A Burlesque Translation of Homer
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THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD
ARGUMENT
Pallas, who on the Grecian side is,Supports the courage of Tydides,And quickly made the varlet sound,By bathing well an ugly woundWith salt and water, which betwixtHer legs she carried, ready mixt:With the same stuff she wash'd one eyeSo clear, that he the gods could spy.But hark, says she, a word between usPray make a thrust at none but Venus;I'll give you leave her buff to enter,But don't on any others venture:Nor shall you that sly gipsey nick,With any weapon but your – stick.Two Trojans now come on with speed,To box this bully Diomed.The first is quickly tumbled down,And t'other would have follow'd soon,But Venus coming in the nickHer bastard sav'd, but got a prickIn her soft hand, which made her roar;She ne'er felt such a prick before.Apollo runs to help her out,And lugs Æneas from the rout.Mars, finding all the Trojans slack,Claps bully Hector on the back.Æneas, cur'd, returns to battle,And makes the Grecian doublets rattle,Whilst great Sarpedon in this fussKills the foul'd-mouth'd Tlepolemus:Pallas and Juno come from heav'n,And find affairs at six and seven:Diom. they send 'gainst Bully Mars;He wounds his godship in the arse,Who made more noise by far with roaring,Than the whole bench of judges snoring.HOMER'S ILIAD
BOOK VAnd now this scratching kicking jade,By poets call'd the martial maid,Finding the fray would soon begin,Brought Diomed a dram of ginFrom her own case of heavenly liquor,Which made his spirits flow much quicker,And swell'd his courage up so highThat all his comrades standing bySeem'd each no bigger than a rat,And he a swingeing tabby cat.That he might see the foe to handle,She in his beaver stuck a candle;Which made him cut a dreadful figure,And look at least twelve inches bigger:Against his sandy pate this lightShin'd with a flame so fierce and bright,That by the people it was saidThe dog-star was not half so red.But the true case is this: the punkHad made the bullying scoundrel drunk,Which fill'd the knave so full of ire,His sandy pate seem'd all on fire:Thus, with a face as red as scarlet,Upon the foe she drove the varlet.Two sons of Dares, hopeful lads,Both fav'rites of their good old dad's,An honest soul that lov'd a full can,And was high-priest to limping Vulcan,The god of those ill-looking fellowsThat ply the forge, and blow the bellows;A swarthy, sweaty race of men,Call'd blacksmiths now, as well as then.In Vulcan's church the good old wightSmok'd a dry pipe from morn to night:But as the boys had got no voiceFor singing psalms, he gave 'em choice,Whether they'd go to th' wars a-fighting,Or stay at home and mind their writing.The first they chose, and now for fameResolv'd at Tyd. to take their aim;When Phegeus, as their cart drew nigh;That instant let his broomstick fly;But by good luck it only tipp'dThe shoulder's point, and off it slipp'dWithout much harm. Tydides nowA swingeing knotty broomshaft threw,Which gave his stomach such a thump,As fell'd the lad upon his rump.Ideus then was glad to run,And leave, i' th' lurch his mother's son;Though, had not limping vulcan takenSome pains to save the stripling's bacon,His running could not, I assure ye,Have say'd him from the Grecian's fury(For Tyd. could run, in time of need,What jockeys call a hellish speed);But he so safe the younker putWithin a cloud as black as soot,The Greek might, ere he found his prize out,Have star'd a dozen pair of eyes out.Resolv'd no longer then to blunder,He seiz'd the cart for lawful plunder;And, all recov'ry to prevent,Dispatch'd the booty to his tent.The Trojans in a dreadful fright,Finding that one was vanish'd quite,Swore that the dog had beat one brother,And for his breakfast eat the other.Meanwhile Minerva, never sickOf playing Troy some slipp'ry trick(For by the sequel you will findParis was ever in her mind);Although she was of wisdom goddess,Yet, what to me most strange and odd is,To be the wisest would not do,But she must be the prettiest too:This claim the sex assert, and stillWisdom gives way to woman's will.Her head was now of crotchets full,How to hum Mars's leaden skull.Quoth she, and grasp'd his clumsy fist,Certain to lead him where she list:O thou that sett'st the world by th' ears,And bring'st them into quaking fears,Let all these hangdogs fight it out,And Jove decide the end o' th' rout!Let us march off, for if we stayHe swears he'll drive us both away;And you well know in what queer fashionHe uses people in his passion:And 'faith 'twould be a queerish jest,For us two mongrels to contestWith him, who, at a single kick,Can send all heaven to Old Nick.These words took down the cut-throat's mettle,And made his boiling gizzard settle.On this they jointly ply'd their shanks,And quickly reach'd the river's banks;Where down they sat, to hear the moansOf batter'd skulls and broken bones.Meantime the furious Grecians followThe Trojans with a whoop and halloo,Who having lost their bully, Mars,Got ev'ry man a kick o' th' arse:Nay, Fame, who all men's business knew,Says, ev'ry Grecian drubb'd his two.First, Odius tumbled in the dirt;He blam'd that rogue Atrides for't:In his old cart he thought to fly,But the bluff Greek was got too nigh;His knotty broomstick reach'd his back,And lent him such a thund'ring thwackAs made him with a vengeance feel,And fell'd him headlong o'er the wheel.Phestus, old farmer Borus' son,Saw it was time for him to run,But thought it the most prudent partTo carry off his horse and cart;So strove to mount, when in the nickIdomeneus sent his stick;With such a rattle did it come,It brought him squash upon his bum.Scamandrius then, a huntsman goodAs ever drove through plain or wood,Next tumbled down: Diana taughtThis swain how snipes and hares are caught;How, in a scarcity of cats,To clear folks' barns from mice and rats,By setting traps, and that way rout 'em;Or with a cross-bow he could shoot 'em;Yet at this crisis all his artDoth not avail a single f – t;The cuckold12 fetch'd him such a stroke,As half his ribs and back-bone broke.Down came Pilgarlick with a bang,And loud his copper pot-lid rang.Then Pherocles, a good mechanic,Seiz'd with a Preston-pan-ish panic,Ran stoutly; which Merion eyeing,With his rough broomstick shot him flying.For building huts, and boats, and lighters,The de'il a