A Burlesque Translation of Homer
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THE EIGHTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD
ARGUMENT
Jove calls his under-strappers round him,And in a dev'lish rage they found him.Says he, I bade ye hither come,To charge ye all to stay at home;Go play at put, or loo, or brag,But don't a single finger wagTo help yond' rascals that are fratching,And, monkey-like, each other scratching.Whoe'er offends, observe me well,I'll broil the scoundrel's ears in hell.Yet did that scratching, kicking brim,The jade Minerva, wheedle him,In spite of this hot blust'ring fit,To let her help the Greeks a bitWith good advice, lest they should fallTo running off for good and all.No sooner had the mortal varletsBegun to squabble 'bout their harlots,Bumping each others' guts and sides,When Jove away to Ida rides:There borrowing C – x the grocer's scales,He weighs: – the Trojan luck prevails:On which, with thunder, hail, and rain,He smok'd the Grecians off the plain.Old Nestor only chose to stay,Because he could not run away;But Diomede soon brought him help,And sav'd this queer old chatt'ring whelp.Then Juno, ever restless, seeksTo make old Neptune help her Greeks:Neptune, who knew the wheedling witch,Answers her bluntly, No, you bitch!Teucer comes next, his art to show;He shot a special good long bow:But Hector stops the knave's career,And sent him with a flea in's ear.Pallas and Juno steal awayTo help the Grecians in the fray:But quickly Iris made 'em packTo heaven in a hurry back.Now whilst they sweat, the goddess NightJump'd up to part the bloody fight,Although, ere she could part 'em all,The Greeks were drove behind their wall.The Trojans burn good fires all night,For fear the Grecians in their frightShould think it proper, ere 'twas day,To launch their boats and run away.HOMER'S ILIAD
BOOK VIIIAurora was the skies adorning,Or, in plain English, it was morning,When crusty Jove, who never tarriedLong in his bed, for he was married,Call'd all his counsellors of stateSome weighty matters to debate;And whilst he to the supple gang,Like Harry19, made a short harangue,They ey'd him all with fearful look,And their teeth chatter'd as he spoke.Ye sniv'ling rogues with hanging looks,Ye cringing barons, earls, and dukes,Good heed to what I utter take ye,Or, by the living G-d, I'll make ye:Don't think, ye whelps, that ye shall findMe fool enough to change my mindFor aught that you, or you, or you,Or any whore or rogue can do.Therefore, if any meddling knaveAttempts a single soul to save,Or lends his help to either side,Flux me if I don't tan his hide!He shall receive from some strong tarThree dozen at the capstan bar;Or, in my furious wrath, pell-mell,I'll kick the scoundrel down to hell;To red-hot brazen doors I'll hook him,And like a rat with brimstone smoke him.Join all together, if ye will,And try your utmost strength and skill;As easily I can ye souseAs nitty tailors crack a louse.But if you choose with me to cope,I'll let you down this good new rope;Hang at one end both great and small,And add to that Westminster-Hall,Judges and lawyers all together:This hand can lift 'em like a feather;Though in that place I know 'tis saidThere's many a solid heavy head.'Twas thus the moody Thund'rer spokeAnd all the crew like aspin shook.Yet, for all this, that cunning jade,His bastard by a chamber-maid(Although, to hum his wife, he saidShe jump'd one morning from his head),Maugre his blust'ring and his strutting,Ventur'd a word or two to put in.Says Pallas, I am sure they areConfounded stupid dogs that dareOppose your worship's will; such blocksOught to be flogg'd, or set i' th' stocks;But don't be angry if I stickleTo help the Greeks in this sad pickle.And though you'll lend us some hard knocks,If we on either side should box,Yet let Minerva's counsel, pray,Advise 'em when to run away;Else they may gaze and stare aboutTill they get all their teeth knock'd out.Old Square-toes smil'd, and told the jade,She need not be so much afraid;For though he knew it did her goodTo move and circulate her blood,And therefore now-and-then might stir her,Yet he'd a mighty kindness for her,As ev'ry bastard-getting knaveThat's married, for their bastards have,More than for children got in strifeUpon their lawful scolding wife:Then bid his nags, with hoofs of brass,And sorrel manes, be fetch'd from grass.These tits, one Friday afternoon,Jove purchas'd of a Yorkshire loonIn Smithfield, with great care, and yetGot most abominably bit;Neither of those he laid his hand onHad got a single foot to stand on.When Vulcan saw his dad was bit,He on a rare expedient hit,And a most noble scheme it was,To case their founder'd hoofs in brass:Had he not found this way to do't,Old Rumbler might have walk'd on foot,As he had got no cash to spareTo go and buy another pair.Soon as the geldings did approach,He