A Burlesque Translation of Homer

THE SEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD

ARGUMENT

When Hector got upon the plain,They fell to loggerheads again;Pallas, afraid Greece would not stand,Prepar'd to lend a helping hand:Apollo saw her tie her garters,And straight resolv'd to watch her waters;On which he popp'd his body down,And met her pretty near the town.After a spell of small-talk prattle,They both agree to cease the battleFor the remainder of that day,But farther Homer doth not say.Then Hector came and puff'd his cheeks,And sorely frighten'd all the Greeks,Told 'em he'd box that afternoonTheir boldest cock, for half a crown.Which scar'd 'em so confoundedly,That every mother's son let fly;Though nine at least their names put in,After they'd wip'd their breeches clean.Nestor, who knew at any rateNothing but Ajax' knotty pateCould stand his blows, contriv'd it soThat he should draw the longest straw;On which these thick-skull'd champions fightTill parted by one Mrs. Night.Next, in a council, Troy's old packOf statesmen vote to send Nell back;But Paris by his bullying cool'd 'em,Or else by brib'ry over-rul'd 'em;Then d – d his eyes if he would spareOf all her stock one single hairFrom any place that was about her,But he would give the Greeks without herAll the hard cash she brought to Dover,And double it five or six times over.Priam a bellman sent to offerThe Greeks this advantageous proffer,And beg a truce, to look aboutAnd see who'd got their brains knock'd out.The Greeks, though they were every bitAs poor as our great patriot P – ,When he began at first to slaver,And stun the house with his palaver,Yet, for a truth depend on't, I knowThey all refus'd the ready rhino;But readily agreed, they say,To cease all fratching for a day.After both sides their arms had grounded,And gather'd up their sick and wounded,Old Nestor did their bricklayers call up,And made 'em build a good strong wall up;At which old Neptune fell a-grumbling,Till Jove, to stop his guts from rumbling,Promis'd the wall should soon come tumbling.

HOMER'S ILIAD

BOOK VIIThus spake this Trojan heart of oak,And thunder'd through the gate like smoke;His brother Paris follow'd close,Resolv'd to give the Greeks a dose.As when poor sailors, tir'd with towing,And all their fingers gall'd with rowing,Keep growling hard, but when they findJove sends a favourable wind,No more each two-legg'd bruin swears,But lends the coming breeze three cheers:Thus welcome are these roaring boys,Both to the Dardan troops and Troy's;And they who scarce the field could keep,Now drive the Grecians, on a heap.Paris, to help to wipe his stains out,Soon knock'd Menestheus's brains out;Areithous, a mousetrap-maker,Seduc'd a very pretty quakerTo let him one unlucky nightExtinguish all her inward light,And get this boy; but though he thrash'd hard,The urchin proved a graceless bastard.Then with a most confounded whackEioneus tumbled on his back;An inch below his cap of steel,A thump from Hector made him feel;Much stronger necks could not resistSuch blows from Hector's mutton fist:Down tumbled he upon the plain,But never found his legs again.Next in the individual locus,Iphinous was chanc'd by Glaucus:The broomshaft's point his shoulder tore upJust as he set his foot i' th' stirrup;Which chang'd the intended motion soonFrom rising up to tumbling down.Minerva's guts began to grumble,To see her fav'rite Grecians tumble:To earth she in a hurry popp'd,And after her Apollo dropp'd;Both lit upon the self-same stone,Like Flockton's puppets, Punch and Joan,And, ere they did their talk begin,Stood for a minute chin to chin.Madam, says Phœbus, I'm your humbleAnd most obedient cum dumble;By Vulcan's horns I vow and swear,I little thought to find you here!I hope before you took this frolicYou felt no symptoms of your cholic.I heard, dear Ma'am, with all the knowledgeAnd wisdom that you lent the College,A recipe they could not makeTo cure your lay'ship's belly-ache:But had the great-wigg'd varlets thought onThe famous drops of Doctor Stoughton,That would have done't: they eas'd my tripesWhen all on snicksnarls with the gripes;And you'll experience, if you try,They cure the gripes both wet and dry.I therefore for the belly-acheNo other