loon among these fightersCould be compar'd to Pherocles:He beat a thousand such as these.The boat he built, each plank and piece,That carried Paris o'er to Greece;But little thought that he was doingA job that ended in his ruin.The broomshaft bruis'd his hip or thigh,No matter which to you or I.Antenor's by-blow next succeeds,And by a mighty mopstick bleeds:Though strange, Antenor's wife, 'tis known,Nurs'd this young bastard like her own.'Twas labour lost, for Meges soonWith an old mopstick brought him down.Whiz through the air the weapon flew,And hit his jaws with aim so trueIt made him bite his tongue in two.Hypenor, who was far too goodTo live among so vile a brood,Was curate to Scamander's flood,Near which his house and garden stood;Where, by the help of gentle show'rs,He rais'd green peas and cauliflow'rs:Euripilus his shoulder struck,And lent him a confounded knock;Which glancing downward bruis'd his hand,And holy blood dropp'd o'er the land.The curate's pray'rs, though very good,Could not prevent his losing blood.Thus each man labour'd in his post;But Diomed still rul'd the roast:Like Jack with lanthern, ev'ry whereHe skipp'd about; now here now there:If they won't fight, their steps he traces,And kicks their bums, or scrats their faces:Thus, when a hasty show'r comes downUpon a sneaking taylor's crown,The stream a mighty world annoys,And swarms of nits and lice destroys;Washes the lousy varlet clean,And nits and lice have bred in vain:Just so this bully Greek, for fun,Kick'd the poor rogues by dozens down.Now Pandarus was stung to th' quickTo see the knave thus bounce and kick;With all his might his bow he bent,And a sharp-pointed arrow sent,Which lent his shoulder such a thump,As made the busy varlet jump;One hair-breadth farther had he shot.The Greek had surely gone to pot:When Pandarus, brimful of joy,Roars out, Look here, ye sons of Troy,And view this mighty Grecian fighter;I've made the dog some ounces lighter:Kill him, if you dare venture near him;But as it is you need not fear him;For what I've done will surely fell him,Or Phœbus lies, and that I'll tell him.The Lycian boasted thus his might:He boasted, but it prov'd a bite:For Diom., when he felt it smart,Popp'd down, and ran behind his cart:Then call'd his coachman, Hark ye, sirrah,Come here, and lug me out this arrow.The coachman twitch'd his thong aboutThe arrow's head, and whipp'd it out;And then the bully on his bareKneppers knelt down, and roar'd a pray'r:O virgin Pallas, wise and bold,With whom no brim dare kick and scold!Of thee the men are so afraid,'Tis ten to one thou'lt die a maid;For who the pox would venture nearA nimble-fisted vixen, where,Instead of kisses, he, perhaps,Might get a dowsing slap o' th' chaps?If ere thou help'd my good old dad,When his affairs were bitter bad,And often favour'd his escapeFrom many a broil and drunken scrape;Pr'ythee bring help, and cure this scratch,And make thy buck an over-matchFor that damn'd scrub, that dares pretendTo wound the blood that you defend.No sooner had he ceas'd to bawl,But Pallas, ready at his call,With warm salt water, full as goodAs Rock's best styptic, stopp'd the blood;But finding that it made him grin,She gave him t'other dram of gin:This swell'd him up to such a pitch,That now he felt his finger itchTo try his luck at cudgel-play,Or quarter-staff, or any way.Be bold, says Pall., where'er thou go'st,And of this dram pray make the most;There's so much virtue in't, that thouBoth gods and mortal scrubs shalt view(For nothing clears the sight from gum,Like a good dram of gin or rum).Shun all their godships if you can,They'll prove too many for mere man;But if you meet the whoring goddess,Ram thy stiff weapon through her boddice;Take care you come not near her thighs,For there a dang'rous mouse-trap lies!Though I am sore afraid you'll miss her,And 'stead of fighting long to kiss her;But if you prove so mighty civil,Myself will send you to the devil.When she appears, don't gaping stand,But use the tool you have in hand;If you grope out for any other,Don't think that I my rage will smother;But will, instead of lending help,Drub you myself, you whoring whelp!Think not I threaten what I won'tPerform; for split me if I don't!Then tuck'd her coats up, and bestrodeHer broomstick, and away she rode.As on a chop, when hunger calls,A needy half-pay ensign falls,If the smug waiter stumbling leavesSome drops of grease upon his sleeves,He swears and raves in direful noteFor spoiling of his scarlet coat;The trembling waiters dare not stay,But nimbly take themselves away,Afraid of drubbing, kicks, or cuffing,And leave the dreadful captain huffing:Just so Tydides fights and blusters,And Trojans run, and fall in clusters:Before, one serv'd his turn; but nowHis mighty fury kicks down two.But how he manag'd it, and whetherHe kick'd with both his legs together,I cannot say; but very soonHe kick'd a brace of Trojans down:The one was called Astynous,An honest cock, and one of us;Hypenor was the other's name,A mighty lover of that same.These left, he took the other kick,And sent two others to Old Nick;Sons of Eurydamas they were,Who was a fortune-teller rare;Whilst men consult for stolen horses,He took good care to steal their purses;Yet could he not by magic readThis blust'ring rogue, this Diomede,Should drub his sons: so this clean birchWas by the devil left i' th' lurch,Who did not give one hint that heThe lads again should never see.Thus swimmingly the knave went on,And kill'd two birds with every stone.Xanthus the next he laid a blow on,And then knock'd down his brother Thoon,The only sons of aged Phænops,Who got much pelf by brown and green hops;But suffering both to list for rangers,His shop and goods now go to strangers.As when a lordly bailiff standsWith dreadful writs in both his hands,Poets by pairs he first falls on,And pulls them from their garrets down;So he two fellows, Priam's sons,Fell'd with one stroke upon their bums.