yok'd 'em to a flaming coach,Which Vulcan made that very year —The first was built for our lord mayor —From which the god took his design,And made it clumsy, strong, and fine.Jove with a hackney-coachman's whipSoon made his batter'd geldings skip:Whilst down the hill like smoke they run,The god had plac'd himself uponA three-legg'd stool they call'd a throne,Nor did his godship stay or stopTill he arriv'd on Ida's top.There he forsook his coach, to trudge itOn foot; but first from out the budgetHe pull'd some hay, with which he feastsHis tits – Good coachmen mind their beasts:Then turning, and about him looking,He saw two priests his dinner cooking;On which, a little time to kill,He sat him down o' th' top o' th hill;But first he fix'd o' th' edge o' th' slopeHooper's reflecting telescope,By which he saw, when pointed down,All their rogue's tricks within the town;And turning it the least aside,Their roguery in the boats espy'd;And found that both in boats and tow'rsThe men were rogues and women whores.And now the Greeks made wond'rous hasteTo get their staves, and break their fast;They thought, to spit their malice fastingWould look like rancour everlasting,So never fail'd before a fight,Of something good to take a bite:A special shift they oft would makeWith two full pounds of Havre-cake;But did not, as our trainbands do,Provide a bit for dinner too;And pocket store of hard-boil'd eggs,With penny rolls and chicken legs.The Trojans too, with nettle-porridge,Had warm'd their stomachs and their courageAnd cautiously great care had takenTo line their guts with eggs and bacon.The gates once open, out they rattle,And men and horses smoke to battle;Spread o'er the plain, and fill the roadsWith fighting fellows by cart-loads:To work they fall like angry bulls,And cudgels clash 'gainst empty skulls;In streams the blood and snivel flowsFrom many a Grecian's snotty nose,And many a trusty Trojan's too;In such great show'rs the broomsticks flew.A woeful lamentation spreads,From batter'd ribs and broken heads;And though this fray began so soon,It lasted all the morn till noon:But when the mid-day sun prevails,Jove borrows Cox20 the grocer's scales;With steady hand th' old whoring boyBalanc'd the fate of Greece and Troy.This day the Grecian fortune fails.Though weigh'd by these impartial scales;Then instantly Jove's thunder roars,And all their ale and porter sours;Idomenæus would not stay,And both Ajaces ran away:Poor Agamemnon, parch'd with thirst,Ran, though he did not run the first;But sure the boldest hearts must sinkWhen they have nothing fit to drink:Old Nestor only chose to stay,Because he could not run away;Paris had with resistless forceHam-string'd his best flea-bitten horse;Old Nestor fumbled at the braces,And cut the ropes that serv'd for traces:This the old Grecian scarce had done,When Hector furiously came on,And ten to one had been so civilAs send his square-toes to the devil;But Diomede, who was no strangerTo Hector, saw th' old fellow's danger;Forward he sprung, and call'd uponUlysses, who like wildfire run:Pr'ythee, Ulysses, don't you flyAmongst that mongrel heartless fry,For fear some Trojan thief should crackYour paper skull behind your back:Nestor's in danger, stop and meet us,Or Hector gives him his quietus.Ulysses, when he heard that NestorWas in a scrape, ran ten times faster;O'er the deep sand flew helter skelter,And leap'd on board his boat for shelter:Nor did the honest statesman grieve,His brother in the lurch to leave;But Diomede, though he was gone,Ventur'd to help th' old cock alone.From off his cart a jump he took,Then stopp'd his horses whilst he spoke:Old Buff, says he, you well may gape,You're got into a cursed scrape.This furious whelp, this Hector, surelyMay smash your rotten bones securely.Thy horses are but slow and poor,Can't trot a mile in half an hour:Then haste, old boy, and mount my cart;I value Hector not a f – t:Do you but guide the horses right,And if it comes to blows I'll fight:Mind but my nags, they'll run, by Mars,As if the de'il was at their a – e:One misty day, when none could see us,We stole these horses from Æneas:Then leave thy shabby tits, don't mind 'em,Some of our straggling crew will find 'em:With these we'll let the Trojan meet us;We can but run, if he should beat us.Old Nestor chuckled at his heart,To find his friend had brought his cart;Quickly, without or stay or stop,He made a shift to tumble up:His own old yawds21, so lank and bare,He left to two skip-kennels' care;And care no doubt the backward waysThey took, as skips do now-a-days.Old Nestor drove, for he was carter,Full speed to meet this Trojan tartar.Tydides aim'd at Hector's crown;It miss'd, but brought his coachman down.Hector no nearer could approach,For want of one to drive his coach;So whipp'd behind, and for a stiverHe quickly hir'd another driver:One Archeptolemus arose,A