I feel a sudden pain across my breast; [Aside.]
Nor know I whether it proceeds from love
Or the wind—cholic—but time will show.—Huge—our queen of hearts!
Sure thou wert form'd by all the gods in council;
Who, having made a lucky hit beyond their journey-work,
Cry'd out—"This is a woman!"
 
Glum.                         
Then were the gods confoundedly mistaken.
We are a giantess—I tell thee, Arthur,
We yesterday were both a queen and wife;
One hundred thousand giants own'd our sway;
Twenty whereof were wedded to ourself.
 
Queen.                       
Oh, bless'd perogative of giantism! [Aside.]
 
King.                          
Oh! vast queen!—Think our court thine own;
Call for whate'er thou lik'st—there's nought to pay,
Nor art thou captive, but thy captive we. [Takes off her chains.]
 
Queen.                       
[Aside.] Ha! Arthur faithless!
This gag my rival, too, in dear Tom Thumb!
Revenge!—but I'll dissemble--
Madam, believe that with a woman's eye
I view your loss—take comfort—for, to-morrow
Our grenadiers shall be called out, then choose
As many husbands as you think you'll want.

Glum.                         
Madam, I rest your much obliged and very humble servant. [Exit.

Queen.                       
Though greater yet Tom's boasted merit was,
He shall not have my daughter, that is pos. [Advancing to the KING.]
 
King.                          
Ha! say'st thou?
 
Queen.                                               
Yes, I say he sha'n't.
 
King.                                                                                      
How, sha'n't!
Now by our royal self, we swear—I'll be damn'd, but he shall.

                        AIR.—QUEEN.

   Then tremble all, who weddings ever made,
   And tremble more who did this match persuade;
   For, like a worried cat, I'll spit, I'll squall,
     I'll scratch, I'll tear the eyes out of ye all.

[The KING throws his hat at the QUEEN.]

[Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES.]
 
Dood.                         
Her majesty, the queen, is in a passion.
 
King.                          
She may be damn'd. Who cares? We were indeed
A pretty king of clouts, were we to truckle
To all her maudlin humours.

                       AIR.—KING.

   We kings, who are in our senses,
   Mock our consorts violences;
   Pishing at their moods and tenses,
       Our own will we follow
   If the husband, once gives way
   To his wife's capricious sway,
   For his breeches he next day
       May go whoop and hollow.            

[Exeunt.]

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        • S1 E3: Schwumpf, There It Is
        • S1 E4: Heresy!
        • S1 E5: So You Think You Know Scansion?
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        • S1 E8: First Folio and Emotive Formatting
        • S1 E9: The Rules of Emotive Formatting
        • S1 E10: Silences, Spacing, Stage Directions & Shared Lines
      • Season Two >
        • S2 E1: The Earliest Arthur: Thomas Hughes
        • S2 E2: Verse Drama Meets Opera: John Dryden
        • S2 E3: Burlesque and Verse Drama: Henry Fielding's "Tom Thumb"
        • S2 E4: Defenestrating Lancelot!
        • S2 E5: Empowering Guinevere
        • S2 E6: More Hovey, More Honey
        • S2 E7: Melodrama!
        • S2 E8: Gilbert and Sullivan Do King Arthur...Kinda
        • S2 E9: King Arthur and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Play
        • S2 E10: New Arthur, New Millennia
        • S2 E11: A Philosophical "King Arthur" by Lucy Nordberg
        • S2 E12: The First Folio in the 21st Century: Daniel James Roth's "The Tragedy of King Arthur"
        • S2 E13: Stage Violence and Verse: "The Table Round" & "The Siege Perilous" by Emily C. A. Snyder (2019)
      • Season Three >
        • S3 E1: So You Think You Know Soliloquies?
        • S3 E2: Redefining Verse Drama, Pt. 1 - Four Types of Verse
        • S3 E3: Deep Dive: Exploring Hamlet's Seven Soliloquies
        • S3 E4: Deep Dive: Exploring Macbeth's Soliloquies
        • S3 E5: The Villain Soliloquies: Richard III, Iago, Edmund Don John...and Petruchio?
        • S3 E6: "Madness" in Soliloquy:- Re-examining King Lear, Lady Macbeth and Ophelia
        • S3 15: Discovering Character Through Line Breaks - Part 3
    • Bonus Episodes >
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        • Interview: Tim Carroll
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      • Round Tables >
        • Round Table of the Round Table: Lucy Nordberg, Daniel James Roth, Emily C. A. Snyder
        • Round Table: Daniel James Roth, Grace Bardsley, Benedetto Robinson
      • BAR(D) TALKS
      • Unhinged Rants
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    • Types of Verse >
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