Æneas saw his townsfolk bleed,Or run away from Diomede:Which made him sharply look aboutTo find the brawny Pand'rus out,To whom the canting Trojan cries,I'm glad I've found you, smite my eyes!Those darts of yours, and that long bow,May do a deal of service now:That cursed rogue for God's sake maul,Else he will bruise and lame us all;Some angry god's perhaps come downTo drub the people of our town,Because we could not pay our vows,For want of sheep, and bulls, and cows:If it be so, we'll then entreat him;But if he prove a man, let's beat him.The Lycian thus: If I can see,'Tis Diomede: by Jove, 'tis he!Or else it is some god of noteThat wears that scoundrels greasy coat;If 'tis the man, some damn'd old bitch,A Lancashire or Lapland witch,Preserves the dog, and out of spiteHelps him to bounce, and kick, and fight.I shot a dart, with aim as trueAs in my life I ever drew;It gave his shoulder such a thump,I saw the scurvy rascal jump;But some curst Lapland witch, indeed,Hath stood his friend in time of need,And out of spite, I thank her for't,Has made my arrow's point stop short.Having a little skill, you know,At shooting pigeons with my bow,I thought it best on foot to come,And leave my cart-tits all at home —Not but of carriages I've plenty;I've got the better half of twenty.My good old daddy, for his part,Persuaded me to trust the cart.Says he, If hap your spits don't gore 'em,You'll break their legs by driving o'er 'em:But I, to saving schemes inclin'd,Th' old fellow's counsel did not mind,Turn'd up my nose with scorn, and soResolv'd to trust my faithless bow,Because, my friend, I could not sayIf corn was cheap with you, and hay;Should not your pastures prove extensive,To pay for corn would be expensive;So, like an ass, at Troy you find me,My cart and horses left behind me.With this damn'd bow, a plague confound 'em,I only scratch, but cannot wound 'em;Wounding is not a task so easy,Their buff-coats are so hellish greasy:I could, as sure as I was born,Find in my heart to break the horn!A luckless dog! to touch your shore,And not provide himself good storeOf broomsticks, half a score or more;And a great banging potlid too;I've three at home as good as new.Æneas answers: Fie for shame!Pray don't your bow and arrows blame,They're Phœbus' gift: with these you mayAt distance ducks and wild geese slay;They have their uses, let me tell ye,When timber's wanting for the belly:And now, if we would play the deuce,The cart and horses are for use.Then, pr'ythee, on the box do youNimbly mount up, and drive jehu:These little tits of mine, I'm sure,Can trot eleven miles an hour.Myself will bid the scoundrel stand,And box the rascal hand to hand;Or if you choose that I should flogThe horses, you may box the dog.Pand'rus replies: Without more tattle,Rule you your own celestial cattle;As for my driving, 'tis a jest,You sure must know to guide 'em best;Besides, if hap that you and IShould scamper, you can make 'em fly;With me if resty they should grow,He might demolish us, you know.Do you be coachman then, and IThe mettle of this whelp will try.Thus having stated the account,The cart then instantly they mount;With furious haste they drive the cattle,And, thund'ring, seek the thickest battle.Tydides' 'squire, with half an eye,Quickly perceiv'd 'em drawing nigh;Then cries, Brave Diomede, I seeTwo lusty lubbers aim at thee;One is the son of old Lycaon;T'other, of him that us'd to lay onThe goddess Venus: what's his name? —Anchises. – Right, the very same.Enough in conscience have you done;Whilst we've good start, e'en let us run:Saving your bacon is the wayTo save us all another day.Tydides star'd, and cry'd, What now?Pray what's the matter, friend, with you?When Agamemnon only told you,We durst not fight, I could not hold you;You kick'd, and danc'd, and bounc'd, and swore,And scolded like a butter-whore:I little thought my bold bell-wetherHad since got shod with running leather:Or that he in the least could hopeI'd run away like Johnny Cope.Not I, by Jove! for all their bouncing,I'll give their rogueships such a trouncing,They shall be glad, for all their pother,By leaving one to save the other.I've either got a second sight,Or else a quaker's inward light,Which tells me I shall slap the chapsOf one of these, or both perhaps.If it should happen in the jumble,That both these fighting fellows tumble,As from my soul I wish they may,Mind you remember what I say:My horses to my cart-tail tie;You'll hear my reason by and by;Then in the empty carriage get you,And drive, as if the devil split you,Down to the boats. – Æneas bragsAll Europe cannot match these nags:Jove gave 'em to the duke of Troy,Because he stole his little boy;Childers or Conqueror cannotGallop so fast as they can trot;The swiftest tits of earthly seed,Compar'd with these, are dung-cart breed.Anchises, like a cunning elf,Brought mares to cover for himself;Four in his stalls are feeding nowOn barley-straw, besides these twoThat draw Æneas: could we catch 'em,Not all our Grecian scrubs can match 'em.Whilst thus they talk'd they both came on,And Pandarus the first begunWell met, my buff! but, hit or miss,I'll try again, so take you this:Where my unlucky bow fell short,My stick shall have a trial for't.Then threw his staff; the sudden strokeQuite through and through the potlid broke;But, guided by the goddess Luck,It in his greasy buff belt stuck.I've sous'd him now! the Lycian cries.Not yet, the surly Greek replies:Your stick has bilk'd your fist, so nowI'll let you feel what mine will do:If one or both I do not souse,Minerva's dram's not worth a louse.He said, and, rising on his toes,Lent him a dowse across the nose;Betwixt his eyes the staff drove in,And bruis'd both nose, and mouth, and chin.With such a rattle from the cartHe fell, as made the horses start;Earth groan'd as she receiv'd him tumbling,And the soul left the body grumbling.His staff Æneas durst not send,But kept it safe to guard his friend;Turn'd it each way, and whipp'd about,And kept a dev'lish sharp look-out,For fear the Greeks should steal awayHis greasy jacket as he lay;And did so rave, and curse, and swear,The de'il a Grecian durst go near;When bold Tydides, stooping down,Took up a large Scotch paving-stone —Four modern beaux could hardly liftThis stone, though six might make a shift —Flourish'd it round, away it goesFull at the bullying Trojan's jawsBut though it did not reach so high,With such a fury 'twas let by,It wounded both his hip and thigh;The huckle-bone was sorely smash'd,And head o'er heels the warrior dash'd;His swimming eyes perceiv'd a mist,His swimming thighs were sore bepist.By death he'd sure been overtaken,If Venus had not sav'd his bacon;But, mindful of the many slicesShe got on Ida with Anchises,The many hours of pleasing funShe spent at getting of this son,Resolv'd, at any rate or cost,He