A Burlesque Translation of Homer
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THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD
ARGUMENT
The Grecian chief his jacket put on,Though there was not a single button,Either of horn, or metal cast,Remain'd upon't, to make it fast.Yet, as they could not do without him,He tied it with a cord about him;Not a grand swashy green or red cord,But an old rotten piece of bed-cord;Then don'd a pair of piss-burnt brogues on,And went to lead his ragged rogues on; —Whilst Hector, ever bold and steady,Soon got his trusty Trojans ready.For signal, two celestial strumpetsEmploy their tongues instead of trumpets.Jove thunder'd too, but all the soundIn their superior noise was drown'd;For such a din they made at starting,His thunder sounded just like farting.And now, whilst Agamemnon mauls 'em,And with his crab-tree cudgel galls 'em,Jove call'd for Iris, to direct herTo go and caution bully HectorTo let this Grecian bruiser roam,Till some chance knock should send him home.Then Hector makes a woeful rout.And kicks the Grecians all about;Whome'er he hit, he surely dropp'd him,Till Diom. and Ulysses stopp'd him;Stopp'd for a while, but 'twas not much,For Diomede soon got a touch,Which made the bully limp away,And leave Ulysses in the fray,Who got, unless the poet lies,A broken rib and two black eyes;When Menelau, and Ajax stout,Came apropos to help him out.Hector for Ajax went to seek,But found his nob too hard to break.Whilst thus each other's bones they whackParis – had almost lam'd their quack;Nestor at this, without delay,Drives both himself and quack away.Achilles, who was looking outTo see what work they were about,Sends his companion to inquireWhat made old grizzle-beard retire.The threshold he had scarce set foot on,When Nestor seiz'd him by the button;In that condition did he hold him,Till he had two long stories told him,How cocks and bulls, when he was young,Would fight like devils all day long.But still the aim of this old whelpWas but to gain Achilles' help,Or, if he would not come to blows,To lend Patroclus his thick clothes.Patroclus then his best legs put on,Glad he'd so well releas'd his button,And met Euryp'lus as he wentLimping along to reach his tent;Though he just then was running fasterThan penny-postman, this disasterStay'd him till he had spread a plaster.HOMER'S ILIAD
BOOK XIAnd now the Morn, with yellow locks,From Tithon's hammock stuff'd with flocks,Arose, to show both gods and menThat day was coming once again,To glad the hearts of those with lightWhose conscience could not bear the night;Lawyers, attorneys, bawds, and pimps,Born to replenish hell with imps,A race whose own reflection frets 'em,And damns 'em ere the devil gets 'em;When Jove, the constable of heav'n,Willing to keep things pretty even,A scolding quean, one Eris, seeks,And sends her down to help the Greeks;Her tongue he knew there was no holding,She storms and tempests rais'd with scolding.Away then flies the noisy witch,With a long roll well soak'd in pitch,The torch of discord call'd by Jove,And all the people else above;But if to me you'll yield belief,'Twas nothing but a lawyer's brief,Drawn for the plaintiff, and at th' end on'tWas tied another for th' defendant.This stuff the goddess Discord thinksThe best materials for her links;So, long ago, has ceas'd to spin,And buys her gear at Lincoln's-Inn.One of these torches Eris drewAlong the sky as down she flew,Which forty thousand sparkles shed,And mark'd the road she came all red;Then fix'd upon Ulysses' boat,And there began to tune her throat,Bawling a song to suit the case,To which her bum play'd thorough-bass,But made such thund'ring as she trump'd,Both Ajax and Achilles jump'd,Though their two boats could not be underThree miles at least, or four, asunder.Then through the fleet she inspires each chief,And strews the ashes of the brief.Such rancour now the varlets fills,They all look'd fierce as Bobadils;The rogues that readiest stood to runAs soon as slaps o' th' chaps begun,Now d – n their eyes, and make a rout,And strut, and kick their hats about.Great Agamemnon first did start out,And roar'd as if he'd roar his heart out;Then set th' example, and begunTo put his fighting doublet on.His legs he thought there were some doubts on,So whipp'd a pair of large jack-boots on,Borrow'd that morning by his surgeon,Of Foote's bold-hearted Major Sturgeon;Then went and fetch'd his basket-hilt,And o'er his bosom hung a quilt,A lousy quilt, although the thingWas giv'n him by a brother-king;Though from a king, says Doctor Swift,A man may get a lousy gift;But being stuff'd with rags and flocks,It kept his stomach free from knocks.On it was painted such a dragonAs few sign-painters e'er could brag on;St. George's dragon on the signAt Stamford, where they sell good wine,Would, I am sure, compar'd to that,Appear a common tabby cat.O'er all he tied a belt of buff-skin,Or doe, or tup, or some such tough skin,Such as our northern carriers foldAbout their loins to keep out cold.A potlid hung upon his arm,To guard his ribs from taking harm.With brazen hoops and brazen centre,That points of broomsticks might not enter;On which a frightful head did grin,Almost as ugly as Miss – ,And all around, in various places,Were grinning chaps and wry-mouth'd faces;But in the middle part, to makeThe Trojans run, he plac'd a snakeGaping as wide as if he'd swallowAn ox, with horns, and guts, and tallow;Which made the folks, when he did meet 'em,Scamper for fear the snake should eat 'em,Whilst he pursu'd, and thought they fledFor fear of his great chuckle head.His leathern skull-cap, worn thread-bare,He furbish'd up with horse's hair;Then in his hand two broomstaves shook,And look'd as fierce as he could look.Thus arm'd complete, he march'd to fright 'em,In hopes to make 'em all be – te 'em.That instant, to increase the strife,Jove's daughter and his scolding wifeA cannon-ball began to rollIn Jupiter's great mustard-bowl.Whilst the machine they both were holding,To mend the noise they fell to scolding;This cleft the welkin quite asunder,And made the Greeks believe 'twas thunder,Which fill'd 'em with such fighting rage,They push'd like Britons to engage.The foot first hasten'd to the battle,And after them the carts did rattle;With such a roaring they begun,Before his time they wak'd the Sun,Who, hearing such a dreadful clatter,Jump'd up and cried, Zoons! what's the matter?But both his eyes being clos'd with gum,From whence this roaring noise did comeHe could not spy, till fasting spittleHad op'd his gummy eyes a little.Jove thunder'd too, for he was madTo see the dogs so bitter bad;And mix'd a shower of rain with rud,To make 'em think it rain'd sheer blood;Nor would he longer tarry near 'em,But fairly left Old Nick to steer 'em.Near Ilus' grave, upon the hill,Was Hector drinking bumpers still;The grave-stone serv'd 'em for a table,And there they drank till they weren't ableTo stand, or, as our bard supposes,To see each other's copper noses.Polydamas partook the feast,With a sly Presbyterian priest,Æneas call'd – a rogue whose lightsWould show you nothing but the whites,Whene'er he wanted to deceive you,And helpless in the suds to leave you;This he'd perform with such a grace,You'd ne'er suspect his pious face.Agenor, with his second-sight,And Polybus, a simple knight,Two brothers of Antenor's race,Around the bottle took their place:With Acamas, a boy that hadAs few bad tricks as any ladIn all the town, although 'tis trueHe was a Presbyterian Jew. —Pray what religion's that? say you.I'll tell you, my good friend, anon:A Presbyterian Jew is oneThat likes engagements with the wenches,But hates both gunpowder and trenches.Hector a pretty girl was thrummingWhen first he heard the