medicine will take,Not even Ward's tremendous pill,Nor sage prepar'd by Doctor Hill.But, Ma'am, may I, without transgression.Presume to ask a single question?Did not your ladyship whip down,Slily to crack some Trojan's crown?I know the only sight you've fun inIs when you see the Trojans running;But hold your fist a spell, and soonTheir huts and barns shall tumble down;For who can stand against the whimsOf two such d – d revengeful brims?When thus replies the scratching bitch:Split me, if you ar'n't grown a witch!I came for mischief here, and wouldHave pummel'd Hector if I could;But after what you've said, I nowWould part 'em, if you'd tell me how;But they keep such confounded clatt'ring,Whilst blood, and guts, and brains they're scatt'ring.That Stentor with his brazen lungs,Or Fame with all her hundred tongues,One word amongst 'em cannot wedge,Though set with e'er so sharp an edge.Then how should I? for, without flatt'ring,You know I ne'er was fam'd for chatt'ring.To her, when she had done her prate,Replies the god with carrot pate.I know a scheme will do the job,If you'll consent to bear a bob.That, says the fighting jade, I'll do,Though it should prove a bob or two.Then, says the god, do you beginDirectly now to put it in —Put what, ye hedgehog? says the jade.Why, put it into Hector's headTo ride amongst the Grecian bandWith an old backsword in his hand,Then with a flourish challenge outThe boldest bruiser to a boutAt quarter-staff or cudgel play,Or flats or sharps, or any way,Till Greece, desirous to abase him,Shall find some thick-skull'd knave to face him.They then shook hands, their faith to pledge,Then squatted down behind a hedge.The moment that they disappear'd,Helenus, who their chat o'erheard,The breast of valiant Hector fir'd,By telling him he was inspir'd.Hector, says he, I dare defyThe crying prophet, Jeremy,To tell more gospel truth than I:That no more rogues to-day may drop,Go you and all your shabroons stop;Then challenge, though the Greeks should stare,Their best backsword or cudgel-player.Away, and do not stay to grumble,For be assur'd in this day's rumbleThe devil will not let you tumble.He said, and Hector rais'd his mop'sLong shaft, and all the Trojans stops:On this the Grecian chief commandsHis squabbling knaves to hold their hands.Apollo and the fighting lassChuckled to find their scheme take place;Like owls in ivy-trees they sat,To see which broke the other's pate.The common rogues, as well they might,Were glad to let their leaders fight:'Twould please you much to see how soonThe rabble threw their broomstaffs down,Then, with a clumpish kind of sound,Bang went their buttocks on the ground.As when a darkness spreads the streets,One drunkard with another meets,They roll, and mighty pother keep,Till both i' th' kennel fall asleep —Thus by degrees these sons of Mars'sSettle themselves upon their a – s,When Hector, with a thund'ring speech,Made half the Greeks bedaub their breech.Ye Grecian bulls, and Trojan bears,Attend, and prick up all your ears;Great Jove's resolved, to plague us all,That broils shall rise, and stocks shall fall,So orders war to rage anew,Till you burn us, or we burn you:Better to end it soon than late,Or make a peace inadequate:Therefore with both your ears attend;'Tis Hector counsels as a friend:To hinder, ere the day-light closes,More bloody pates and broken noses,Find out a Broughton or a Slack,That dares my knotty pate attack:If I should fall in this dispute,Or get my teeth or eyes knock'd out,Without the least demur or racket,O' god's name let him have my jacket,And all my cash; my carcass thoughAmongst my friends to Troy must go,There to be burnt; and whilst 'tis fryingThey'll make a concert up of crying:But if, by Phœbus' aid, my thrustShall lay your Buckhurst in the dust,I'll give his jacket to ApolloFor helping me to beat him hollow;His batter'd carcass I will save,For which his friends may dig a graveOn the sea-shore, and o'er his bonesLay one of Carr's black marble stones,Which when some honest tar shall see,As he returns from smuggling tea,Thus to himself poor Jack will cry(Belching a soft Geneva sigh),Here lies, beneath this stone so polish'd,A Greek, by Hector's staff demolish'd;The stone acquaints us with the