coachman with a fine red nose;But Hector had no time to stay,So hir'd the rascal for the day.And now this Diomede would soonHave made the conqu'ring Trojans runLike sheep before the Spanish Don22,But Jove again began to growl,And thunder'd from his mustard-bowl23.Lightning so near the Greek did pass,It sing'd his nose, and burnt the grass.The frighten'd nags began to prance,And Nestor dropp'd into a trance,But soon recover'd, and begunTo chatter: Zoons! says he, let's run;To-day the thunder-clap directorSwears he will fight for none but Hector,So let's jog off; perhaps he mayTake Nestor's part another day:But, spite of all our labour, stillYou know he will do what he will.Says Diomede: Old Grizzle-beard,I suck in ev'ry word I've heard.But what the pox will Hector say,If bold Tydides runs away?Rot me! before it shall be saidI ran for't, he shall break my head.Nestor replies: O sad! O sad!The man is surely drunk or mad!Why, what the plague can Hector say?He never made you run away:That whelp is sensible enough,You've dusted many a Trojan's buff;But the most wicked sons of plunderWith lightning dare not fight, nor thunder.He said no more, but crack'd his whip,And gave the Trojan chief the slip:The horses run along the coast,As fast as country priests ride post,When death, assisted by good liquor,Was seiz'd some neighb'ring guzzling vicar:The Trojans shout, as well they might,To see them in such hellish fright:When Hector calls to Diomede,You've special heels in time of need;For this th' Argives will give their chiefFor his own share a rump of beef.Though Hector's self you dare not face,You beat him hollow in the race;I find you are, when blows you're shunnin'The devil of a hand at running.You see to what your bragging comes;You shake our walls! you kiss our bums:Though yet, perhaps, I'll dust your coatBefore you reach your crazy boat.The Grecian bully could not bearSuch cutting kind of jokes to hear.Thrice the bold chief his horses stopp'd,And thrice the bold proposal dropp'd;For Thunder, in the shape of Fear,Whisper'd the warrior in the ear:For what the devil should you stay?I'm sure, if you don't run away,You'll get your hide well drubb'd to-day.This counsel by the chief was taken,Who smok'd alone and say'd his bacon.Great Hector, with no little glee,The lightning saw as well as he,But to his sense each thunder crackFelt like a cheering clap o' th' back.Then to his trusty Trojans spoke:Ye backs of steel, and hearts of oak,Remember what our grandames tell us,That all our dads were clever fellows,And not a man but what would scornTo flinch from duty night and morn;Therefore dismiss all needless fears,Because Jove's rumbling thunder swearsWe now shall lug the Grecians' ears.Advance then quick, we'll surely end 'em;Yon muddy walls shall ne'er defend 'em.Soon as we've drove them down their hatches,Lug out your tinder-box and matches,And strike a light; we first will swinge 'emWith broomstaves, then with links we'll singe 'em.He spoke; and bid his horses goIn words like these, Gee up! gee ho!Ball, Jolly, Driver, hi! gee hi!Old Dobbin, zoons! why don't you fly?Perform your journey well this day,You ne'er shall want both corn and hay.You know my dame, when I return,Is always ready with your corn:You're sure good measure there will be,No cheating ostler keeps the key;Run till I catch that Diom's buff coat,Or Nestor's potlid and his rough coat.Gain me but these before ye tire,And then I'll set their boats on fire.This Juno heard, that scolding witch,And gave her buttocks such a twitch,It shook her three-legg'd milking-stool,Which shook the stars from pole to pole.Neptune! says she, I vow and swearTo me it seems a little queerThat you should see those Grecians beaten,Whose victuals you so oft have eaten,Those Greeks, by whom you're daily fedWith bullock's liver and sheep's head.Both Egœ and Helice tooAn ordinary keep for you,And stuff your guts three times a weekWith fry'd cow-heel and bak'd ox-cheek,At their own proper charge and cost;Yet you sit still and see 'em lost.Would their own gods take heart and stand,With all my soul I'd lend a hand;Nor could that cross-grain'd surly elf,My precious husband, help himself,But, whilst he saw the Trojans tumble,Sit still and hear his own guts grumble.The water God, in great surprise,First shakes his noddle, then replies:I ken your jade's trick mighty well,You'd have me, like yourself, rebel;But I know better: you're his wife,And therefore may rebel for life;Wives for rebellion plead old custom,And they will keep it up, I trust 'em:We're sensible 'tis nothing moreThan what their mothers did before:Content I'll keep the way I'm in,And slumber in a whole calf's skin.And now the mighty mob of Troy,By Hector led, the Greeks annoy:Close by the ditch they threat'ning stand,With flaming hedge-stakes in their hand:Poor Agamemnon, in a fitOf fear, was very nigh