Grecians coming,And though twelve bumpers he had sipp'd up,He soon his shield and broomstick whipp'd up,Then quickly 'mongst the Trojans goes outTo make 'em turn their sweaty toes out,And square their elbows: here and thereHe frisk'd about, and ev'ry where,Whilst streaming sparkles, as he pass'd,From his broad metal buttons flash'd.On Sundays view our Farmer GoodingWhen he attacks a suet-pudding,Slice after slice you'll see him cut,And stuff within his gundy gut;Whilst on the other side his manSlices as fast as e'er he can;With eager haste they slice and eat,Till both their knives i' th' centre meet:Thus Greeks and Trojans on a suddenTumble like slices of the pudding,Give and receive most hearty thwacks,Yet never think to turn their backs,But scratch, and bite, and tear, and kick,Like two boar-cats hung 'cross a stick.Discord, the wrangling lawyer's friend,Did on this dreadful broil attend;But all the rest above the moon,Though they were willing, durst as soonRun to Old Nick as venture down:But though confin'd to keep their places,They made abominable faces,Whilst all the time their guts were grumblingAt Jove, for keeping Troy from tumbling.Now he, good soul, was set aloneOn his old cricket, call'd a throne,Where, spite of all his wife could say,He gave Miss Destiny her way;Though now and then he squinted downIn great amaze, to see how soonThe varlets crack'd each others crown.Now, whilst the Sun was working stillTo flog his hackneys up the hill,Both parties fought with equal luck,And furious blows on each side struck:But at the time when sea-coal heavers,With taylors' prentices and weavers,Quit looms and boards, and leave their workIn search of scalded peas and pork —Just at that time the Greeks begunTo make some straggling Trojans run.Atrides seiz'd that crisis too,To let 'em see what he could do.Quickly he crack'd Bianor's crown,A smart attorney of the town,Then knock'd his clerk Oileus down,Who, when he saw his loving masterGet hurt, was coming with a plaster.Atrides, whilst his hands were full,Like a brave fellow, crack'd his skull;Then of their jackets he bereft 'em,And naked to the weather left 'em;For which, depend, these sons of factionAt proper time will bring an action.Now, whilst his hand was in, he runsAnd meets with two of Priam's sons:One was a bastard, got uponThe daughter of his ploughman John:But, as we are inform'd, the otherWas got upon an honest mother,Who would not let her maidenheadBe touch'd till Christian grace was said;But when that's done, e'en touch and touch,No honest man can do too much.These loving brothers, loth to part,Had hir'd a Norfolk farmer's cart,Where with great skill they did contriveThat one should fight, the other drive.In former days they us'd to keepOn Sussex downs a flock of sheep.Achilles, who, as you must note,Commanded once a smuggling-boat,To steal some sheep one night had landed;And being then but slender-handed,He went his thieving crew to call off,And bid them bring the boys and all off;Then made his dad for their releaseRemit him three half-crowns a-piece —Money ill war'd, since they so soonWere knock'd by Agamemnon down!On the pert bastard first he press'd,And lent him such a punch o' th' breast,It made him in a twinkling kick upHis heels, and belch, and f – t, and hiccup;Instant bestow'd he such a patUpon the brother's gold-lac'd hat,That down he tumbled with a plump,And bruis'd his thigh, and split his rump:Then, flat as on the ground they lay,He stole their hats and coats away.With aching hearts the Trojans spy him,But dare not for their guts come nigh him;Thus shoplifts see their brothers taken,But dare not stir to save their bacon.Still furious on the foe he runs,And mauls Antimachus' two sons —A sneaking rascal, who had soldHis vote in parliament for gold;From whoring Paris taking pay,He made a speech for Nell to stay,And humbugg'd all the senate so,They bawl out Aye, instead of No.Now these two lads Atrides caught,And drubb'd 'em for the father's fault.They got a hard-mouth'd resty horse,They could not stop with all their force,But he would run, aye, that he would,Just where this lighting Grecian stood;The lads had pull'd the resty tupTill both were tir'd, so gave it up;On which the Greek their noddles peppers,Till down they dropp'd upon their kneppers,And, in a dismal doleful ditty,Begg'd for an ounce or two of pity:Good Mr. Agamemnon, spareTwo harmless lads, and hear their pray'r,For which Antimachus will makeSuch presents you'll be glad to take.You need but send him a short noteYou've stow'd us safe in your old boat,And if he doth not think it properTo send a stone of brass and copper,We then will give you leave to beat us,Or, if you please, to hash and eat us.Now, though the younkers made no noise,But talk'd like very hopeful boys,This harden'd rogue, before they'd done,In a great passion thus begun:If you're Antimachus's blood,I'll drub your hides, by all that's good!That scurvy mangey rascal wouldHave kill'd my brother if he could,With sly Ulysses, when from GreeceThey came to fetch that precious piece,That Madam Helen, whose affairHas cost more lives than she has hairUpon her head, or any where.No prayers that you can coin shall speedWith me, to save such scoundrel breed.On this he with a crab-tree stumpGave poor Philander such a thump,It made him tumble from the cart out,And spew his very guts and heart out.The brother finding him so tart,He leap'd head foremost from the cart:There, as he lay upon the sands,The whelp disabled both his hands;Then boldly seiz'd him by the snout,And almost twined his neck about.Whilst he continu'd these mad freaks,He double-distanc'd all the Greeks:Still he kept cuffing on, and swearing,Whilst they kept wondering and staring.So when the mighty bowl doth sallyFrom th' corner of a nine-pin alley,Pin after pin by him is thrown,Till the whole nine are tumbled down;Just so Atrides in his passionTumbled 'em down in nine-pin fashion,And drove about with such a rumble,Whole squadrons either run or tumble;Many a Trojan made he smart,And emptied many a higler's cart.The cart-tits, when without a guide,Ran like bewitch'd from side to side,Farted, and kick'd, and jump'd about —In short, they made such dreadful rout,They hurt their Trojan friends much moreThan they had done 'em good before.Whilst the fierce Greek, where'er he flew,Beat the poor devils black and blue,Had Hector met this Grecian cock,Depend upon't he'd got a knock;But Jove took care he should not meet him,Lest in his passion he should eat him,But kept the Trojan's coat from stainsOf blood, and guts, and scatter'd brains.Now Jove took all this care, I ween,'Cause Hector's coat was very clean,Whilst ev'ry Greek in all the clanLook'd like a butcher's journeyman.And now this furious fighting knaveDrove 'em like smoke by Ilus' graveAmongst some fig-trees, where for shelterThey ran like wild-fire helter-skelter —Not with design to turn and rally,But there they knew a dark blind alleyThat led directly to the town,Through which they ran like devils down.Atrides ran as fast as they,Roaring and bawling all the way,Till he had made himself as hotAs Fore-street Doll's pease-porridge pot:When, coming near the Scean gate,He thought it would be best to waitFor further help; so held his stick up,And stopp'd to take his wind and hiccup.In the mean time the Trojans plyTheir clay-burnt heels most lustily.As when the constable and watchmenAre on a party sent to catch menWho have the day before been dealingIn what the justices call stealing;Their phiz the thieves no sooner spy,But all to reach the window try;Their haste occasions such a jumble,Head over heels the scoundrels tumble,And wedge themselves so very fast,The hobbling watchmen seize the last;So did Atrides bounce and fick,And