should not be so poorly lost.Behind my veil, where none can see us,Thinks she, I'll hide this son Æneas;So whipp'd him up without delay,And trotted with her prize away.Now Sthenelus, the bully's carter,Remember'd what he heard that TartarHis master say, so quickly ty'dHis geldings to his carriage side;Then running to the Trojan tits,Buckled the reins within the bits,Nor did he spare his whip or throatTill he had reach'd his master's boat:To thee, Deipylus, he cries,I give in charge this mighty prize:Then mounts his cart, and takes the routeTo find his master kill-cow out.The bully, when he found his preySome how or other slipp'd away,Says to himself, This Madam VenusHas thrown a queerish cloud between us;And, by my sneezing, sure enough'Tis dust of Scotch or Spanish snuff!Should it be so, though faith it odd isFor mortal man to thump a goddess,Yet since she does me so provoke,I'll try if I can't get a stroke.This said, he nimbly ran aboutTo find this Madam Venus out;Through the thick ranks he boldly ventur'd,And with his tool the goddess enter'd:With such a force he drove it in,It made the light-heel'd gipsy grin:Straight from the place where he did stick herThere came a bright transparent liquor(Not such queer stuff as flows in commonWhen pins are stuck into a woman);Help! murder! murder! Venus cries out,Roaring as if she'd roar her eyes out:The devil take this tearing blade;Zoons, what a gap the dog has made!If Jove protects these sons of bitches,To treat us thus like Lapland witches,He'll first repent, for I know well,Give rogues an inch they'll take an ell:I've try'd 'em oft, and find all yetWill squeeze as far as they can get.But what the most my mind doth ruffle,I've lost my bastard in the scuffle.But Phœbus whipp'd amongst the crowd,And wrapt him snug within a cloud.Tydides then was heard to sayTo Venus, as she ran away:From broils like these you'd best forbear;Pray what the pox should you do here?Go tempt some bawdy judge or warden,Or mind your brims in Covent Garden:Let the home-thrust you got to-dayTeach you from broils to keep away.Whilst thus the Grecian chief did prate,Like drunken whores at Billingsgate,Poor Venus ran through all the crowd,As if by constables pursu'd;When quickly Madam Iris miss'd her,And flew like lightning to assist her.She found her in a bloody sweat,Her smock from top to bottom wet:At first they thought away to fling it,Or, upon second thoughts, to wring it;Because the loss of a good smockWould make a hole in Venus' stock:But had no time for either way,For Venus swore she durst not stay;So with it cleaving round her thighsAway to bully Mars she flies.Behind a sutler's tent they found him,With twenty sutlers' wives around him,Drinking hot pots with might and main,Till all their noddles smok'd again,And made so thick a fog, that sheThe god at first could hardly see.Blubb'ring she tells him she is comeTo beg his car to drive her home;Then shows the place where DiomedeHad push'd it home, and made her bleed.Mars, list'ning, star'd and cock'd his eye,Then answer'd, Madam, zoons, don't cry,You're welcome to my nags and cart;I'll fetch them quickly, damn my heart13Iris, who farts ten thousand colours,Can drive as smooth as Chelsea skullers.They mount; the nimble horses fly,And in a twinkling reach the sky;Where both alight, put up their steeds,Which Iris with new clover feeds;When Venus to her mammy ran,To make complaint about this man:She rais'd her in her arms, quite sick,And ask'd her where she got that prick.No god, quoth she, hath done this hurt,It was a thing made up of dirt;A mortal rogue, call'd Diomede,Has made the queen of beauty bleed;'Gainst Troy they think they've so much odds,They'll fight both them, and all their gods.Dione thus: Have patience, daughter,Fretting will never mend the matter.The gods give plague enough to man,And they return it when they can.E'en bully Mars himself lay boundFor a whole twelvemonth under groundOtus and Epialtus catch'd him,And both together overmatch'd him;And had not Erebœa spy'd him,And told it Hermes, who unty'd him,And slily stole the whelp away,He'd been a pris'ner to this day;Nor could the ranting roaring elf,With all his bullying, help himself.Amphytrion's saucy bastard, you know,Made a strong push at madam Juno,And gave her as much pain, she said,As when she lost her maidenhead.Nor could black Pluto, though a devil,Make bully Hercules be civil:But he, as ancient stories tell,Kick'd this great devil out of hell,Who, finding home was not secureFrom kicks and bruises, ran for cureTo heaven, where Peon rubb'd the chiefWith nothing but a plantain leaf,Which cur'd his batter'd ribs so well,He tripp'd it back quite sound to hell.This Diomede was urg'd by Pallas,Who cares not if he comes to th' gallows;Nor heeds she, be he Jew or TurkThat undertakes her dirty work.This Diomede shall never seeA chatt'ring bastard on his knee,To cry, when he has ceas'd to roam,O, mammy, here's my dad come homeFor yet, I say, this DiomedeBy some strong-fisted god may bleed;Then shall his wife, disturb'd in sleep,Drive all her maids about like sheep,Shall rave, and roam, and rant, and roar,My strong-back'd husband is no more!This said, she squatted on her bum,And wash'd the wounded palm in rum;Then to the sore apply'd anonThe drops of mighty Turlington.Juno and Madam Pallas wereSo pleas'd, they grinn'd from ear to ear;When Pallas, full of fun and glee,Began a speech with he-he-he:Venus, as haps to many a punk,Has been in such a woeful funk,That how this ugly stroke befell herShe hardly knows, so, I must tell her.As she a country wench did teachLast night to scratch where't did not itch,By telling her what fun and joyThe wenches have that live in Troy,The girl's great clumsy girdle-buckleRubb'd all the skin from off her knuckle.Jove laugh'd, and with a merry faceCalls out, Come here, you simple lass;In shoving-matches you may shine,But don't in bruising-matches join;All day let Mars and Pallas fight,You weapons handle best at night.Above stairs whilst they chatted so,Tydides work'd their buffs below.As Venus was too swift to follow,He turn'd about to box Apollo,Hoping, if he could make him stop,He might by chance Æneas drop;Three strokes he at Apollo makes,As oft the god his pot-lid shakes;But when he struck again, the SunWith such a noise a speech begun,The saucy dog was glad to run.You whelp! says he, you know, the oddsBetwixt