besh-t.But Juno help'd him with a touchTo some small courage, though not muchHe ran, and carried in his handThe royal ensign of command;An old red flannel petticoat,That once belong'd a dame of note,But happening in her trade to fail,Atrides bought it at her sale.The back part and the sides, to view,Appear'd almost as good as new;But, notwithstanding all her care,The breadth before was worn thread-bare.Mounted upon Ulysses' boat,He way'd this flaming petticoat,And thus began to tune his throat;But roar'd so loud, and was so scar'd.Both Ajax and Ulysses heard,Though separated by the fleet,'Tis thought, at least, five hundred feet:O, all ye (Grecian paltry dogs!The vessels echo'd back, Damn'd rogues!)Where are your mighty boasts at dinner'Gainst Troy? each single Greek would win her!Whilst your ungodly guts ye fill,You all look fierce as Bobadil:Now, I'm convinc'd each single glutton,If Troy's strong walls were made of mutton,Would eat his way into the town,And quickly pull their houses down;Yet now, though driven on a heap,Dare all as well be d – d as peepAcross the ditch to look at Hector,Who will in less, as I conjecture,Than half an hour quite overturn us,And in our rotten scullers burn us: —O Jupiter! whose strength is mickle,Was ever man in such a pickle?My limbs impair'd with claps and pox,And curs'd with rogues that dare not box;But they, the battle once begun,Don't stoutly fight, but stoutly run;For thee I've broil'd ten thousand cutsOf bullock's hearts and pecks of guts,Then only ask'd a slender boon,Leave to demolish that damn'd town:But since you won't give leave, we prayYou'll let us drub the dogs to-day,Just to get time to run away.Thus roar'd the king, in doleful dumps,Then on the sandy shore he jumps.To hear this melancholy ditty,Jove could not help a little pity;From off his three-legg'd stool he starts up,And sent a sign to cheer their hearts up.Behold, a hungry carrion-crowHad got within his beak, or claw,A frog; but someway out it popp'd,And 'mongst the hungry Grecians dropp'd.To Frenchmen this, instead of beating,Had been a sign of rare good eating;They would have jump'd, if from the bogsThe crows had brought ten thousand frogs;It even rais'd the Grecians' courageMore than a bellyful of porridge;They on a sudden turn about,And strive who first shall sally out.That bullying, noisy, scolding bitch,Call'd Diomede, first leap'd the ditch,And dealt such furious strokes to rout 'em,He made the Trojans look about 'em.The first that ply'd his heels to runWas Agelaüs, Phradmon's son —A noted broker in the Alley —He saw this furious Grecian sally;On which he nimbly limp'd along,As brokers do when things go wrong;But the bold Grecian mark'd him soon,And with a broomstick fetch'd him down(This Diom. had a wondrous knackOf hitting folks behind their back):As down he tumbled in a sweat,His potlid and his noddle met;And made between 'em such a hum,It sounded like a kettle-drum.Now that a passage once was made,The Greeks, though woefully afraid,Seem'd quite asham'd to let that elfTydides box it by himself;On which the Atrides show'd their faces,And after them the fool Ajaces:Meriones was next, and thenAppear'd the bruiser Idomen:Ulysses thrust his long neck out,To peep with caution round about,And saw all safe, so ventur'd out;Which when the archer Teucer saw,He ventur'd to bring out his bow,Then with a gimlet bor'd a holeThrough Ajax' potlid, whence he stoleA peep, to see what kind of sparkStood most convenient for his mark;On which he shot a dart, and plumpBehind the targe again did jump.Thus rats and mice, fry dagger prest,Skip nimbly back into their nest;And honest Ajax lugg'd, in troth;A potlid big enough for both.My dear Miss Muse, pray let us knowWho tumbled first by this long bow.I will, my ragged friend, says she,Because you ask so prettily:Orsilochus, a friend to Venus,First fell, and after him Ormenus.One kept a dram-shop in the Strand;T' other sold clothes at second-handIn Monmouth-street; where if you've been, Sir,You must have heard him cry, Walk in, Sir!Then Lycophron, a tailor, fell,And went to mend old clothes in hell;Unlucky dog! the Fates did twist hisSmall thread of life with Ophelestes,A button-maker, who was shot,And then poor Chromius went to pot.Scarce was he down upon his back,When Dacer fell with such a whackUpon his ribs, it made 'em crack.This Dacer was a penny barber,That us'd both whores and rogues to harbour;So got his living within doors,By shaving culls and curling whores.Bold Hamopaon next he handles,A famous maker of wax candles;Although of late he grew but shallow,And mix'd his wax with stinking tallow.Fierce Melenippus could not keepHis feet, but tumbled on the heap:He in the Borough kept a slop-shop,Exactly o'er against a hop-shop;From Teucer's bow an arrow pops,And bump'd his guts through all his slops.Besides all these, this spawn of whoreReports