always lent the last a kick:Thus did he play the de'il and all,Until he reach'd the Trojan wall,Which his great fury did designTo tumble down or undermine;When Jove sent such a shower of rainAs won't be quickly seen again,And would have added thunder to it,But could not get his lightning through it.At this he bawls, Come hither, Iris!You see in rain so drench'd my fire is,It cannot go as I design'd it,To make yond' roaring scoundrels mind it;And as for thunder, though they fear it,They make such noise they cannot hear it.Therefore, my girl, do you descendAnd tell my honest Trojan friend,Whilst Agamemnon thus keeps puffing,I would not have him think of cuffing;Let other people stop his flouncing,Bold Hector need not mind his bouncing:Small captains may his waters watch;For Hector he's no more a matchThan penny bleeders to a surgeon,Or Jerry Sneak to Major Sturgeon.Tell him, although he makes such rout.And kicks the Trojans all about,In half an hour, I'll lay a groat,He gets his teeth knock'd down his throat;Then shall my bully Hector thwack 'em,And I will lend a hand to whack 'em,Till he has made them take long stridesOn board their boats to save their hides —Drub 'em he shall from place to place,Till Night pops up her blackguard face.At this the jade gave such a jump,That some foul air within her rumpCame puffing with a thund'ring trump:But letting fly too soon, we findShe drove so much unsav'ry windUp Jove's broad nose, he look'd d – d gruff,And sneez'd as if he'd ta'en Scotch snuff.These thund'ring puffs, let out so nighThe sun, take fire as down they fly;From whence 'tis evident that plain bow,Which silly mortals call the rain-bow,Is known by folks that view it nigherTo be a chain of farts on fire.Hector she found amidst the fray,Mounted upon a brewer's dray:Hector, says she, perhaps you'll stare,To hear I come from Jupiter;But so it is, believe it true,He sends his compliments to you,And says, while Atreus' son keeps puffing,He would not have you think of cuffing;Let other people stop his flouncing,You need not mind his brags and bouncing;Small captains may his waters watch;For you the whelp's no more a matchThan penny bleeders to a surgeon,Or Jerry Sneak to Major Sturgeon:And adds, that though he makes such rout,And kicks the Trojans all about,In half an hour, he'll lay a groat,He gets his teeth knock'd down his throat.Then Hector shall the Grecians whack,And I will clap him on the back,Till he has made each Grecian fighterScamper on board his rotten lighter:Nor shall he cease the rogues to fright,Till they're reliev'd by Mrs. Night.Then, in a cloud as black as pitch,She vanish'd like a Lapland witch.Hector no sooner heard this speech,But up he started off his breech,Leap'd from the dray in haste, and thenGave two-pence to the brewer's menTo get a pint of stale, or strong,Because they let him ride so long;Then, with a broomstick in each hand,He bid the scamp'ring Trojans stand;Tells them, if now they box, they mayRun when they please another day,And he'll run too as well as they.When they heard this, the Trojans stout,With one consent all fac'd about,And seem'd resolv'd to box it out:The Greeks, who hop'd they'd all been gone,Stared when they found 'em coming on,Cock'd their wide jaws in great surprise,And fain would disbelieve their eyes.Both sides begin to fight it o'er,As if they'd never fought before;Whilst in his passion, Atreus' sonKept driving like a devil on,And gave the Trojan sons of whoresBlack eyes and broken pates by scores.Hopkins and Sternhold, lend me aidTo tell what work this whore's-bird made;You, who king David's psalms were ableTo write in verse so lamentable,As made the fornicating kingCry, when you meant to make him sing;Where he repents, indeed, most ablyYou made him do it lamentably!Help me to some of your rare pickings,That I may sing Atrides' kickings,That in re-mem-ber-ance I mayRemain for ever and for aye:Come on, bold boys, and make it knownWhat shoals of scrubs he tumbled down,And whether 'twas a peer or groomThat tasted first his stick of broom.Iphidamas it prov'd, a swain-oGot by Antenor on Theano,Whose pasture being stock'd beforeSo hard that it would bear no more,He thought it best to send the lad;To Clifeus, the mother's dad,Who farm'd on lease a little placeUpon a bleak hill-side in Thrace,For which he paid the landlord clearThree, or perhaps four, pounds a year.For twenty years the good old rockThere fed him like a fighting-cock;And then to use him to the StrifeMan's born to bear, he for a wifeGave him his daughter: but the boy,Hearing of boxing-bouts at Troy,Was seiz'd with such desire to fight,He listed on his wedding-night,And left his wife, though thought a beauty,Before he'd done an inch of duty;By shipping to Percope went,From thence by land to Troy was sent.Thinking the time was now or neverFor him to show off something clever,From out the foremost ranks he jumps,Resolv'd to fight this king of trumps.Atrides, who full well did knowThat in the first good hearty blowLay often more than half the battle,Let fly his broomstick with a rattle:The Trojan stoop'd, and whiz it went,But miss'd his nob, where it was meant.The youth then with great fury putsHis cudgel 'cross the Grecian's guts,Which stroke he had severely feltBut for his greasy currier's belt,Though he so much of it did feel,'Spite of his belt, it made him reel;But when recover'd from the shock,He lent him such a rare hard knockUpon his crag, the luckless chapFell down and took an endless nap.His wife, that such a fortune brought,Two cows, six sheep, and one ram goat,Thought hers a mighty grievous lot,When she a maidenhead had got,Neatly dish'd up as hands could make it,Ready for him to come and take it;But he, poor soul, was lying flat,Whilst the Greek stole his coat and hat.Coon his bro. was pretty near,And vex'd to th' heart, a man may swear;It fill'd his liver with such sadness,He roar'd and cried for very madness:But though he wept full sore, we findHe did not weep himself quite blind;But when the Grecian did not 'spy him,He edg'd till he got pretty nigh him,Then at the bully aim'd a knock,Which gave his elbow such a shock,It made his metal buttons jingle,And both his wrist and fingers tingle.The Greek was stunn'd, though not with fear,But knew not, or to cry or swear;Then whilst poor Coon guards his brother,And covers this side, then the other,Damning the Grecian for a whelp,And roaring like a man for help,The wary Greek upon his crown'Spy'd a soft spot, so knock'd him down —Down with a bang he tumbled plump,And lay across his brother's rump.Atrides, now more furious grown,Drives like a madman up and down,Using all weapons clubs, or sticks,Old broken piss-pots, stones, and bricks —In this condition on he blunder'd,And lam'd or frighten'd half a-hundred.Whilst he perform'd these pranks, his armContinued tolerably warm;But when the blood began to settle,And he was partly off his mettle,The elbow stiffen'd with such painAs made the bully grin again;Knaves that are whipp'd for thieving casesCould never coin such ugly faces.With mighty pain and anguish fretting,A dung-cart he was forc'd to get in:But lest the foe should think he had cause,He put a good face on a bad cause,And bawls, O Grecian raggamuffins!Stick stoutly to your kicks and cuffings!I'll get a dram to ease my pain,And in a twink be back again;Jove will no longer let me fight,But slam me if 'tis aught but spite!No sooner had he spoke, but smackHe heard the carter's whip go crack;And crack it might, as these old hacksFor twice three steps requir'd six cracks;Though, by great luck, this Jehu gotHis geldings smack'd into a trot;But as they both were touch'd i' th' wind,They puff'd out clouds of smoke behind,Whilst from their sides a lather runWould almost fill