your logger-heads and godsIs above ninety-nine to one;Then what the pox are you upon?We are immortal, can't see death,Whilst you, like vermin, creep on earth,Till, having made a stinking rout,We clap our foot, and tread you out.Thus spake the god, with fi'ry face;But Tyd. had wisely left the place.He then the Trojan quickly bore,Where two old women rubb'd him o'erWith pilgrim's salve, to cure the sprain,Which set him on his legs again,Strengthen'd each part, and heal'd the wound,And in ten minutes made him sound.Mean time Apollo carv'd a faceOf clouds, to take Æneas' place;The body, head, and arms, and legs,And jerkin, were as like as eggs.This phantom in the battle stood,And fought as if 'twere flesh and blood;But yet the de'il a soul could wound it,Though bloody blows were struck around it.In the mean time, from Troy's high wallsTo blust'ring Mars Apollo calls:Thou son of Jupiter, and his chiefWhen he's a mind to do folks mischief,Rise up! and in thy fury seekTo kill yond' harum scarum Greek.The whelp at Venus push'd, and hit herWith a tool large enough to split her;But she, in dangers ever calm,Receiv'd it in her sweaty palm,Stopp'd his long staff in mid career,And made it spend its venom there.When his design on Venus mist,At me the rascal clench'd his fist,Nor do I make the least dispute,He'll box thy father Jove to-boot.Away the battle-monger jogs,Resolv'd to pelt these saucy dogs;But ere the god began to bluster,He thought it best all hands to muster;Those scatter'd rogues that ran awayHe soon brought back, and made 'em stay:Then slipping on bold Ac'ma's coat,He thus began to tune his throat:O Trojans, valiant sons of Priam!May I be shot to death if I am.Not quite asham'd to see all handsRunning away like stout train-bands!Our rogues don't make the least resistance,Yet we don't stir to give assistance;My patience is quite gone to see us:Consider but how bold Æneas,Though stout as Hector ev'ry bit,Is sore bep – t, if not bes – t!Thus, like an Indian priest, to th' topO' th' house he blew their courage up.Sarpedon felt the first great puff,And thus began to bounce and snuff:Hector, says he, I've heard you crackYou would these Grecians' jackets thwack,Without the help of any othersExcept your bastard-getting brothers;But now I see, upon a pinch,The stoutest of you all can flinch;Can gaping stand, or run away,And leave to Hessian troops the fray:It matters not a pinch of snuffTo me, my farm lies far enoughFrom these damn'd plund'ring rogues in buff.I've plenty there of hay and corn,And a fine child as e'er was born;Besides, as notable a wifeAs any man can for his lifeWish to be plagu'd with: yet I cheerMy merry men to fight your war,And, like a busy jackanapes,Bustle to help you out of scrapes;Though I have little cause to fret,From me a sous they cannot get.But Hector idle stands, nor caresHow it with other people fares.The bold at thy command, old boy,Will box their very best for Troy:Pr'ythee look sharp, and tell us howTo bring ourselves well off just now;Advance you bucks, should Greece attack you,Depend we'll follow close and back you.Hector made faces at this dose;The Lycian rubb'd him up too close;Yet coolly took it in good part,And nimbly leap'd from off his cart;In either hand a staff did shake,That made the boldest Grecian quake;Then turn'd his tatter'd rogues from flight,And led them on again to fight:They turn, look fierce, and scorn to flinch;Nor will the Grecians budge an inch.As in a barn the chaff doth rise,And fly about the thrasher's eyes,His well-worn doublet covers quite,And changes greasy brown to white;Or as a cockney who attendsHis girl to see her country friends —The youth, to show how well he rides,Canters along the post-chaise' sides,Through clouds of dust so thick, that heHis palfrey's ears can hardly see;And ere he rides a mile, none knowsThe colour of his face or clothes:Just so appear'd the Grecian forces,Cover'd with dust by carts and horses.Mars in the middle of 'em stood,With a huge pot-lid daub'd in blood;And highly pleas'd he is to followThe task assign'd him by Apollo.Soon as Minerva went awayTo drink her tea, and left the fray,Mars nick'd the time when she was gone,To lead the fainting Trojans on;And then produc'd Æneas toHis joyful friends in status quo,Attended by a dozen fellowsThat look'd as if they'd 'scap'd the gallowsWhat way he came they little care;'Twas joy enough to find him there.Fierce Discord now began to grumble;Apollo made a fearful rumble;Fame roar'd with all her hundred tongues;Mars almost tore his brazen lungs:In short, so well they play'd the deuce,The Grecians thought all hell broke loose.Tydides with great Ajax stood,Ulysses too, all daub'd with blood,So firm, you'd think, besides the head,Their bodies too were wood or lead.The Grecians clos'd their files, and thenExpect the foe, like Englishmen.No word was heard through all the host,They look as made of stone or post.Thus, on a sultry summer's day,When all the winds have ceas'd to play,A cloud of smoke obscures the topOf neighbour Drinkall's blacksmith's shop.And now great Agamemnon's shanksKept trotting up and down the ranks,Setting his knaves in proper rows,And turning out their sweaty toes:Then to his fainting crew begunTo speak as thus: If once ye run,By Jove, you'll all be piss'd upon!Some people think they're mighty cunning,If they can save themselves by running;But let me tell you, this good day,The man's undone that runs away.No more he jabber'd, but on highIn air he let his trapstick fly.The broomshaft happ'd to light uponA hearty cock, nam'd Deicoon,Æneas' friend, belov'd by allThe race of Priam, great and small,Long had he fought in foremost ranks,And oft receiv'd the Speaker's thanks;His potlid, though exceeding tough,To ward the blow's not strong enough,The targe is bruis'd, the belt is cut,And lent him a damn'd knock o' th' gut.The stroke dispatch'd the loon to hell,And his teeth chatter'd as he fell.