he fell'd a dozen more:But I can't think much credit's dueTo one that shoots so long a bow.When Agamemnon saw this whelpKnocking folks down without his help,He jump'd and skipp'd, and cried, Huzza!I wish, my boy, that ev'ry dayYou'd shown us this same sort of play:Of mighty service it had beenTo keep the Grecians' breeches clean.Since thou canst shoot with such a smack,Well may thy good old daddy crack;Than his true-born he loves thee more,Because thy mother was a whore.He quickly saw thy early worth,And from the Foundling brought thee forth;Where, hadst thou staid, thou'dst been a tailor,Or else a blacksmith, or a nailer;But, proud to find he'd such a son,He paid the charge and brought thee home.Now hear a Brentford monarch speak:If Troy should tumble down next week,First, for myself, you may be sure,I shall provide a buxom whore,Or three or four, or happen more;But when my proper share is reckon'd,Depend upon't, you shall be second.Besides a noble piece of gold,And twenty shillings three times told,I'll answer that the sons of GreeceWill let you choose the next-best piece.The youth replies: I would have you, Sir,Know that your bribes are lost on Teucer;I neither fight for ale nor cake,But drub the dogs for mischief's sake;I hate the Trojans, and would eat 'em,Was there no other way to beat 'em:Eight darts I sent, and aim'd 'em fullAt bully Hector's knotty skull;They hit eight sons of whores, 'tis granted,But Hector was the whore's-bird wanted:Some damn'd old Lapland witch incog.Defends that blust'ring Trojan dog.Just as the words were out, he straightLet fly again at Hector's pate.Again the arrow miss'd its mark,But hit another Trojan spark,Gorgythio call'd, of royal blood:Old Priam got him when he couldStand stiffly to't; then all on fire-aHe kiss'd his mother Castianira,And got this youth, as fine a boyAs ever broke a lamp in Troy.Have you not, at the tailors' feast,Beheld by chance a weak-brain'd guest,Who is to drink no longer able,But rests his head upon the table?Just so this luckless lad did restHis heavy nob upon his breast.Another dart this spark, hap-hazard,Let fly once more at Hector's mazzard:It miss'd; which made the Greek conjectureApollo turn'd the shaft from Hector —Although it did not miss so far,But brought the driver off the car;Poor Archeptolemus's jaws,The coachman with the copper nose.It hit; his leather jacket rumbledSo loud, as on the ground he tumbled,That all the horses in the cartCould not refrain a sudden start.When Hector saw his coachman fall,It vex'd his liver, guts, and all.Cebriones, a country lout,By chance was gaping round about,To him the bully Hec. calls out:Here, you, Sir, come and drive this cart;And if you find the horses start,Keep a tight hand and proper check,Or else, by Jove, they'll break your neck.Then out he jumps, and, stooping down,Took up a fine Scotch paving-stone;Just as the Grecian's bow was bent,Hector this hard Scotch paving sentWith such a force, it broke the bow,And snapp'd the catgut string in two;Then smack'd his guts with such a thump,He fell'd him flat upon his rump:Alastor and Mecisteus bore him,And Ajax clapp'd his potlid o'er him:In this condition, all besh-t,They lugg'd him to the Grecian fleet.And now old father Jove, we find,Began to think he'd chang'd his mindToo soon; on which he fac'd about,To help the drooping Trojans out.The Greeks again forsook the fray,And like brave fellows ran away:Hard at their tails bold Hector keeps,And drives them into th' ditch on heaps,Pelted their Dutch-made heavy rumps,And ply'd 'em off with kicks and thumps.Thus I a farmer's cur have seen,When sheep are driven o'er the green,A constant waughing does he keep,But only bites the hindmost sheep:Thus did this fiery son of MarsLend the last knave a kick o' th' a – e;And now when, out of breath for haste,With loss of men the ditch they'd pass'd,These fighting fellows, all so stout,Just made a shift to turn about;There they saw Hector's cart-wheels reachThe very edge of this great ditch,And there he stood, the Grecians fright'ningSo much, they swore his eyes were lightning.Some of their wise old soakers saidHis noddle was a Gorgon's head:But one deep-learn'd north-country elfSwore 'twas the muckle de'il himself;For oft before his face he'd seen,And ken'd him by his saucer eyne.Juno, whose nose was mighty tickle,Soon smelt their most unsavoury pickle,And, calling out to Pallas, cries:Smite my black muff, and blast my eyes,If all my patience is not goneTo see the Grecians so run down!Help me to save 'em now or never,Or else the dogs are lost for ever,But how, we scarce have time to think;Smell you not how the rascals stink?Gods! shall one scoundrel do this evil,And drive such numbers to the devil?That son of a damn'd Trojan bitch,See how he scares them 'cross the ditch!Pallas replies, I see as wellAs you or any one can tellWhat yon infernal rascal's