a brewer's tun;At last, when tir'd, and almost spent,They brought him to his ragged tent.Hector look'd sharp, and quickly sawThis huffing, cuffing varlet go;Then to his Trojans and allies,To raise their mettle, thus he cries:Ye roaring blades, that scorn all fear,Ye Dardans, and ye Lycians, hear!Now is the time, boys, now or never,Roar Wilkes and Liberty for ever!Yon leader of the Scotch court-cards,Call'd the third regiment of guards,Has got some mischief in the fray:I saw the rascal run away:Besides, Dame Iris from aboveBrought me some compliments from Jove:Hector, says she, you must not shrink,But pay the varlets till they stink;Therefore you've nought to do but box,I'll warm their jackets with a pox.The valiant Hec. with such-like speeches,Forth from the bottom of their breechesPluck'd up their hearts as fast as could be,And fairly plac'd 'em where they should be:So the poor gard'ner cheers his dogTo seize and sowl his neighbour's hog,Claps him o' th' back until he tears offThe ugly grunting pilf'rer's ears off,Boiling with rage, because the bruteReturns so oft to spoil his fruit:Thus Hector bawls, nor that alone,But is the first to lead 'em on:On the deep file with might doth pour,Like a black heavy city-shower,Which clears the streets, and into shopsDrives painted whores and brainless fops,With fury from the pantiles rolls,Drenches the signs and barbers' poles,Washes each dirty stinking street,And for an hour the town is sweet.O Churchill's Muse! for once assist,Whilst humbly I draw out a listOf those that fell by Hector's cudgel,When Jove, who now and then doth judge ill,Without regard to Whig or Tory,Bestow'd on him a day of glory.To 'scape him there appear'd but small hopes —He smash'd Assæus first, then Dolops;Assæus was a great book-binder,And Dolops was a razor-grinder.Just there the noted woollen-draper,Autonous, began to vapour,But Hector quickly made him caper.He next began to grapple withOpites, a great silver-smith;On his bread-basket such a thumpHe lent him, down he tumbled plump.Then flat as e'er you saw a flounderHe quickly fell'd the great bell-founderHipponous – down he fell,His noddle sounded like a bell.Ophelthius next, a pastry-cook,That made good pigeon-pie of rook,Cut venison from Yorkshire hogs,And made rare mutton-pies of dogs,From Hector's crab-tree stick of sticksGot a reward for all rogue's tricksis hard-bak'd head was finely whack'd,The skin all bruis'd, and crust all crack'd.Orus, who kept a noted innFull on the road from York to Lynn,A chatt'ring whelp, just like an ape,Got in a most confounded scrape;As Hector rapp'd the saucy dog's head,It sounded like an empty hogshead.Esymmus, a ship-biscuit baker,Got pelted by this noddle-breaker —His skull, as Hector's stick did whisk it,Rattled just like a hard ship-biscuit.Last, the rope-maker, Agelau,By a great knock upon his jaw,Was sent to see his friends below;The Trojan's broomstick, unresisted,His slender thread of life untwisted.These, you must note, were no riff-raff,But officers upon the staff:As for your common country cousins,He knock'd them down by pecks and dozens,And, with a flourish of his stick,Laid 'em all on their backs as quickAs gamblers thump their box and dice,Or nitty taylors crack their lice.Have you not seen a sort of twirlwind,Which country people call a whirlwind,Whip up a haycock from the ground,And twist it round, and round, and round,Whilst with their peepers fix'd in air,And gaping mouths, the bumkins stare?Thus Hector whipp'd about, and soonKick'd up their heels, or knock'd 'em down.And now had Greece been overturn'd,And all their keels and scullers burn'd;But sly Ulysses ran with speedTo call his neighbour Diomede:Diom. says he, why, what the pox,We'd better both be set i' th' stocksThan stand and stare whilst Hector keepsSmoking the Grecians upon heaps.Let's meet this fav'rite of the gods:Were two to one, and that's brave odds.Says Diomede, You know, Ulysses,I'll fight with any man: but this isAnother case; I've suffer'd evilsFor boxing both with gods and devils;Jove helps this Hector from above,And souse me if I'll box with Jove!What boots it now, my friend, to stand,If Jove won't lend a helping hand?'Tis striving without spades to dig,And whistling to a stone-dead pig.Then as he spoke he gave a sigh,And whiz he let his broomstick fly;It hit a purse-proud fellow's crown,A Wapping lawyer of renown,Thymbræus call'd, and fetch'd him down.Ulysses then, that cunning tartar,Up with his club, and fell'd the carter.When they had done this job of jobs,They durst not stay to pick their fobs,Hector was then so near them, theyThought it was best to pop away.Thus thieves, that wait the time to nickWhen they can best your pockets pick,Lurch till some bustle is begun,Then run and thieve, and thieve and run.Merops' two sons, a hopeful pair,Were seated in a one-horse chair:Their father carried once a packOf caps and stockings on his back —An honest plodding Highland wight,And therefore born with second-sight:From fighting he had warn'd the lads,But younkers seldom mind their dads;In spite of him these younkers friskyWent out and hir'd a timmy whisky;To his advice they paid no heed,But drove to meet this Diomede,Who, maugre all that they could do,Drubb'd 'em, and pick'd their pockets too.Ulysses smash'd Hypirochus,And the rich Jew Hippodamus,And made him rue he e'er did sallyFrom that great den of thieves, the Alley,Where had he staid, he might have bitA thousand honest people yet.But Satan always doth forecastTo lead rogues into scrapes at last.Whilst things went on at six and seven,Jove smok'd a serious pipe in heaven,And let old Gox's scales hang even;Nor did he seem a whit to care,But let 'em scratch, fight dog fight bear.On this the great Tydides strains out,And knocks Agastrophus's brains out,Who, busy fighting all the while,Had left his cart above a mile;But when the honest Trojan sawThis bully Greek, he fled. Yet thoughHe ran as if the devil split him,This blackguard rascal's broomstick hit him:Upon his wooden noddle falling,It broke his skull, and laid him sprawling.Great Hector saw this fearful rout,For he was looking sharp about:As he mov'd on he loud did bawl,And with him brought the devil and all,A gang of downright Teagues, all rare men,With bludgeons arm'd like Brentford chairmen.Brave Diomede himself, who neverWas us'd to fear, now felt his liver,Spite of his mighty courage, start,And give a knock against his heart:When thus he speaks – Ulysses, mind,A plaguy storm before the windComes rolling on, and I conjectureIt can be nought but bully Hector,Who throws about his pots and kettles,As if his bum was stung with nettles:Let us resolve in this here placeTo meet the rascal's ugly face.Just as he spoke, to keep his fame up,He flung his stick as Hector came up,Which lent the Trojan's leather capA most confounded banging rap,Bruis'd it, and sliding up, did lopA tarnish'd tassel from the top:But by the care of sage ApolloIt happen'd no great harm did follow;Though 'twas so sound a knock it stunn'd himSo much, that Hector rather shunn'd him,Mounted his cart, and whipp'd aboutTo try his luck another route.Tydides shouts Huzza! huzza!The hect'ring Hector's run away!Well doth Apollo pay that thiefFor all his knuckle-bones of beef;If any witch would help a bit,By G-d, I'd swinge that rascal yet!But since he stoutly runs away for't,I'll make his ragged scoundrels pay for't.Then, though Agastrophus was dead,He lent him t'other knock o' th' head,To keep his hand in: now and then,Like Falstaff, he could kill dead men.Paris, the keeper of the fair,Whose piece of brittle china wareHad caus'd this rout, that wenching knave,Was peeping from the well-known graveOf Ilus, an old brown-bread baker,Who being what we call a