deed;I'd tell his name if I could read.This speech so scar'd the Grecian prigs,They star'd about 'em like stuck pigs:When Menelau, of all the throng,First found his feet and then his tongue;For, jumping up from off his breech,He sputter'd out this furious speech:Ye men of Greece, why all this trimmingNay hold, I mean ye Grecian women!What shame! when half the world shall hearYe all bepiss'd yourselves for fear,That Greece had not one bold protectorDurst face this bullying scrub, this Hector!But I will fight him, you shall see,Though he's as big again as me;And by that time ye ev'ry oneMay change, perhaps, from wood to stone.This speech of speeches being done,He whipp'd his greasy buff-coat on;Wrath fill'd him with a strong desireTo run his fingers into th' fire.Had he the fate of battle try'd,Hector had surely trimm'd his hide;But all at once both old and young,As if by wasps or hornets stung,Start up with one consent to speak,And stop this Bobadillian Greek;Resolv'd they'd not indulge the cub inHis great desire to get a drubbing.Atrides claim'd first turn to speak,Because he was the leading Greek.He clench'd his fist, and thus began:The devil, sure, is in the man;Burn my old wig! but you're aboutA scheme to get your brains knock'd out:You've no more chance, I'll make't appear,Than Jackson's mastiff with a bear:Vex'd though thou art, and ought to be,Hector's too big a whelp for thee;Achilles' self, were not his clothesSo thick they keep him safe from blows,Would think it far the lesser evilTo be oblig'd to box the devilStay where you are, or lie in bed,We'll find a chief with thicker head;Though pleas'd the stoutest on the lawnWould be to have the battle drawn,Should he this bully rock engageOn Broughton's, or on any stage.He spoke: and honest MenelauWas glad at heart he need not go,But kept his cheeks upon the puff,Till they had lugg'd his doublet off:When the old cock, with froth and slaver,Began, as usual, his palaver:O sons of Greece, pray what's the matter,That thus I hear your grinders chatter;And every Greek and Trojan seesWarm water running down your knees?Greece shakes her nob to see how soonOne blust'ring Trojan runs you down.Time was when Peleus heard, with joy,How well ye drubb'd these rogues of Troy,And thought he ne'er could hear enough,How Jack could kick, and Ned could cuff:But, Lord! how will th' old fellow fretTo find one Trojan makes ye sweat!What grievous tears will he let fall,And wish the d – l had ye all!O! that the gods, to try my mettle,Would boil me in Medea's kettle,Then lend me health and strength in plenty,Such as I had at five-and-twenty,When I broke all th' Arcadian spears,And made the scoundrels hang their ears!One Ereuthelion, at that place,Had bought a rusty iron mace.O' th' mayor of Hedon, who had gotA new one giv'n him for his vote:This mace Areithous did handle,Just as I would a farthing candle;With this he smash'd the boldest foe,But scorn'd a broomshaft or a bow.Yet one Lycurgus came, and soonWith his sharp broomstick fetch'd him down;He met him in a narrow place,Where he'd no room to swing his mace,On which, without delay, he puts outHis broomshaft's point, and pricks his guts out.Down tumbled he in rueful case;Which the conqu'ror seiz'd his mace:But growing blind, this fighting tupThought it was best to give it upTo Ereuthelion, who would breakAbove a hundred pates a week.This he for several weeks had done,Which made our trainbands sweat and run;All ran but me, I scorn'd to flinch;Though youngest, would not budge an inch.This man I fought, this son of Mars,And fetch'd him such a kick o' th' a —That down he dropp'd; but, when he fell,I know you'll stare at what I tell,But I'll make oath 'fore justice Baker,He fairly cover'd half an acre.Were I just now but half as strong;Hector should not stand hect'ring long.But you that are young men in vigour,All join to cut a special figure!If you daren't fight the man, e'en say;Don't trembling stand, like stags at bay,But trust your heels and run away,If you can't keep your breeches dry,You'd better, as you run, let fly;Unless you fancy Hector may,Should you in such condition stay,First stop his nose, then run away.This drolling speech o' th' queer old wightMade 'em all scratch where't did