doing;But how to save our rogues from ruinI can't devise; your surly mateWon't let me break that Hector's pate:In vain to crack his skull I strive,Your Jove will neither lead nor drive:Th' immortal rogues forget us soonAs mortal rogues a favour done:To me he came, and made great moan,Begging that I would save his son,The mighty kill-cow Hercules —A clumsier dog one seldom sees;And yet the thief, with rare hard sweating,Cost him three days and nights in getting!I whipp'd me down to lend him help,And often sav'd the clumsy whelp;But had I known his dad so well,When last he took a trip to hell,His journey should have been in vain,I ne'er had help'd him back again:The stumbling-block that lay i' th' way.To hinder his return to-day,I'd have been stuck before I'd lift it,But left the devil and him to shift it.I've a good mind to go and beat hisBeloved minx, that goody Thetis;If e'er again she strokes his thighs,I'll give the brimstone two black eyes;To humour her curs'd bastard's freaks,He'll quite demolish all our Greeks;When 'tis too late, this face of gallowsWill call me his beloved Pallas.Zounds! don't stay here to wink and pink,But get your chariot in a twink;Spite of the Thund'rer and his punk,We'll make those Trojan scoundrels funk;Let us but land upon the shore,Hector will hector them no more;When I and Juno come to fight 'em;The devil's in't if we can't fright 'em;And ten to one, but in a crackWe'll lay this Broughton on his back.But if, in spite of all our cracks,He lays us both upon our backs,As things go now, the swagg'ring devilWill scarce have time to be uncivil:And if he has, his whoring sconceCan only trim us one at once;So whilst one gets her bus'ness done,The other will have time to run.Her voice then ceas'd through rage and spleen,Whilst Jove's eternal scolding queenLent the poor Trojans fifty curses,Before she went to fetch her horses;But yet, though pinch'd for time, took painsTo tie red ribands to their manes:When Pallas instantly threw downHer daggled petticoat and gown,Nor staid to fold her ragged placket,But whipp'd her on a buff-skin jacketSo glaz'd with grease all o'er the stitches,It shin'd like Ashley's greasy breeches.Upon the car she took her stand,And shook a broomstaff in her hand,So large, that, tie a proper heapOf broom o' th' end on't, it would sweepAll London streets, I'm pretty sure,Quite clean in less than half an hour,And souse into the Thames drive allThe rubbish, aldermen and all.Juno soon got upon the box,And drives the geldings with a pox;The Hours, as they had done beforeStood on the watch to ope the door.Eager to crack poor Hector's crown,They gallop'd neck or nothing down:But Jove, who kept a sharp look-out,Saw what the brimstones were about,On which he calls for Kitty Iris:Kitty, says he, my pluck on fire is,And every toe about me itchesTo have a kick at yon damn'd bitches,Because so impudently theyMy strict commands dare disobey:Fly, meet the brimstones both, and tell 'emA thousand fathom deep I'll fell 'em,Kill both their nags, and break their wheels,And tie the beldames neck and heels;And, spite of all that they can say,Whether they scold, or swear, or pray,Expose their brawny bums togetherFor ten long years to wind and weather,Where every passenger that comesShall take a slap at both their bums!But speak you to Minerva first,Because, at present, she's the worst:As for my rib, though shame to tell,She pleads old custom to rebel;But now I mind her noise no moreThan Fielding minds a scolding whore.On this the rainbow goddess stridesHer broomshaft, and away she rides:(By Homer's own account, we findAt any time she'd beat the wind).She met the chariot on the slope,Plague on you both! says Iris, stop:Such foolish journeys why begin ye?Jove thinks the devil must be in ye;And so do I: he bid me tell ye,A thousand fathom deep he'll fell ye.Kill both your nags, and break your wheels,And tie you by the neck and heels;And, spite of all that you can say,Whether you scold, or swear, or pray,Expose your brawny bums together,For ten long years, to wind and weather,Where every passenger that comes,Shall take a slap at both your bums:To you, Minerva, I speak first,Because he thinks you're now the worst:As for his rib, 'tis shame to tell,She pleads old custom to rebel;But much he wonders what bewitchesYour busy pate, you bitch of bitches24!Like lightning then away she flew;Her speech though made 'em both look blue:They star'd like honest Johnny Wade,When he one evening with the maidA game at pushpin had begun,And madam came before he'd done!But Juno, though her guts and mazzardWork'd like a guile-fat, yet no hazardShe chose to run, so curb'd her swell,And seem'd to take it mighty well,But could not help from wriggling hard,Like mother ****, when a cardGoes very cross, and cuts her soulBy losing a sans-prendre vole.Our rage, my crony, with a poxHas brought