Æneas straight lugs out his stick,And ply'd his strokes so very thick,That two bold Grecian bloods, as soonAs you'd count five, he tumbled down;Their pedigrees if you will trace,You'll find but few of higher race:These sparks, demolish'd by Æneas,Were great great grandsons of Alpheus,A good old fisherman, that neverWas tir'd with fishing in the river;But did so close to business keep,Amongst the sedges he would sleep.They came to help the cuckold GreekHis cuckold-making wife to seek;Just like two mastiff puppies, whichHad stray'd too early from the bitch,Ventur'd, before their teeth were grown,To fight, so both got tumbled down.Great Menelaus fit to cry,Full tilt does at Æneas fly.Mars jogg'd him on to make his stand,And feel the Trojan's heavy hand.This Nestor's chatt'ring bastard 'spies,And quick t' his assistance flies;Thinks he, if this rum spouse of NellyShould get a knock across the belly,By all this trouble we shall gainTo know, our labour is in vain.The heroes now had met each other,And shak'd their nobs at one another;When fierce Antilochus was seenTo throw his potlid in between.The Trojan swore it was not fairOne man should, box with such a pairOf ill-look'd whelps, so turn'd aboutTo find a better bargain out,And left the two poor souls; he'd beaten,On the green grass to bleach and sweeten.There was a man well cloth'd in buff,That led the Paphlagonians tough.Atrides took the proper season,Behind his back to cut his weasand:His 'squire had turn'd his nags to run,When in came chatt'ring Nestor's son,And threw a thumping cobble stone,Which hit his arm, and broke the bone.'Twas follow'd by a knock o' the crown;He drops the reins, and tumbles down.His skull-cap plough'd the sand, and thereHis nob stuck fast, his legs in airWere kicking flies, but very soonSome hackney-Coadies ran him down:The younker then, without delay.Whips up, and drives his cart away.All this was seen by valiant Hector,The Trojans' hope and great protector,Who thund'ring did the battle enter;His soldiers follow at a venture.The boldest Greeks he valued not,Since he'd such rare companions got.Bellona fierce, and Mars so grum,Attended closely at his bum.Tydides quickly smelt a rat;His valiant heart went pit-a-pat.As when a simple country put,To see his grannum walks on foot,If running brook comes cross his nose,And with a mighty bustle flows,Amaz'd the gaping bumpkin stops,Turns on his heels, and home he pops:Poor Diom. was as much amaz'd,And gaz'd and gap'd, and gap'd and gaz'd;At last, though woefully afraid,He found his tongue, and thus he said:Smite me, but I've been wond'ring whatCould make my heart go pit-a-pat;But now 'tis out, for bully MarsI see is hard at Hector's a – e:Therefore, my boys, since that the case is,Fall back, but show the whelp your faces.We'll fight with men, and give them odds,But devils cannot fight with gods.As they walk'd off, bold Hector soonCame up, and knock'd two fellows down,Full captains both, and hearts of oak,Yet both their pates stern Hector broke;Together in one c'rt they tumbled,And from it both together tumbled.This heavy Ajax chanc'd to see,Which turn'd his lead to mercury,And, being a revengeful dog(Though mostly heavy as a log),A mopstick with such force he threw,As bruis'd the breast, and belly too,Of Amphius, who once as happyIn flocks and herds, and good brown nappy;Yet bravely led his jolly menTo Troy, but ne'er went back again.As he fell squash upon his bum,His potlid made a mighty hum.Ajax sprung forward, for he thoughtTo get possession of his coat;But to come at it was the matter,Broomsticks about his ears so clatter;Yet did he venture one bold clickFor the recov'ry of his stick.More he durst not, the foe came on;He struts away, but scorns to run.Whilst thus they tugg'd, a man there came,Tlepolemus I think his name,Driving his fiery tits full speed on.To get a knock at bold Sarpedon:He was the son of Hercules,Who did a huge great lion seize,Pull'd his great beard from off his chin,And from his body stripp'd his skin,Then with an iron skewer did tack itAbout his shoulders for a jacket;This bully's son, before a strokeWas struck, to bold Sarpedon spoke:Halloo! you, Mr. Lycian pleader,Pray how the pox 'came you a leader?Your business is, if I judge right,To puzzle causes, not to fight;Such pretty fellows much I loveTo call themselves the sons of Jove.Pray, Sir, what task was ever set you,To prove some tailor did not get you?The de'il a thing have you e'er doneTo prove yourself the Thund'rer's son:Nought but a cross-legg'd cabbage-eaterCould ever get so poor a creature.My dad in broils would never flinch:We know Jove got him ev'ry inch.He once destroy'd this mighty town,Like Vernon, with six ships alone;And these strong walls that look so taking,Are built on rubbish of his making.But who are you, good Mr. Nokes,That gape as if you'd swallow folks,And, whilst thy raggamuffins tumble,Dare not so much as seem to grumble?No longer shalt thou stinking stand,But feel the weight of my right hand.Whilst thus he like a blackguard spoke,Silence the Lycian gently broke:Your dad, you saucy whelp, 'tis true,Was worth three dozen such as you.These walls he justly tumbled down,Because that rogue LaomedonHad promis'd him a string of horses,Instead of which he gave him curses;Like an old scoundrel vilely us'd him,And, just as you do me, abus'd him:You should have been my noisy spark,A cobler, or a parish-clerk.My name, your family may spread it;In drubbing you there's little credit:But yet, although it hurts my pride,I'll condescend to trim your hide.Just at that instant, both on highTheir broomsticks rais'd, and both let fly:Well aim'd were both: Sarpedon's hit,And his thick brawny neck did split;Made near his throat a hole so big,It bled as if you'd stuck a pig;Nor did the other broomstick flyIn vain, it bruis'd Sarpedon's thigh;And had not Jupiter, to save him,Swore that the devil should not have himThat bout, I'll venture to be shotIf then he had not gone to pot:But in a hurry, from the fray,His comrades bore him far away,Though, as they lugg'd him through the throng,They let him drag the stick along;Whether through haste or fear 'twas done,Remains a secret yet unknown.Tlepolemus, who came to scoff,His friends the Grecians lugg'd him off.Then sly Ulysses angry grew:Shall I, says he, Jove's son pursue;Or shall I smash this Lycian crew?Great Jove and fate forbade the first,But gave him leave to do his worstAmongst the raggamuffins, whoSoon found he was but word and blow;For Cromeus he, and bold Alaster,Knock'd with his broomstick down much fasterThan boys tip nine-pins; Halius, too,He in his wrath beat black and blue;Prytenis' shoulders next he rubb'd,And then the brave Alcander drubb'd;Noemen last of all fell down;And more had been demolish'd soon,But Hector saw, and ran so fast,He tumbled o'er his head for haste;So