Parodies of Ballad Criticism (1711-1787): A Comment Upon the History of Tom Thumb, 1711, by William

In Short

This volume collects two eighteenth-century satirical essays that mock the era's fashionable trend of treating simple folk ballads and children's rhymes as grand, classical literature. In the first, William Wagstaffe subjects the story of Tom Thumb to rigorous, pseudo-scholarly analysis, matching its verses line-for-line with Virgil's Aeneid. In the second, a young George Canning analyzes the nursery rhyme The Knave of Hearts according to Aristotle’s rules for epic poetry. Together, these parodies survive as sharp, hilarious critiques of over-intellectualized literary analysis and academic pomposity.

The Story

The volume traces the rise and ridiculous extremes of eighteenth-century ballad criticism through two distinct satirical masterworks. The trajectory begins in 1711 with William Wagstaffe’s response to contemporary critics who claimed that unpolished rustic ballads contained the same high artistic merits as classical Greek and Roman epics. Wagstaffe opens his commentary by feigning astonishment that a work as magnificent as the folk story of Tom Thumb could be neglected by modern scholars. To remedy this oversight, he embarks on an exhaustive textual critique of the tale's first canto, which outlines the hero's birth, miniature stature, and magically woven clothes made of cobwebs and thistle down.

With straight-faced erudition, Wagstaffe demonstrates how Tom Thumb’s childhood games and his mechanical revenge on a playfellow match the heroic exploits of Ascanius in Virgil’s Aeneid. He cites Latin poetry side-by-side with doggerel verses to prove the text’s epic dignity, even noting how Tom’s dance upon the Queen's left hand echoes the nimble agility of Achilles in Homer. As the commentary moves through Tom’s fantastical adventures—including being swallowed by a cow, carried off by a raven, and swallowed by a giant—Wagstaffe invokes ancient philosophy and subtle manuscript variations to defend the story’s realism. He concludes his treatise with Tom’s tragic death from heroic exertion, offering a final, solemn comparison between the tiny knight's legacy and classic elegies, before modest warnings about spurious sequels written by enthusiasts.

The satire leaps forward to 1787 with George Canning’s two-part essay written for the Eton schoolboy periodical The Microcosm. Canning elevates the parody by applying strict Aristotelian definitions to the nursery rhyme The Knave of Hearts. He establishes that the rhyme possesses all three essential components of a true epic poem: a beginning, a middle, and an end. Opening in medias res without tedious invocations, the poet introduces the Queen of Hearts baking tarts on a summer's day.

Canning then proceeds to the middle section—the realm of action and suspense—where the Knave steals the tarts and takes them "quite away." Defending his thief-hero against moral objections, Canning notes that both Achilles and Aeneas engaged in questionable acquisitions. He analyzes the emotional weight and melancholy cadences of the lines describing the theft, leading up to the King's dramatic intervention. The narrative concludes with the complete moral reformation of the hero, who receives his beating, returns the stolen goods, and vows never to steal again, giving the poem a moral resolution superior to ancient models.

How It Unfolds

The critic takes the stage Wagstaffe begins his treatise by lamenting that modern commentators neglect the brilliant poetry found in simple folk ballads. He insists that studying these rustic works matures the judgment and reveals human passions in their most natural, lively colors.

A hero's miraculous origins The commentary analyzes Tom Thumb’s parentage, tiny stature, and magical garments fashioned from oak leaves, spider webs, and mouse skins. Every line of the ballad is meticulously paired with corresponding Latin quotes from Virgil to prove its classic pedigree.

Heroic trials and royal favor Tom encounters bizarre obstacles, including being swallowed by farm animals and birds, before arriving at King Arthur's court. Wagstaffe analyzes Tom's courtly dancing and jousting prowess, reading his absurd exploits as sublime demonstrations of ancient chivalry.

An epic structure defined Decades later, George Canning opens his critique of The Knave of Hearts by outlining the strict rules governing epic poetry. He asserts that a proper epic requires a grand action, a moral purpose, and a clear beginning, middle, and end.

The grand action unfolds Canning examines the central tragedy of the stolen tarts, analyzing the verse's cadence and defending the Knave's thievery by citing similar actions by Trojan and Greek heroes.