us to a damn'd wrong box;I've just found out, it strange and odd is,That each of us, a powerful goddess,Should with our crusty thund'rer squabble,And all for what? – A mortal rabble.E'en let 'em live with custard cramm'd,Or die all placemen and be damn'd;Let Jove give victory, or rout 'em,No more I'll fret my guts about 'em.On this she gave her tits a smack,And pull'd the reins to keep 'em back;But all the while they turn'd 'em, sheKept crying Gee, plague rot ye, gee!When they were fairly turn'd about,Full speed once more the tits set out,And gallop'd up the hill as soonWithin an ace as they came down:The Hours unloos'd 'em, rubb'd their coats,And gave 'em half a peck of oats;Then fetch'd clean straw to make their bed,And put the chariot in a shed;Whilst the two brims, with bashful faces,Sneak'd off, and went to take their places.And now old Jove was tir'd of Ida,And up to heaven he took a ride-a;But drove his geldings with such ire,For want of grease his wheels took fire.Lest they should burn the horses' bums,In a great splutter Neptune comes:With an old sail he call'd his fish-clout,Which serv'd for table-cloth and dish-clout,Th' old soaker in an instant reels out,And smothers both the burning wheels out.Away walk'd Jove, and took his seatI' th' hall where all their godships meet;But with such weight he mov'd his toe,It made an earthquake here below,And in a wicked popish townTumbled a hundred convents down,And sent inquisitors and friars,With shoals of other holy liars,Smoothly, without a single rub,To see their patron Beelzebub,Into whose territories thoughThey all were certain they must go,Yet at that time you may be sureThey thought it rather premature.But to the point. Like our lord mayor,With solemn phiz, Jove took the chair;Juno and Pallas in the hallBoth look'd as if they'd something stole:They squinted up, and saw he frown'd,So whipp'd their eyes upon the ground,And seem'd as gravely to be list'ningAs harlots at a country christ'ning:He smil'd to find this lucky pushFor once had made the brimstones blush;So instantly began to chatter:Juno and Pallas, what's the matter?What made ye both return so soon?I thought you'd ta'en a trip to townTo pull some bawdy-houses down,For Juno's sake, who can't endureThe sight of either rogue or whore;And therefore I expected soonTo see the bagnios tumbling down,And noseless rogues, eat up with pox,And whores in nothing but their smocks;Running, like devils, helter skelterTo wine and brandy shops for shelter.Pray give me leave though to inquire,Is Troy demolish'd, or on fire?But know, ye vixens, I shall makeYour grumbling guts and gizzards ache,If e'er again ye dare to fratchWith him who is your overmatch;For all the underlings o' the skyWhen I begin to kick must fly.Therefore, I say, beware your mazzards,And run no more such foolish hazards:If my enchanted wand I shake,You'll feel your guts and livers quake:Whoever dares my wrath oppose,With red-hot tongs I'll pinch his nose,And make him caper, roar, and snivel,As great St. Dunstan did the Devil.The moment that he did beginThis speech, the gipsies dropp'd their chin,And ere he made an end o' th' song,Their faces grew a full yard long;But yet their comfort was, that allThe race of whoring Troy would fall.Pallas so much with wrath was gor'd,She could not speak a single word:But Juno's passion was so strongShe could not hold her noisy tongue;So, scolding at her usual rate,She thus attack'd her loving mate:You know you're stronger far than all us,Or else such names you durst not call us,But split me if I don't believeYou swinge the Greeks to make us grieve!'Tis not strict justice guides your rod,'Tis contradiction all, by G-d!And yet you can pretend that no manIs half so positive as woman;But 'tis a base invented fiction:Man taught poor woman contradiction:For Greece you sit and see us grieve,And won't an inch of comfort give;By your cross surly face we're snubb'd,And forc'd to see the Grecians drubb'd;But let us give 'em counsel fit,Or every soul will be besh-t.To Jove she chatter'd at this rate,And thus reply'd old Surly-pate:Vulcan my thunder-bolts is bright'ning,And store of rosin's ground for lightning25:Therefore to-morrow morn with thunderI'll scare 'em so, you need not wonderIf half the ragged sons of bitchesWith downright fear bepiss their breeches.Nor let your restless gizzards grumbleThough you see dozens of 'em tumble;Hector sha'n't cease o' th' bum to kick 'em,Or with his old cheese-toaster stick 'em,Till he shall lay his luckless pawsAcross Pelides' fav'rite's jaws;Then in a passion shall AchillesFight like a devil – such my will is:Nor shall it alter, though you stayAnd scold for ever and a day:To Lapland go, where witches dwell,Or Strombello, the mouth of Hell;There arm both conjurors and witches,I'll smoke the dogs, and burn the bitches.Meantime the Sun, with phiz so bright,Walk'd