eagerly his fury bore him,He drove them all like sheep before him.Sarpedon, glad to find him near him,Egg'd that a word or two he'd hear him:Don't suffer any Grecian varletTo steal my best new coat of scarlet;Pray do not let the rogues so serve me,But from the plund'ring dogs preserve me.If here I should depart this life,And no more see my loving wife,Yet in our village let me lie,My death will make th' whole parish cry.With real grief they'll wring their hand,As England did for Cumberland.Hector for answer nothing spoke:But rush'd among the Greeks like smoke:His weapon in their blood he steeps,And drives the scoundrels upon heaps.Sarpedon now, behind a stackOf hay, was laid upon his back.Lieutenant Polagon was nigh,Who pluck'd the broomstick from his thigh.The soul was flying once away,But thought 'twas better much to stay:For honest Boreas, in a breeze,Whipp'd up his nose and gave him ease.The Greeks drew back afraid of Mars,Yet not one Greek would show his a – e:No soldier would expose his back,Though Hector sev'ral sculls did crack.When young, I've heard my granny say.That ev'ry dog must have his day;And now 'twas Hector's turn to gall 'em,And with a vengeance did he maul 'em.Mars help'd to cut the matter short,And knock'd the rascals down for sport.First Teuthras fell, who made good cider;Orestes next, a fam'd rough-rider.Then Trechus, with the rest, was humbled,And Œnomaüs headlong tumbled.Oresbius, though he wore a mitre,Was fool enough to turn a fighter(But, be it spoken to their praise,The priests are wiser now-a-days).If now-a-days a priest you findIn broils, some wench is in the wind:Much better care our parsons takeThan ever fight for fighting sake.In Yorkshire his preferments lay;The farmers rich that heard him pray.Had he been reading th' ev'ning lecture,He'd never been dispatch'd by Hector;But, since he would this trade pursue,E'en as he bak'd well let him brew.Juno, a scold past heaven's' matching,For ever spent her time in watching;Spies what confounded work was made.And thus address'd the fighting jade:Shall all we've done be thus abolish'd,And Greece by yon' vile rogues demolish'd?You and myself have pass'd our word(Which they must think not worth a t – d),That Troy's old walls shall very soonBe by the Grecians tumbled down.Pray how can this be brought about,If gods for Troy thus fight it out?That loggerheaded Mars I spy:What think you now if we should tryTo make the scurvy rascal run?No sooner was it said than done.They call'd a coach, when out of handA coach was brought at their command.Hebe, before they mount the car,The axle greas'd with oil and tar.This she perform'd at their desire,Lest they should set the coach on fire;For, as they were in devilish haste,They knew they should drive hellish fast,On time I should too much encroach,To tell the beauties of this coach:Let it suffice to say, the makerExceeded any in Long-Acre;A better coach was never seenExcepting one: – God save the queen!Juno turns ostler in her fury,And joins the horses in a hurry.Pallas then quickly doffs her clothes,Which on the chamber floor she throws;As modern sluts, worse taught than fed,Do nightly when they go to bed.To make her look more like a Broughton,She whipp'd her father's old buff coat on;Then ty'd about his great black targeA band of eels, some small some large,To lead mankind into mistakes,And make 'em think her eels were snakes.Then in the centre did she placeA most confounded ugly face;But neither Heidegger's nor Nash's,For theirs were red, this pale as ashes.Jove's skull-cap, so bedeck'd with feather,Twelve judges' wigs put all together,Compar'd to it, would sure enoughSeem but a mod'rate barber's puff,She put upon her busy nob;And, that she might complete the job,In her right hand she pois'd a stick,Long as the may-pole and as thick.The whip-thong cracks, away they goAcross the clouds je-up je-o.The Hours took each their turn to wait,And shut or ope the turnpike-gate;But such a noise made these two elvesThe gates flew open of themselves.Upwards the foaming steeds they stretch,And soon the mount Olympus reach,Where Jove, t' enjoy the breezes cool,Was set upon a three-legg'd stool.Juno now pulls, and swears, and curses,But yet could hardly stop the horses;Then, as she always us'd to do,Falls at him like a vixen shrew:To see that Mars rebel, I wonderYou can't find bus'ness for your thunder:But here you sit and crack your jokes,To see him smash such heaps of folks.Look down but where yon' Greeks are laid,You'll see what work the dog has made.E'en Venus and Apollo, you know,Are making faces now at Juno.But as to that thick-headed hang-dog,Venus's bully-back and bang-dog,That Mars, who makes such woeful rout,And kicks the Grecians so about,Only give Pallas leave to douse him,And ravish me if she don't souse him,Teach him forbidden ground to roam,And make him glad to scamper home!Jove answers (pleas'd so soon to part)Go drub his hide with all my heart;Pallas the best can tell you how,The wench has pelted him ere now.Their car they mounted in a trice,Nor staid they to be bidden twice.Down the new turnpike road they trot,As swift as balls from cannon shot;Though part o' th' turnpike was so steepsThe horses did not trot, but leap,And at each single bound they tookThey leap'd as far as you can look.On earth they fix their nimble feetWhere Simois and Scamander meet.When Juno made a sort of dew,From which ambrosial clover grew;For heav'nly high-bred steeds, alasWould snuff their nose at common grass;For common grass had one great fault,'Twas fresh, and Juno's grass was salt.Then through the air they trudg'd on foot,And quickly found that station outWhere Hector with his wooden sabreDid all the Grecian bones belabour.A heap of ill-look'd fellows stoodRound Diomede, all daub'd with blood:Whether like lions in your eye,Or bears, they seem'd, don't signify.Juno was always pretty loud,But most when got into a crowd;And, though she had the best of tongues,She borrow'd Peter Stentor's lungs.This Stentor was a common crier,And could, or Mrs. Fame's a liar,With downright bawling make more dinThan any fifty common men.O scoundrel Greeks! a coward race!In whom of man no mark we trace,Except a damn'd red nose and face!When great Achilles led ye all,The Trojans fought behind their wall;But now they kick you where they please,And soon will kick you o'er the seas.As pepper warms your water-gruel,This