quaker,I' th' open fields his friends did leave him,Because church-yards would not receive him —Hearing this bully, what doth heBut whips behind a hollow tree,And just as Diom. down did squatTo steal Agastrophus's hat.Twang-dang he let his arrow go off,And almost knock'd the bully's' toe off.The rogue behind the hollow treeLaugh'd till he split his sides, to seeThe bully Grecian's odd grimaces,He made such cursed ugly faces;Then from his ambush leaping out,Diom., says he, you seem to pout,As if you'd got the pox or gout:I've hit, I find, the gouty part,But wish Id reach'd your pluck or heart;Then would our Trojan bloods be freeFrom dread of thy damn'd face and theeWho tremble at thy phiz, and runFaster than Paddy from a dun.Diom. was marching off, but stopping,Replies, Ho! ho! Miss Frizzle Topping!I thought, when pop-gun arrows flewIt could be none but such as you;Rogues that will boldly face a pox,But dare as well be hang'd as box.What signifies thy slender touch?Our cook-maid Doll could do as much,Or more; her nails will reach the marrowAs soon again as thy poor arrow.But this good broomstaff ne'er flies waste,As I one day will let thee taste;Some Trojan gets, whene'er it goes,A broken pate or bloody nose:Whilst all their doxies, when they hearMy name, begin to scold and swear,Because I'm sure where'er I comeTo send their husbands limping home.Whilst thus he prates, Ulysses, whoWas much concern'd for his great toe,Pulls out the dart, and then doth pour inWhat offer'd first, and that was urine;Then laid his patient in a cart,And bid 'em drive him pretty smart.Now, when this bully-back was gone,Ulysses found himself alone:Whilst he was busy with the toe,He never thought how things might go;But when the Trojans up did walk,He with himself began some talk:I shall be smash'd if here I stay,And yet I dare not run away;For then they will not let me eat,And I shall starve without my meat,And soon be nought but skin and bone,Like long sir Thomas R – n.Why should I longer then stand scrubbing?Starving is ten times worse than drubbing,Whilst he was weighing thus the matter,He heard the Trojan broomsticks clatter;Before this talk was done they found him,And quickly made a circle round him,Though his hard knocks did make 'em ownThey'd better let his pate alone.In Piccadilly thus I've seenA drunken ragged scolding queanBy a large circle of the boysPursued with dirt, and mud, and noise:Whilst she stands still, and only scolds,Each hardy boy his station holds;But when or here or there she reels,The younkers nimbly trust their heels.Just such another matter this isBetwixt the Trojans and Ulysses;His cudgel first he level'd atAnd laid the bold Deiopis flat,A taller fellow and a fatterYou never saw, except the hatter.Next Ennomus, and Thoon too,Dealers in stone and powder blue,Felt what this sturdy Greek could do.Chersidamas, a noted brewer,Who in his time had poison'd fewerThan any of the brewing trade,Next on the clay-cold ground was laid;Across the guts Ulysses wip'd him,And brew'd him up a stroke that grip'd him.Charops, the son of old Hippases,Who sold Scotch snuff and farthing lacesUnder St. Dunstan's church, was nigh:At him Ulysses soon let fly:The broomstick quickly did his job,And rung against his hollow nob.Soccus, his bro. a noted tanner,And bailiff to the lord o' th' manor,Was nigh, and saw this lurching whelpSlinging his stick – so ran to helpHis brother: but he found him tumbled;At which be sure his gizzard grumbled.Curse your sly pate, says he, Ulysses!You lousy lurching scoundrel, this isOne of your old damn'd roguish tricks,This laming folks by flinging sticks:But you shall fairly knock me down,Or rot me but I'll crack your crown!This said, his crabtree stick he longRattled about his ears ding-dong:But the sly Grecian's nob, so thick,Bid bold defiance to his stick;On which the Trojan chang'd his stroke,And with a Highland flourish brokeTwo of his ribs – when Pallas putHer hand between, and say'd his gut.Ulysses, though with pain it fill'd him,Was pretty sure he had not kill'd him;So drawing back a step or two,Soccus, says he, I think 'tis nowMy turn to have a knock at you;And for the stroke you've been so civilTo give, I'll send you to the devil.Whilst he was laying forth the case,He grinn'd with such an ugly face,That Soccus really thought the elfHad been sir Beelzebub himself;Which scar'd him so, he durst not stay,But whipp'd about and ran away.The flying broomstick reach'd his back,And fell'd him down with such a whackAgainst a stone, it cut his hat,And beat his long sharp nose quite flat.Then, as upon the ground they lay,Ulysses thus was heard to say:My Trojan friends, lie you two thereTill Christmas next, for aught I care;Your mam. will hardly hither pop,Nor can your daddy leave his shopTo come your funeral to graceWith sable cloak, and crying face,But leaves that task to coffin-makers,Or rueful long-phizz'd undertakers.Now, when I die, I know our vicarWill make 'em bind my grave with wicker,Where all my friends, if right I think,Will drink and sob, and sob and drink.Whilst he was jabb'ring in this strain,His bruise began to give him pain;Then lifting up his dirty shirt,He found he'd got a plaguy hurt,And, the misfortune still to crown,The Trojans saw his blood run down;Which made 'em press so close, the whelpRan stoutly now, and roar'd for help.Thrice did Atrides hear him furtherThan fifty furlongs roar out Murder!On which the Spartan bully criedTo Ajax, who was at his side,I'm sure that something much amiss is,For murder! murder! roars Ulysses;So wide his mouth would hardly gapeWere he not in some cursed scrape;To bring him off we both must run,Else, by my soul, we're all undone!For though he's strong, yet FerdinandoCan do no more than one man can do;And if of him we are bereft,There is but one good counsel left.Though counsellors are understoodTo do more harm, thrice told, than good,Yet here the rule don't fully hold,For he can box as well as scold:But the damn'd knaves in Wranglers'-HallAre good for nothing but to bawl;And when you kick 'em for their jaw,They take the kicks, and take the law.Then where the roaring came from theyWith hasty strides direct their way;'Twas lucky they so soon did stickle,For he was in a grievous pickle;The smell was potent where he stood —'Tis an ill wind blows no man good;For by its help they nos'd him out,Though compass'd by his foes about.As younkers at a country school,When they've a heap of apples stole,One youth, that he may fair divide.Across the apples stands astride,When lo the master, dreadful case!Pops in his unexpected face;At his approach they scour away,And leave the undivided prey;The pedant then asserts his claim,And bears the apples to his dame:Thus Ajax made 'em all run fasterThan the boys scamper'd from their master;For when the late-exulting foeHis huge enormous broomstick saw,Who should get first away they strove,And ran as if the devil drove.On this great Menelaus pisses,Then went to help his friend Ulysses,And part by strength, and part by art,Got him shov'd up into a cart;Whilst Ajax with his stick pursu'dThe flying, frighten'd, routed crowd,Paid 'em about, but first begunWith Doryclus, old Priam's son,A youth that often walk'd the ParkTo pick up wenches in the dark.Pandocus next he struck hap-hazard,And laid his stick across his mazzard.With so much force, it made his mouth ache,And gave him a d – d fit o' th' tooth-ache.The pimp at Haddock's bagnio,Pyrasas, felt the next great blow;Ajax a swingeing broomstick threw,That bruis'd his rump all black and blue,Which paid the rascal well for pimping,And sent him to his brothel limping.Lysander next, an Irish broker,A mettled fellow and a joker,Met with this clumsy Grecian cock,And got a most infernal knock,Made him so