off, and up came madam Night:The Grecians thought her mighty civil;The Trojans wish'd her at the devil:But as the Greeks were forc'd to yield,The bully Trojans kept the field.Hector, resolv'd the dogs to maul,Doth instantly a council call,That he might have their sanction toPerform what he design'd to do —A trick, I've heard some people say,Our gen'rals practise to this day.But as the Grecians lay so near,That they perhaps his speech might hear,He led 'em to Scamander's banks,Where down they sat to ease their shanks.His quarterstaff in his right handHe fix'd, to help to make him stand,On which he lean'd when he thought fit(You know a speaker ne'er should sitTill his oration's at an end,Whether they do or not attend):This staff, which he in battle bore,Was three yards long, or rather more,With bladders tied each end thereon,To scare folks as he knock'd 'em down.Forward the chief his body bends,Like Gl-ver, and began, My friends,If you will yield me due attention,Some thoughts that just occur, I'll mentionThis day we hop'd the Grecian boatsTo burn, and steal their thread-bare coats;But, to our great and grievous sorrow,We cannot do it till to-morrow,Because that blackguard, Mrs. Night,Came in and drove away the light.Howe'er, 'tis fit, by beat of drum,To let her know we see she's come,And that, come when she will, 'tis properFor thinking men to think of supper.After we've eat our cheese and bread,Let all men see their horses fed;For never was that ostler bornThat would not cheat 'em of their corn,Unless you keep a sharp look-out;And I, depend upon't, will do't.The town will send us in, of course,Both provender for man and horse;To stop our drunken knaves from sleeping,A thousand bonfires let us keep in:These fires will shine as bright as day,And then the Greeks can't run away:But if they do, the rogues shall find mostConfounded doings for the hindmost;For, should they pop away i' th' dark,We'll give 'em every man a mark,Such as may last each man his life,To show his roaring brats and wife,And warn the thieving sons of TartarsHow they again beat up our quarters.Next, to the town, if you think well,We'll send the bellman with his bell,Who with his rusty voice may callThe hobbling watchmen to the wall:And, to prevent all needless frights,Let the old women hang out lights,Lest, while the shades of night are on us?The Grecians steal a march upon us,And, slily entering the town,Trim all our wives both up and down.To night these orders are enough,To-morrow we will work their buff:I've a great notion that we mayDrive these infernal rogues away,Or tie the rascals to a stake fast,To give our dogs and cats a breakfast.Therefore this single night let's watch,And, when the morning streaks you catch,Get all the link-boys you can hire,And set their huts and boats on fire;Then shall myself and DiomedeDecide whose nose shall soonest bleed,And whose propitious fate prevails,When weigh'd in Justice Cox's scales.Soon as to-morrow's dawn appears,I'll dust his cap about his ears;This good old stick shall crack his crown,And knock his rogues by dozens down:As sure as I perform this task,May I obtain whate'er I ask;With my lord-mayor to dine on Sundays,Or common-council men on Mondays,To cram my guts with tart and custard,And goose with apple-sauce and mustard,Or guttle down six pound of turtle,And drink the glorious and immortal:In joy thus eat, or fast in sorrow,As I shall drub the rogues to-morrow!He ceas'd, and all the captains praiseThis noble speech with three huzzas.After they'd loos'd from off the yokeThe horses, wet with sweat and smoke,And tied, to keep the nags apart,Each tit behind his owner's cart;Then came fat bacon from the town,With bread (but ev'ry loaf was brown),And a good stock of mild and stale,Though not one cask of Yorkshire ale:The victuals they began to cook;But for their gods, to make a smoke,They bought some guts; but all that nightTheir godships had no appetite,Puff'd the smoke from them in a sputter,And quarrel'd with their bread and butter.Juno, that fratching quean, pretendedHer sense of smelling was offended:Jove said he felt a queerish funk,And Pallas swore the guts all stunk.Thus did Troy find, to all their cost,A very handsome supper lost,Though their great courage did not droop,Because good liquor kept it up.As, when a show'r in London streets,By rubbish thrown, a stoppage meets,A ragged blackguard with his linkAttends your steps across the sink,The link directs you where to getTo save your shoes from dirt and wet;So, by the help of blazing fires,You'd see the Trojan's wooden spires;And twice five hundred fires as brightAs those that grace the annual nightThat say'd us from the Powder-plot,These roaring sons of Troy had got;Each fire did fifty Trojans view,So drunk, they laid 'em down to spew:The horses show their cart-horse breeding,And kick each other whilst they're feeding.