added to their rage fresh fuel.In the mean time upon the groundWas Diomede by Pallas found;Of a bad thing he made the best,And by himself his scratch he drest,Wash'd all the dust and sweat clean out,And wrapp'd it in a greasy clout;Though nought he said, it gave such painAs made him grin and sweat again.Whilst thus the loon his scratch was cleaning,Pallas was on his cart-tail leaning;When thus the jade began the farce:Thou Tydeus' bastard! thou mine a – !Thy father, though his limbs were short all,Was a bold-hearted fighting mortal,Us'd to drive forward like a devil;Myself could hardly make him civil.To Thebes I sent the hungry thief,And there he ate up all their beef;Without companion did he ventureAt dinner-time their town to enter;Drank for his own share half a barrelOf ale, and then began to quarrel;Abus'd 'em all for sons of whores,And kick'd the scoundrels out of doors.Thee too I've taken greater care ofThan yet perhaps thou art aware of;But am afraid the goddess Fear,Has drove my fighting champion here.Madam, says he, I always knewMy obligations great to you;But I must tell you, you disgrace me;Fear dares as well be damn'd as face me.I think you said there would be oddsAgainst me, if I fought with gods:I might, you thought, on Venus venture;I did, but far I could not enter,Though 'faith a willing stroke I lent her;But in her hand, if I must tell ye,She caught my tool, and say'd her belly:And now 'tis only to obeyYour orders, that I keep away:For Mars you'll see, if you'll but look,Kicking the Greeks about like smoke.Pallas replies, Do you but mindMy good advice, and you shall findThis blust ring whelp, with all his crewOf bullying scrubs, sha'nt conquer you;But with your broomstaff, when you meet him,Across the scoundrel's gizzard greet him:A turncoat rogue, that ne'er abidesThree days before he changes sides,And, without either rhyme or reason,Helps people, in or out of season!This said, she in an instant knocksThe harmless driver off his box,Who star'd and gap'd to think that he,Had lost his place so suddenly;Not that he car'd a sixpence for't,But thought the warning mighty short:Then mounting up with nimble feet,Clapp'd her hard bum upon his seat;But with her heavy buttocks sheHad like to've broke the axle-tree.Howe'er, to that she gave small heed,But drove her nags at Mars full speed:Though, lest her nob should get a rap,She slipp'd on Pluto's wishing-cap:This cap, whene'er a head was in it,Became invisible that minute.Just then had Mars, his strength to try,Knock'd down a trooper six feet high;His name, if I mistake not, wasOr Periphus, or Periphas.The bully left him where he fell,And flew at Diomede pell-mell.Though he look'd grim as grim may be,The Grecian look'd as grim as he.Now Mars, because a god, you know,Expected he should have th' first blow;So threw his staff; but Pall, did guideThe steeds so well, it flew quite wide.Then Diomede let fly his stick,Which gave the bully's guts a prick;For instantly the hang-dog feltThe point come through his greasy belt.The Greek and Trojan hosts togetherCouldn't make such noise as this bell-wetherRoaring: he in a stinking mistScamper'd away to heav'n bepist;Where at Jove's feet this bullying hulksSat almost half an hour i' th' sulks,Then sobb'd as if his heart would break,And blubb'ring made a shift to speak:I always thought that your commissionWas given you upon conditionThat you took care to keep folks quiet,And rather quell than raise a riot;But you so far your orders slight,With gods you let yon' rascals fight;For let me tell you, Mr. Justice,I'll take my oath that all this dust isOf your own raising: if your daughterHad had some better manners taught her,And her hard bum well jerk'd with rods,She'd never thus play'd tricks with gods.Instead of this, you overlook her,And hap will swear that I mistook her.'Tis plain, – so partial you are grown,The jade's a bastard of your own;She now has got a Grecian cully,One Diomede, a thick-skull'd bully,And him this wheedling cunning puss.Has hearten'd up to fight with us.At Venus first he made a stand,And whipp'd his tool into her hand.Me next the whore's-bird drove away,So thump'd and bruis'd I durst not stay,Lest, if I dropp'd into a swoon,These wicked whelps should keep me down,And, treading on my back and belly,Work all my ribs and guts to jelly.Jove, vex'd to th' heart before he spoke,Thus answer'd, with an angry look:Has bully Mars forgot his ranting,And ta'en up Whitfield's trade of canting?Dost thou, on whom stern mischief waits,Complain of blows and broken pates;And 'cause so often thou hast got free,Expect for ever to come scot-free?Thou bullying rogue, of all our crewI hate thee most, by God I do!From morn to night thou'rt never quiet,Unless when kicking up a riot;I do not know of such anotherIn all the world, except thy mother;And was her sex but chang'd to ours,She'd kick the devil out of doors:But since she says thou art my son,I'll try for once what can be done;Else would I set thee in the stocks,Or chain thy guts to burning rocks;Make thee with wicked Titans roar,A thousand thousand years and more:Then pointing to his man, cries, Stir, John,And ply your heels to fetch a surgeon.Peon soon came. Says he, My cully,Pray do your best to cure this bully.A plague upon his broils and rapes,They always bring him into scrapes.The surgeon, though it hardly bled,Look'd mighty grave, and shook his head,But fearing it would close of course,Before he'd time to make it worse,Whips out his block-tin box, and, fasterThan cits eat custard, spread a plaster,With which, in less than half an hour,He made a safe and perfect cure;But then observe that flesh of godsHeals quicker far than ours by odds.Next, by the help of wooden squirtHis hands and face he cleans'd from dirt;Then set him on a cushion down,Where Hebe brought a Scotch-plaid gown,Which having girt with leathern strap,He next put on a large fur cap.Thus dress'd, or in my word no trust is,The god of battle look'd the justice.And why he may'nt, when battles cease,Be made a justice of the peace,I cannot see – On recollection,His want of brains is no objection;No other qualities they need,But just to write their names and read:The trade is learnt in half an hour,To spare the rich and flog the poor.Juno and Pallas, having doneThe bus'ness they came down upon,And bully Mars from battle driven,Mount up to drink their tea in heaven.