not bite;So eager now they grew to smite him,That nine jump'd up at once to fight him.Great Agamemnon swore' and curs'd,And damn'd his eyes but he'd be first;At which bold Diomede was vex'd,But swore by Pallas he'd be next:Ajax, who seldom spoke a word,Roars out, By Jove, I'll be the third!'Cause Agamemnon swore in passion,Ajax thought swearing was the fashion.The bold Oileus too was there,Who swore by G-d he would not swear,Ajax, says he, is third, don't part us,But put my name in locus quartus.Idomeneus, though not so swiftAs brave Oileus, came in fifth.Then on Euripylus they fix,And mark his back with number six;Merion thought it no disgraceTo come and take the seventh place.Bold Thoas was a man of weight,So him they put in number eight.Ulysses saw, by what was done,He must at all events make one;Look'd fierce to hide his inward fear,And boldly came to close the rear.The motion felt at first for sh – gWas strangely chang'd to one for fighting.When Nestor found his speech succeed,He spoke again: My boys, take heed!You'd like to've quarrel'd who should run:And now each wishes he'd begun first:But, to prevent all future diff'renceAbout our giving one the pref'rence,I'd have you take the good adviceOf Sancho's16 lawyer – box and dice;And it shall be his lot to go,That trundles out the highest throw;Whoe'er he be, the valiant buckWill think himself in hellish17 luck.He spoke, and then his case unlocks,And out he lugs both dice and box.The bullies then begin to pray,But, on my soul, 'tis hard to say,Whether to lose or win the day:But to the bully Ajax all,In secret, wish'd the lot might fall.Nestor their meaning understood,And tipp'd 'em all the wink it shou'd.Atrides then his elbows shak'dThough inwardly his gizzard quak'd:But soon he was reliev'd this bout,For Nestor cries, Aums ace, you're out:Then Ajax grasps his clumsy fist,And gives the box a dev'lish twist —Out pops the dice, cries Nestor – Seven'S the main; a nick, by Jove, eleven.Another throw then Ajax tries:Eight is the main, old Nestor cries;Resolv'd his jobbernoul to cozen,Roars out, Another nick, a dozen!And so it might, I swear and vow,For aught that honest Ajax knew,Who took on trust whate'er was done,So whipp'd his fighting-jacket on,Whilst all the rest could hardly helpFrom laughing at the thick-skull'd whelp.O warriors! cries this, head of cod,I'll smoke great Hector's hide, by G-d!But lend me first each man a prayer,So low the Trojans may not hear:But let 'em hear; on recollection,To pray is no such great reflection:No mortal scrub on earth dare sayThat I'm afraid because I pray.In days of old, though 'twas but rare.Men bold as me have said a pray'r;Cromwell himself, I've heard folks say,Like any popish saint could pray;And yet, when people were not civil,Could swear and bully like a devil.Then bring the man alive or dead,That valiant Ajax ought to dread:Not Warwick's earl, that kicking cub,Whose arm could whirl so thick a club,That all our grannies tell us howHe kill'd a whacking great dun cow —Was he alive, I make no doubtTo kill him, and his cow to-boot.In Salamis my mother bore me,And bid me kick the world before me.No more he said, but on the stonesDropp'd down upon his marrow-bones,Held up his hands, and then beganTo say his lesson like a man;His comrades too perform their parts,And club their prayers with all their hearts;But, like the Jews, the varlets madeD – 'd ugly faces18 whilst they pray'd:O father Jove! whose greatest pride-aIs whoring on the mount of Ida!Now grant that honest Ajax mayGive the first broken head to-day:But, if thou guard'st those Trojan cattle,Then grant it may be a drawn battle,That, like the German and the Gaul,Both sides may sing, and roar, and bawlTe Deum, though for nought at all,And tell their God a cursed lie;That both have got the victory.Now Ajax, 'cause the coat he put onWas left without a single button,To keep it tight, he ty'd it fastWith a rope's end about his waist,Then like a Spaniard struts, who pridesTo show his wrath in mighty strides.Great joy ran through the Grecian bands,Though his hands shak'd like drunken Rand's:And, whilst he was the Trojan eyeing,He grinn'd to keep himself from crying.The Greeks were humm'd, and Troy, besides,Was scar'd to see him