Triumph of moral justice The critique reaches its climax as the King inflicts physical punishment on the Knave, leading to the hero's complete reformation. Canning celebrates the poem's moral ending, declaring it a triumphant, perfect epic that meets every classical standard.

The People

William Wagstaffe (or the Commentator)

• Wants: To expose the absurdity of contemporary literary critics who compare simple English ballads to ancient classical masterpieces.
• Obstacle: The growing trend among intellectuals to praise unpolished folk art as the height of poetic expression.
• Outcome: He produces a relentlessly solemn, line-by-line academic commentary on Tom Thumb that exposes the ridiculous nature of such over-analysis.

George Canning (writing as "Gregory Griffin")

• Wants: To prove that any trivial nursery rhyme can be classified as a "due and proper Epic Poem" if one applies critical rules with enough ingenuity.
• Obstacle: The skepticism of readers who view The Knave of Hearts as nothing more than a simple child's ballad.
• Outcome: He successfully constructs a detailed, pseudo-logical argument showing that the rhyme fits Aristotle's definitions of epic structure better than ancient classics.

Tom Thumb

• Wants: To perform great acts of manhood and chivalry at King Arthur's court despite measuring only an inch in height.
• Obstacle: Being eaten by cows, snatched by ravens, and swallowed by giants due to his tiny size.
• Outcome: He triumphs in tournaments, dances before the Queen, and earns the devotion of the King, ultimately dying a hero's death.

The Knave of Hearts

• Wants: To steal and enjoy the Queen's freshly baked pastry tarts on a summer day.
• Obstacle: The King of Hearts discovers the theft and inflicts a severe beating.
• Outcome: He returns the stolen tarts and undergoes a complete moral reformation, promising never to steal again.

In Its Own Voice

"Indeed we have had an Enterprising Genius of late, that has thought fit to disclose the Beauties of some Pieces to the World, that might have been otherwise indiscernable, and believ'd to have been trifling and insipid, for no other Reason but their unpolish'd Homeliness of Dress." Wagstaffe ironically commends modern critics who elevate simple, unpolished verse into major literary art.

"I, as his Commentator, will contend for the dignity of my Author; and will plainly demonstrate his Poem to be an Epic Poem, agreeable to the example of all Poets, and the consent of all Critics heretofore." Canning assumes the pompous stance of a literary defender determined to prove a nursery rhyme is an epic masterpiece.

"There is a desponding melancholy in the run of the last line! an air of tender regret in the addition of 'quite away!' a something so expressive of irrecoverable loss!" Canning over-analyzes a basic line of doggerel to mock the emotional drama critics invent in ordinary text.

What It's Really About

At its core, this volume is about the absurdity of forcing lowbrow, popular culture into rigid intellectual boxes. During the eighteenth century, scholars began asserting that simple English ballads possessed the same artistic weight as Homer and Virgil. Wagstaffe and Canning mock this trend by taking the argument to its logical conclusion: if a tragic folk ballad can be treated like the Aeneid, then a child's nursery rhyme about a thumb-sized knight or a pastry thief must be an epic masterpiece. The parodies critique the arrogance of literary critics who use dense jargon, obscure Latin citations, and pedantic rules to manufacture profound meaning where none exists, demonstrating how academic tone can make complete nonsense sound authoritative.

Why Read It Today

This collection is a quiet gem for anyone who enjoys dry, academic satire, literary history, or the classic wit of the Augustan age. Reading these essays feels like watching a brilliant professor deliver a passionate, flawless lecture on why "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" is a tragic masterpiece of existential existentialism. The humor depends entirely on the straight-faced contrast between the high-flown critical language and the utterly trivial nursery subjects being analyzed.

Modern readers should be aware of a few minor hurdles. The texts reflect the typographic and literary conventions of the 1700s, including untranslated Latin epigraphs, archaic spelling, and dense references to ancient Roman poets and eighteenth-century literary spats. Wagstaffe's piece in particular relies heavily on parallel lines from Virgil's Aeneid. However, you do not need a degree in classics to enjoy the joke. The absurdity of comparing a hero whose shirt is made of spider webs to the mighty warriors of Troy speaks for itself, offering a timeless laugh at the expense of literary snobbery.