sick, he fell to bokeing,And for a twelvemonth spoil'd his joking.Palertes last, a freeborn Troyman,A noted jeweller and toyman,Got tumbled down, whilst all his toysMade a confounded clatt'ring noise.Thus, when you 'gin to smell a stink,You pump away to clear the sink,A deluge issues through the grates,And drives down rotten shrimps and sprats,Tumbles the garbage o'er and o'er,Till it has reach'd the common shore:Just so before him as he rumbledBoth carts, and men, and horses tumbled.Hector was to the left a mile,Pelting the Grecians all the while,Kicking the ragged sons of bitchesBy dozens into muddy ditches:There Nestor and the Cretan stood,And stopp'd his kicking all they could:But, spite of them, this furious loonKick'd the poor rogues like nine-pins down.Paris, who rode Atrides' boot in,Was practising the art of shooting,That he might make his aim more certainThan Wilkes himself, or even Martin,Took opportunity i' th' nickTo lend the Grecian quack a prick:The arrow made his shoulder smack,And the Greeks trembled for their quack.The Cretan then to Nestor spoke:Come here, old weather-beaten rock,I've better business far for youThan aught you can by boxing do;Go take your higler's cart, and lay onThe wounded doctor, Don Machaon,And drive him off; if he is lost,We all may feel it to our cost:You know it well, nor you alone,He cures more kinds of wounds than one;And but for his great skill, you knowYou had been rotten long ago.Nestor obeys, and sans delayConvey'd the wounded quack away.And with an almost fire-new thongDusted his raw-bon'd tits along;And as his geldings lamely tripp'd,He whipp'd and cough'd, and cough'd and whipp'd.Now Hector's carter, who could seeAbove as far again as he,Looking the Trojan files along,Soon saw where things were going wrong;Whilst here we fight genteel and civil,Quoth he, there's Ajax plays the devil;Mind how the bully swears and curses,And oversets both carts and horses;I know the whelp by one sure sign,His fist's as big as three of mine.Then let's be jogging to assistOur friends to 'scape his mutton fist,Else, by our mighty Trojan founders!He'll lay 'em all as flat as flounders.He said no more, but quickly gotHis geldings smack'd into a trot;O'er legs and arms he drove so smart,He sprink'd the foot-board of the cart,And daub'd it rarely with the stainsOf blood and mud, and guts and brains,Which fill'd the axle-tree so full,The horses had a far worse pullThan if they'd lugg'd a brewer's dray,Or country waggon full of hay.The Grecians thought by standing closeTo keep him out: but such a doseWith his oak stick the Trojan gave 'em,They trusted to their heels to save 'em;Whilst he their sides so nimbly switch'd,They thought the fellow was bewitch'd.Then from his cart he ply'd 'em thick,With first a broomstick, then a brick,And fell'd 'em down with just such knocksAs bumkins lend their Shrovetide cocks,Flinging his sticks at such a rate,He always broke a leg or pate.By such hard knocks as these he madeThe Greeks so horribly afraid,That they employ'd their utmost might inRunning away, instead of fighting;And Ajax felt such queerish twitches,His courage jump'd into his breeches:He therefore found; when folks begun for't,His own thick legs dispos'd to run for't;But taking care that none should sayGreat Ajax ran, he walk'd away,And, lest they should his rear attack,He kept a constant peeping back.Thus on an evening have I seen,With pious face on Bethnal-Green,An inspir'd cobbler mount a tub,And preach to ev'ry ragged scrub:Though dirt and rotten eggs flew round,Yet inspiration kept his ground,Nor, till he'd preach'd his sermon out,Would stir a step, and then did do'tWith as much gravity as ifTo be inspir'd was to be stiff.Thus heavy Ajax bore the cuffingsOf all the Trojan raggamuffins,And walk'd as slow as if he'd beenThe preaching cobbler of the Green:In Spanish strides his knees he bent,And grumbled all the way he went.Thus have I seen a sand-cart assDevour a farmers clover-grass:The farmer, with his wife and man,To drive him out do all they can;But though they pour a heavy tideOf rattling hedgestakes on his side,The beast, as patient as he's dull,Eats till he crams his belly full,And then, insensible of pain,Deliberately walks off again.Whilst Ajax strutted off demurely,The Trojans bang'd his potlid purely;Sometimes he turn'd about to swearHe'd break their bones if they came near;Then march'd away, but, as he trod,Threaten'd them with an angry nod;Whilst they, to keep up this queer battle,With brickbats made his potlid rattle.Euripylus, who saw them skelp him,Resolv'd at any rate to help him,And did his knotty broomstaff lay onThe Trojan hosier, Apisaon,Whose nob he lent a knock that broke it,At which he ran to pick his pocket.Paris was ever on the watchThese low pick-pocket rogues to catch;He hated all such dirty jobs,As stealing hats, and picking fobs:Not but the dog himself, 'twas said,Would oft pick up – a maiden-head,But then he thought no sin lay there,Because 'twas perishable ware;In other things he was in truthA very good church-going youth,Of th' catechize could read some part,And say the whole Lord's prayer by heart —He saw this pilf'ring Grecian loutTurn Apisaon's pockets out;On which he let an arrow fly,That tore his breeks, and cut his thigh,Made the rogue sweat and grin with pain.And sent him hobbling back again.But yet before he stirr'd one bit,He made a speech; and this is it:O Greeks, I fear your courage fails ye,In God's name, what the devil ails ye?I've left poor Ajax in a sweat;And if you do not quickly getTo his assistance, I'll be shotBut his hard nob must go to pot!The Trojans do so sorely pelt,That if his potlid and his beltDid not secure his rump so gummy,His buttocks must be thrash'd to mummy:And if you could but see 'em now,I'll answer for't they're black and blue!For God's sake, neighbours, run and help him,You'd wonder how the rascals skelp him.Whilst he was speaking, from the routAbout a dozen fellows stoutTook heart of grace, and ventured out;Some held their leathern potlids o'er him,And others clapp'd their staves before him.Whilst thus their fainting friend they shroud,Ajax struts up and joins the crowd;Then on a sudden, growing stout,He puff'd his cheeks, and fac'd about.Thus things went on, and all the whileNestor had jerk'd his tits a mile,And with a wondrous deal of floggingMade a hard shift to keep them jogging;Smoking with sweat, amidst the throng,They lugg'd the wounded quack along.Just then Achilles, as 'tis said,Was sitting at the main-mast head,From whence he saw the Greeks all spent,And cudgel'd to their hearts' content;With joy he saw the Trojans lay onThe bones of all, except Machaon.As for the doctor, 'cause that heOnce cur'd him of a gonorrhæ,Besides a hoarseness and a pthisic,And charg'd but eighteen-pence for physic,He therefore felt a little touchOf pity, though it was not much;When casting down his eyes below,Patroclus working hard he sawMending an old blue rusty jacketSo torn he'd much ado to tack it;On which he to his chum belowRoars out, Halloo, my buff, halloo!Patroclus then began to lugFrom his left jaw a fine large plug,Then clear'd his throat, and spit and cough'd,And halloo'd out, Who calls aloft?Stop, avast30 heaving; is it you?What have you got for me to do?Whate'er you want by sea or land,Keel-haul me but I'll lend a hand!Achilles thus: Through various rubsWe two have long been loving scrubs!With joy my very heart doth tickleTo find the Greeks in such a pickle!Though their chub-headed chief did flout me,I knew they could not do without me;Soon they'll be here with sobs and moans,And down upon their marrow-bones.But I want you, my chum, to goTo Nestor's oyster-boat, to knowWhat made him flog his founder'd cattleIn such a splutter