take such strides.Hector himself was wond'ring thatHis mighty heart went pit-a-pat;Though now there was no time to take,But he must brew as well as bake.Ajax behind his shield did keep,But ventur'd now and then to peep;A dev'lish thumping shield it was,'Twould load an English ox or ass;Look Scotland through till you are blind,So large a targe you'll hardly find:Seven good tup-skins as can be seen,Cover'd a greasy kitchen-screen.The roast-meat side of which, we find,With old tin cannisters was lin'd:One Tychius, who dwelt in Hyle,Where Yorkshire shoes are made most vilely,Finish'd this shield, and made it neat,By sawing off two clumsy feet:This potlid Ajax held beforeHis guts, and then began to roar:Hector, come here, you whelp, and tryWho cudgels best, or you or I.Achilles dare not come – who cares?You see as good a man that dares;Let him sit sulky, if he will;His place great Ajax' self dares fill:Bold hearts like me we have good store;There's three, I'm certain, if not four,That any hour o' th' day are willingTo box for sixpence or a shilling;Nay, some for half a crown will try,When cash and courage both run high:So, let me lose the day or win it,Here I stand ready to begin it.Hector replies, Great son of Tel,You seem to scold it pretty well;But, sure, you think the rock of TroySome chuckle-headed booby boy,Just parted from a country school,And therefore dares not face an owl;But I will face you, you shall see,Though you were in an ivy-tree.And look'd as fierce before you spoke,As Charley in the royal oak:I dare, for th' honour of our house,Say boh! to any Grecian goose.Your broomshaft strokes with ease I'll cut off.And all Broughtonian thumps can put off;But as I value not a f – tYour puffs, I shan't make use of art;By downright strength I'll try my fate,And scorn to steal a broken pate.At this his quarter-staff he rears,And laid about the Grecian's ears:His nob he gave a swingeing knock,But might as well have hit a rock.Ajax then drove at Hector's crown,Who flinch'd, or else he'd knock'd him down;So vastly furious was the stroke,Both quarter-staves to pieces broke.The cudgels next the bullies try,And baste each other hip and thigh;Fierce as two squabbling lawyers prate,Or two fish-wives at Billingsgate,And seem'd to be a special match,Till Hector got a little scratch.His wrath to see his blood run downMade him let fly a thumping stone,Which hit his pate, and off did passAs if his noddle had been brass.But Ajax threw with such a shockA craggy ragged piece of rock,And aim'd the stone so well, that heAlmost demolish'd Hector's knee.Hector was glad to lean uponHis potlid, else he'd tumbled down:But Sol, who always did attend him,Brought him a dram of rum to mend him.Andrew Ferrara's next the word,For each had got a highland sword,Which when they flourish'd in the air,The glitt'ring blades made people stare.Just as they met in guise uncivil,Like great St. Michael and the devil,With fell intent to cut and slash,And of their bodies make a hash,The wary seconds both popp'd out,And put an end to this tough bout.Talthybius did the Greek attend;Idæus was great Hector's friend;(Both constables and cunning knaves)Betwixt the swords they thrust their staves.Idæus first began to speak,For he had learnt a little Greek:Forbear, my buffs, your farther fray,Jove says ye fight no more to-day;No more of bus'ness can be doneTo-day, because the day is gone.Ajax was now grown cock-a-hoop,Because he could with Hector cope;Pray, Sir, says he, to Hector speak:He challeng'd forth the boldest Greek.If he should say 'tis time to part,I'll give it up with all my heart;But he, you both must own, begun first,And therefore ought, I think, t'have done first.Then Hector speaks: Great Sir, you're right;And, if you dare but trust your sight,By looking sharp you'll see 'tis night:And you and all the people know,To box at night's against the law:For want of light, we by surpriseMight knock out one another's eyes;And e'en just now, so dark it grows,I scarce can see your copper nose:So let's decide some other dayWho's the best man at cudgel-play:Your great escape the Greeks will tell of,They'll jump to find you're come so well off;And all the good old wives in TroyAt my escape will jump for joy.But let us make, this glorious day,Some sort of swap, that folks may say,These souls were neither Whig nor Tory,But battled for their country's glory.With that a sword he gave, whose hiltWas made of brass, but double gilt:This gift did Ajax' stomach meltSo much, he gave his greasy belt:Then with a Spanish air those twainMajestic strutted home again.Hector, at his return to Troy,Did really make 'em jump for joy:They star'd, but yet the better halfCame up to feel if he was safe.Poor Ajax was swell'd up and puff'd,Like a black-pudding over-stuff'd.In this queer trim the Grecians bringThe puff'd-up hero to the king,Who, far from thinking 'twas a man,Thought they had dress'd a sack of branIn Ajax' clothes; but, being fullyConvinc'd it was the very bullyThat could with valiant Hector box,He bid the butcher kill an ox.That you mayn't think the gen'ral boasted,A fine Scotch runt was kill'd and roasted:Great Agamemnon laid the cloth,Then boil'd the neck and shanks for broth.When all was cook'd, the king took careTo deal each hungry knave his share:But valiant Ajax for his supperAte the sirloin and half the crupper;By which you'll think, and think aright,The man could eat as well as fight.When they had stuff'd their bellies full,And drunk each man a hearty pull,Nestor begins, who never longWas known to hold his noisy tongue:It grieves my very guts to sayThat this has been a dismal day,But faith it was: upon the shoreA dozen hearty cocks, or more,Were on their backs by Hector laid,And half of them half-knock'd o' th' head.Whilst we are drown'd in grief and sorrow,How can we think to box to-morrow?A little time should sure be foundTo get our dead men under ground;Which if we don't, I know full wellThey'll quickly make a cursed smell:To Hector's drubs we need not yield,Our friends will stink us off the field.When we have got them under ground,Both rotten carcasses and sound,Each man shall have a handsome stoneFor babes to cry or piss upon:Next we will all our bricklay'rs call upTo dig a ditch and build a wall up,To save our huts, and boats, and lighters,From those damn'd copper-nos'd sheep-biters;Then make strong gates, that, if the routShould come too near, we'll bolt 'em out;Next on the walls build towers, and prop 'em;The devil's in't, if that don't stop 'em:Then if the foe comes helter skelter,We all know where to run for shelter:For want of this, if they should beat us,They burn our boats, and roast and eat us.Thus spake this queer old Grecian wight,And all the captains thought him right.In the mean time the Trojan peersWere met, and almost got by th' ears:Though their hearts ach'd, this crew so factiousCould not refrain from being fractious:All order they despis'd, or summons,Just like an English house of – .At last the grave Antenor rose,And strove their diff'rence to compose.What I shall utter is no merit,'Tis inspiration of the spirit,Says 'this old cuff: Restore but Helen,And we our houses safe may dwell in;Let Helen and her money goTo Sparta or to Strumbello,With all belongs her head or tail;Don't keep the paring of a nail.If Paris hath not got enoughOf trimming her bewitching buff,But longs to switch the gipsy still,You'll own with me he never will;Then must be forc'd – and so I voteTo do the very thing he ought:We broke the truce, the Grecians felt us,And Jupiter, by G-d, will pelt us;Then let us quickly stir about,And do't before you're forc'd to do't.Th' old Trojan spoke, and down he sat,When Paris rose and twirl'd his hat;Smelt at his box, perfum'd with musk,Then hem'd, and look'd as fierce as H – k:You say your speech must claim no merit,'Tis inspiration of the spirit;But, if the matter I can handle,A canting quaker's farthing candle,Twinkling within him, gives more lightThan this of yours that burns so bright.When young perhaps you might be wise;Wisdom decays as well as eyes:You think that I have had enoughOf trimming Helen's heav'nly buff.The thought is mighty well for you,For whom three times a year might do;But Helen ne'er shall quit my hand,So long as I can go or stand.As for the money that she broughtFrom Greece, I scorn to touch a groat;It lies, with his tobacco-stopper(Five pounds in silver, three in copper),In an old trunk, with some old gearI never yet would let