from the battle,And if he did not lug some cockWhose pate or ribs had got a knock.I fear it is our trusty quack;But I could only see his back,Nor for my blood and guts could IA corner of his face espy,(Though I with all my eyes did look)The horses did so puff and smoke.Patroclus then shook off his fleas,And button'd both his breeches-knees,Fetch'd his best hat, and then did scour —But in a sad unlucky hour,In a curs'd minute was he sent,For Hector made him soon repent.Howe'er that be, through all the throngOf boats and huts he popp'd along,And soon the queer old Grecian met,Just lighted in a reeking sweat.Eurymedon with care and artUnloos'd his horses from the cart;Nestor, who was confounded hotWith flogging, had a dishclout got,Which serv'd to wipe his greasy face:And ere he put it in its place,Close by the wounded quack he stood,And wip'd away both sweat and blood;Then gap'd awhile to catch a breezeWas coming fresh from off the seas;But staid not long before they wentTo seek for shelter in the tent.Nestor then order'd Hecomede,A red-hair'd wench of royal breed(Which Greece to give th' old cock agreed,To keep of girls his slender stock up,And use when he could wind his clock up),Without delay to fetch a cup,And make a cooling mixture up.But first this handmaid held it meetBefore they drank to make 'em eat,So spread a table with blue feetMade of good fir, which he had boughtIn Broker's-alley for a groat;Whereon she plac'd a spanking dish,Then fill'd it full, but not with fish;Of better stuff she pour'd a flood in,And that was smoking hasty-pudding;With this she mix'd, for this old coney-Catcher, an honest pint of honey,Then rubb'd a salted garlic headUpon a mouldy crust of bread,This done, a bowl that formerlyBelong'd the taylors' company,And giv'n th'old Greek for his advice'Bout cabbage, cucumbers, and lice,Matters of great concern and weightTo this large body corporateOf cross-legg'd thieves, who earn their breadBy buckram, staytapes, silk, and thread;To make it fine the taylors' beadlesHad stuck it full of ends of needles.Now you must know this bowl of woodUpon a pair of cross-legs stood;About a dozen wooden pegsFasten'd this pair of bandy legs;Four handles did the sides adorn,Two made of wood and two of horn;(Two out of four of horn were made,To show the fate of half the trade);O' th' top of each of which a pairOf heads resembling snipes did stare,With beaks so sharp, in many a caseOf bodkins they supply'd the place.Three quarts it held, and yet when fullCould this old soaker at a pullDrink it half off and never sob;But few with him could bear a bob.This bowl the nymph of high degree,As handsome as a cook should be,Fill'd with the drink of which I boasted,Rare Yorkshire ale with apples roasted.This for the quack did she prepare;But Nestor got the better share;'Twould do you good to see the pullTh' old soaker took of this lamb's-wool31;And all his life he did forecast,To get the first tip and the last.Their thirst being partly quench'd, they chatterOf this and that, and t'other matter;And though Patroclus now drew near,They made such din they could not hearNor see him, till he did presentHis proper self before the tent.Nestor then starting makes a stir,And cries, Your humble servant, sir!I'm mighty glad to see you here,Please to walk in and take a chair.Patroclus thus: I cannot sit,But with your leave will stand a bit;For I have heard my granny say,That whilst you stand, you do not stay.Achilles saw your cart go past,And therefore sent me out post hasteTo learn what Grecian your old cattleWere lugging from the field of battle;But to my grief I plainly view,Old friend Machaon, it was you.I know, although I am no wizard,Achilles will be vex'd to th' gizzard,To find your nags came puffing withOur bold and learned p – smith:This news however I will carryWith speed, so ask me not to tarry.I'll tell him what I see and hearBut if I stay, you know he'll swear.Nestor replies: I fear AchillesIn a d – d sulky humour still is:But if he really asks about us,And did not send you here to flout us,I'll tell you all, for this misfortuneIs nought to what's behind the curtain.This learned skilful doctor's notThe only hero that has gotA broken shin or kick o' th' a – :But many a fierce-look'd son of MarsAs bold as major Sturgeon's fledTo cure a broken shin or head.Nay several bruisers, men of note,Have got their teeth knock'd down their throat;Ulysses has got such a strokeThat naif his ribs are almost broke,And some damn'd heavy-footed foeHas trod upon poor Diom.'s toe;Besides, the blood by gallons flowsFrom great Eurypylus's nose.But whether we are drubb'd or not,Achilles doth not mind a jot;Nay, should the Trojans burn our fleet,I reckon he'll be glad to see't:Greek after Greek gets rapp'd o' th' knuckles,Whilst he sits still and grins and chuckles.The devil fetch old Time, I say,For stealing all my strength away!O that I was but half as strongAs when I drove the world along!From Elis fetch'd a roaring bull,And crack'd their general's thick skull:Then drove th' Epeans all like thunder,And got the Lord knows what of plunder;Their herds of sheep when we did meet 'em,We very seldom fail'd to eat 'em;Then stole their breeding mares, all bigWith foal, and many a goat and pig.These things I did when but a boy,And made my daddy jump for joy.Elis, thus basted, hung their ears,And grumbling paid their old arrears;And Pylian knights, so special poorThey turn'd a farthing three times o'erBefore it went, now found their breeches'Pockets too shallow for their riches.When Elis first came out to dare us,They thought they easily could scare us,Because one Hercules, a bully,Had almost done our business fully:Twelve lads my father got, and heDemolish'd ev'ry soul but me.Howe'er, we ventur'd out to kick 'em,Resolv'd to lose our lives, or lick 'em;Which, 'faith! we did, and made 'em gladTo give to my old crusty dadThree dozen ewes – they ow'd him thatFor cheating him o' th' gold-lac'd hatWhich he had won at May-day fairBy proving the best cudgel-player;Both his lac'd hat and cudgel tooThe constable detain'd, but nowWe made the rogues severely rue.What more we got, myself dealt outAmongst our jolly boys so stout.But in three days they came again,Both horses, carts, and drunken men.Old Actor's sons, two bullying roysters,Whose mother sells fine Welflit oystersUnder a bulk in Drury-lane —These bastards led this drunken train.Thryoessa, a pretty village,Not fam'd, as you may think, for tillage,Because upon a rock it lay,Was the last place we had that way;That little town, if you'll inquire,Ended the bound of Pylos' shire:'Twas there the rascals came to see us,And cross'd a dyke they call Alpheus;But Pallas came one foggy night,Turn out, says she, my boys, and fight.On which with speed we left our rock,And march'd to give the dogs a knock.I first got ready; but my dad,Afraid lest they should hurt his lad,Lock'd up my boots and jacket too,And d – d his eyes if I should go!But wilful I resolv'd to do't,So tramp'd it all the way on foot.By Minyas stream we push'd the bowl,Whilst we look'd o'er the muster-roll;And long before the day begunAll got their buff-skin doublets on,Except myself, for I had none:And all our bucks were cloth'd so bare,Not one had got a coat to spareThen trudg'd it to the very borderOf Alpheus' stream, in train-band order.Quickly, to set all right above,We cook'd a dinner up for Jove,Of something very good and hot,Though what it was I've quite forgot:Minerva had a dinner too,The udder of a rare old cow:Alpheus came a meal to seek,For him we stew'd a fine bull's cheek.Neptune, we knew, was stall'd with fish,We therefore cook'd him up a dishOf lean bull-beef with cabbage fried,And a full pot of beer beside:Bubble, they call this dish, and