her wear.Let Menelaus touch the pelf,I only want to touch herself.Besides, I'll pay him for the touch,And give him twenty times as muchFrom my own stock as she brought with her,When first she came from Sparta hither:But ere she goes, by holy Paul!I'll see the devil fetch ye all.Priam, who fear'd by all this routHis trusty Trojans might fall out,Rose up to speak; the crew so vi'lentHad the good manners to be silent;On which th' old Trojan bow'd to each,Then hem'd, and made this king-like speech:Ye hearts of oak, that round me sit,What think ye if we pick a bit?I saw the cook-maid, Mary, put onThe spit a thumping loin of mutton,Above an hour and half ago;It must be ready now, I know.When we have pick'd the bones and tail,And each man drunk a gill of ale,We'll guard the walls, and all the nightLook sharp to keep our matters right:A bellman in the morn shall mention.To the Greek captain our intention;And add, 'twill suit us to a tittle,If both sides take their breath a little,That those who on the ground are laidMay come and tell us if they're dead;If they're alive, we can assure them,Our quacks will either kill or cure 'em;Then, if they please, with might and mainWe'll buckle to't, and box again.Soon as the Trojan long had said,Each captain seiz'd a piece of bread;But could not stay to pick a bit,So whipp'd a slice from off the spit;Then pocketing both bread and roast,Ran off to eat it at their post.Before the sun brush'd up his lamp,Idæus went to th' Grecian camp:He found the chief, his friends, and brother,Looking as wise at one anotherAs justices, when on the benchThey try some poor unlucky wrench,And make the jade at Bridewell yelpFor breeding brats without their help:The bellman tinkled first his bell,And then began his tale to tell: —Ye Grecian constables, I prayLend all your ears to what I say;And from my soul I wish, to ease ye,That ev'ry word I speak may please ye:I wish our rogue and your d – d whoreHad both been drowned long beforeThis hubble bubble they had coin'd,By getting both their giblets join'd!I wish the brimstone's pepper'd tailWas in the belly of that whaleThat swallow'd Jonah, though the JewHad such rank flesh, he made him spew;And I'm afraid this self-same whale,After he'd swallow'd Nelly's tail,Though plaguy salt, would find it stale;Therefore, like Jonah, on the mainWould come to spew her up again;And then some luckless country willBe plagu'd with her grimalkin still.But for all this, I'm bid to tell ye,That Paris will not part with Nelly;He finds her flesh so very sweet,He swears he'll touch no other meat;But says he'll give you ev'ry pieceOf money that she brought from Greece:And, if he can but peace restore,Will double it ten times o'er and o'er;But swears the wench sha'n't quit his hand,So long as he can go or stand.Next I'm to say 'twill suit us wellTo rest our weary limbs a spell,That those who lie in honour's bed,Whether knock'd down or knock'd o' th' head,May be sought out, and, when they're found,Be decently put under ground;And then with all our might and main,If so ye like, we'll box again:But who shall drub the other well,The Lord above can only tell.The Grecian chiefs, by what appears,Both cock'd their mouths and prick'd their ears;But, like a modern bill in chancer',They took some time to give an answer.This did Tydides so provoke,He jump'd upon his legs and spoke:Zooks! you would make a parson swear,To see ye all thus gape and stare!What signifies their money now,Though they would send the brimstone too?You see their wooden towers are shaken,Then what the pox can save their bacon?Let us but kick 'em out of doors,And the same men that shook their towersShall shake their daughters, wives, and whores.The Grecians shout their approbationOf this laconic bold oration.Atrides then the peace rejects,But sends to Priam his respects:You hear, good Sir, the shouts of GreeceAre, to a man, against this peace.As much as you all broils we hate,But think the peace inadequate:Yet, though we can't agree to peace,I really think club-law should cease,That we may both sides look about,And try to find our dead men out.When yours are found, pray don't you thinkThat they are dead because they stink;For ours, that liv'd to run away,Stunk most confoundedly