squeak;Our taylors dine on't thrice a week.By th' water-side the men all kept,And in their buff-skin doublets slept,All but poor me; but here I hadBorrow'd an itchy lousy plaidOf a Scotch loon, from whom I boughtA rare good neckcloth for a groat —Those plaids are special things to watch in,They keep a man so warm with scratching.Th' Epeans, with their loins all boundIn carriers' belts, our town surround.Soon as the red-fac'd fiery SunHad curl'd his whiskers, and begunTo look about him, we to battleMarch'd out, and made their noddles rattle.And now I box'd it in my waistcoat,Better than some that had a lac'd coat:King Augeas' son I tumbled down,And with a thumping knock o' th' crown,Gave a confounded broken headTo this great spouse of Agamede,A girl so skilful, that she knew,Amongst all kind of herbs that grew,None made such bitter drink as rue.I seiz'd his cart when he was down,And swore I'd keep it for my own.My men huzza'd as I led on,And made the drunken scoundrels run,Just like a whirlwind which in townDrives butchers'-stalls and green-shops down.I smok'd the rogues, my cudgel maul'd 'em,And my sharp-pointed broomshaft gall'd em;Full fifty carts that day I took —'Tis true, my friends! for all you lookAs much surpris'd as if that I,Like statesmen, had a mind to tryTo hum you with a thund'ring lie.Now you must know each cart I gotContained two bully-backs of note —None of your wishy-washy sparks,Attorneys' hacks and lawyers' clerks;But farmers' sons, rare strong-back'd youths,With mutton-fists and flounder-mouths:But when we came to a dispute,I kick'd the wide-mouth'd scoundrels outTwo in each cart, you say? Why thenYou must have kick'd a hundred menOut of their carts that day – 'Tis true, sir,I've men alive will vouch it now, sir!And Actor's sons, I would, as surelyAs you stand there, have drubb'd 'em purely;But Neptune saw the whole, and tried.With all his speed to take their side,Because the mother of those roystersWas a good customer for oysters.To save their bacon, what doth heBut pops a cloud 'twixt them and me,So thick, one mouthful did, I'm sure,Make me stand coughing half an hour!And there you might have seen me stuck up,Boaking as if I'd bring my pluck up:And would have given any moneyFor Doctor Hill's balsamic honey.But still I drove the rest in flocksAs far as the Olinian rocks:Then, where Aliseum's waters drop,Pallas call'd out, Plague on you! stop.When you begin to kick and cuff,You know not when you've done enough.Yet even there I came i' th' nickTo lend the last a hearty kick:Smite both my eyes! I scorn to puff,But here 'twas I that work'd their buff!On my strong toe this fray depended,Nestor began, and Nestor ended.Our parsons then, to crown this job,Order'd long prayers to hum the mobAt Pyle; where the folks, d'ye see,Thank'd Madam Pallas first, then me.Thus, when a cub, my blood took fire,And made me box it for my shire:The passion of this chum of yoursHas kick'd his reason out of doors;When they have sent us to the devil,Who values then his being civil,Unless the bully will agreeTo hang himself for company?The day I ever shall remember,I think 'twas some time in December,And blow'd a mack'rel gale, when weTo muster soldiers put to sea;I and Ulysses landed whereHis father kept the Old Black Bear;We found him with his handmaid Nelly,Preparing timber for the belly.A bull upon a spit he puts,And gave to whoring Jove the guts.Thy good old dad and thee were turningThe spit, to keep the fineat from burningAchilles help'd to bear a bob,For troth it was a warmish job;He was the first of all to 'spy us,And made a leg as he came nigh us,Told us, if we would pick a bit,He'd cut a slice from off the spit.We neither of us were so niceAs stay to be entreated twice:After twelve pots were fairly outWe mentioned what we came about.Strong beer will oft make men, you know,As loving as a Trinculo;'Twas so with you two bucks, you kiss'd us,And swore by Jove you would assist us:Your dads spoke words worth tons of gold;Old Peleus said, My son, be bold!I've heard a fellow talk an hourIn Stephen's chapel, yet I'm sure,Nay, on occasion I would swear it,He did not say so much, or near it.Your father's speech was rather longer;Quoth he, Though Peleus' son be stronger,And for his mother had a witch,Yet when upon too high a pitchHe raves and swears, mind you and cool him,And then you easily may rule him.Thus spake your dad; but you, I find,Have quite forgot, or else don't mind:Though, if you will but try, you may(A will can always find a way)Persuade him to assist us now,I know he'll do a deal for you:But if some fortune-telling witch,Some long-chinn'd, long-nos'd, ugly bitchOf Mother Shipton's breed, has madeHis mighty heart and pluck afraid,Tell him, Troy's rogues will change their note,If he'll but lend you his great coat.Put on his bear-skin coat, and meet 'em,If they don't run, by G – I'll eat 'em;Back to their village will they scamper,Nor longer thus our Grecians hamper;Each man his own dear self will mind most,And bid the devil take the hindmost.At hearing of this doleful ditty,The bold Thessalian, touch'd with pity,Like a lamp-lighter, o'er the plainRan back with all his might and main.It happen'd, as he cross'd a placeWhere Cox, a justice of the peace,Was sending little whores to jailFor want of pence as well as bail,Just where Ulysses' cock-boats lay,From whence, a very little way,Their jolly parsons us'd to pray,Eurypylus he chanc'd to 'spy,As the great chief came hopping by,With a sad prick upon his thigh,Which gave the Greek such grievous pain,It made him sweat and smoke again:But I would have understood,Though he look'd blue, his heart was good.Patroclus could not help from crying,To see him limp along; when, sighing,He thus begins: Now, by my soul,You've got into a damn'd bad hole!In an ill day ye sure set out,To get so drubb'd and kick'd about.But say, my friend, how matters stand;Doth Hector hold his heavy hand,Or still bestir his wooden sabre,And all your backs and sides belabour?The chief replies, and faintly reels,This day shall Greece kick up her heels;Greece, like Britannia, ends her glories,And loyal whigs give way to tories;The hearts of oak that led us on,All black and blue on board are gone,Where Hector in the shape of Ch-t-amSwears by his crutches he'll be at 'emRather than disoblige L – d B – ,He took an oath last night he'd do't,In spite of conscience, pox, or gout.But I could wish that you, my friend,At this sore pinch a hand would lendTo find the point of this curs'd arrow!But borrow first the butcher's barrow,And wheel me to my lodgings, whereI've got all sorts of quack'ry gear,And ev'ry kind of ointment whichAre good for scabs, or burns, or itch —You best know what, because they sayYou serv'd three years to Surgeon Gray,And then thought fit to run away.Surgeons of note we have but two,And one is boxing hard just now;The other, by the Trojan rout,Has almost got his eyes knock'd out.Patroclus thus replies: My friend,God knows where this strange work will end,For ev'ry drunken rogue can splutter ill'Bout Wilkes and Glynn, and Bute and Luttrell.I brought a message to our grandsire,And was returning with his answerTo great Achilles; but althoughHe's an impatient whelp, you know,Before I'll leave you in the mud,I'll let him swear till swearing's good.Then, though it made his sinews crack,He took the bully on his back.His handmaid 'spied him from the boats,Riding just like a sack of oats:Guessing he'd got a broken head,Or some d – d kick o' th' guts, she spreadAn old cow's hide upon his bed.Patroclus then, with very narrowInspection, found the point o' th' arrow,Which he pull'd out as soon as found,And, making water in the wound,Wrapp'd an old clout, a little greasy,About the thigh, and left him easy.[1]