to-day;Therefore take care you turn and turn 'em,And shake 'em well before you burn 'em:Ispeak lest groundless fears should curb ye,For blast my eyes if we'll disturb ye!He then, to show he meant 'em fair,Flourish'd his broomshaft in the air.On this the crier trots awayTo Troy, to tell 'em what they say.The Trojan boys were got together,Like flocks of birds in frosty weather:Thus gather'd on a heap he caught 'em,Waiting to hear what news he brought 'em.Finding there was no time to spare,He hem'd, to make his throttle clear:They instant leave him room to enter,And place him in the very centre;From whence he with a crier's voice(Where words are mostly drown'd in noise)His speech deliver'd full as clearAs any crier you shall hear:The Grecian captains, from their tents,To Priam send their compliments;And, though they can't consent to peace,They all desire club-law should cease:'Cause then both parties might, they said,See if their dead men were all dead.The Trojans, upon this, thought good,To buy some loads of billet wood;But to the Greeks no man would sell it:On which they thought 'twas best to fell itWithout the lord o' th' manor's leave;So instantly began to cleave.But I can tell 'em, had they thenBeen caught by justice F – d – g's men,Those true-bred hounds would never drop 'em,Till they had seen his worship shop 'em.The sun had wash'd his fiery face,And greas'd his wheels to run his race,When Greeks and Trojans look'd aboutTo find who'd got their brains knock'd out;But neither side had time to weep,Till all were gather'd on a heap.The Trojans then to burning fall,And made one crying serve 'em all.The Grecians thought th' example good,So out they lugg'd their stolen wood:Then laid the bodies in their places,And fell to making d – d wry faces.When they were burnt as black as coal,One lousy tombstone serv'd 'em all.This done, with might and main they fallTo dig a ditch, and build a wall;For Nestor, who had still some cunning,Guess'd, when the rascals took to running,This wall might stop the Trojan fightersFrom burning their old rotten lighters.Upon the wall these Grecian powersErected what themselves call'd towers:But in these days our modern doxiesWould call them hobbling watchmen's boxes.Some baker's billets next they took,The sharpen'd points did outward look,The blunt end stuck in earth; and theseThe Grecians call chevaux de frise.But whilst they thus their labour kept on,They rather discomfrontled Neptune.As near to surly Jove he sat,Brother, says he, I'll tell you what;If Greece should finish yon mud wall,And those I built for Troy should fall,This wall will be remember'd longerThan those I built, though so much stronger.This, by my soul, I shall not like! —Ha' done, says Jove, thou wrangling tike!Thou admiral of the sea, and letA mortal work thy gullet fret?I love that much; but cease to grumble,These walls of mud shall quickly tumble.No bantling that's unborn shall viewA stick of what they're doing now.Thy waves shall sap the bottom soon,Or drunken cits shall piss 'em down,When, in a flaming one-horse chair,They come to take the country air;Where a round dozen pipes they funk,And then return to town dead drunk.Whilst thus they fratch'd, the Greeks were gettingJust finish'd, as the sun was setting;And then the hungry sons of whoresButcher'd their bulls and cows by scores;The fat sirloins on spits they put,But smoke their gods with tripe and gut.Just as they clapp'd 'em on their crupperTo eat this great uncommon supper,They spy'd a lighter under sail,Loaded with beer and Burton ale,Which came i' th' nick to cheer their souls,And fill their empty skins and bowls.Eunæus did the ale procure,For he was only small-beer brewer;A cask of both sorts did he sendA present for the king his friend;The rest the Grecian captains bought,To pay for which our author thoughtSome pawn'd a shirt, and some a coat.In feasting all their cares were sunk,And ev'ry noble chief got drunk;But they had made a woeful blunder,For Jove they pinch'd, who growl'd like thunder;Which scar'd the drunken rogues so sore,They spill'd their liquor on the floor;And, in the midst of all their airs,Forgot their oaths to say their pray'rs,And beg such coil he would not keep,But let the maudlin knaves go sleep.