A Burlesque Translation of Homer

THE SECOND BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD

ARGUMENT

 
Jove, or by fame he much bely'd is,
Sends off a Dream to hum Atrides:
His conscience telling him it meet is
To make his promise good to Thetis;
Gave it commission as it went,
To tell the cull by whom 'twas sent;
And bid it fill his head top full,
Of taking Troy, and cock and bull.
The Vision goes as it was bid,
And fairly turns the poor man's head,
Who eagerly began to stare
At castles building in the air,
And fancy'd, as the work went on,
He heard Troy's walls come tumbling down.
But ere he starts, he has an eye
The metal of his rogues to try:
He tells the chiefs, when he proposes
That homeward all shall point their noses,
They must take care, when he had sped,
To come and knock it all o' th' head.
The plot succeeds; they're glad to go;
But sly Ulysses answer'd, No;
Then drove his broomstick with a thwack
Upon Thersites' huckle back;
Check'd other scoundrels with a frown,
And knock'd the sauciest rascals down;
Proving, that at improper times
To speak the truth's the worst of crimes.
 
 
Th' assembly met; old Nestor preaches,
And all the chiefs, like schoolboys, teaches
Orders each diff'rent shire to fix
A rendezvous, nor longer mix,
But with their own bluff captains stay,
Whether they fight or run away:
And whilst thus gather'd in a cluster,
They nick the time, and make a muster.
 

HOMER'S ILIAD

BOOK II

 
The watch past twelve o'clock were roaring,
And citizens in bed were snoring,
And all the gods of each degree
Were snoring hard for company,
Whilst Jove, whose mind could get no ease,
Perplex'd with cares as well as fleas
(For cares he in his bosom carried,
As every creature must that's married),
Was plotting, since he had begun,
How he might honour Thetis' son;
And scratch'd, and scratch'd, but yet he could
Not find a method for his blood
To keep his word. At last he caught,
By scratching hard, a lucky thought
(And 'faith, I think, 'twas no bad scheme);
To send the Grecian chief a Dream,
Made of a Cloud, on which he put
A coat and waistcoat, ready cut
Out of the self-same kind of stuff,
But yet it suited well enough
To give it shape: Now, Mr. Dream,
Take care you keep the shape you seem,
Says Jove; then do directly go
To Agamemnon's tent below:
Tell him to arm his ragged knaves
With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,
Then instantly their time employ
To rattle down the walls of Troy.
Tell him, in this, Miss Destiny
And all the heav'nly crew agree:
For Juno has made such a riot,
The gods do aught to keep her quiet.
 
 
Away goes Dream upon the wing,
And stands before the snoring king:
Grave Nestor's coat and figure took,
As old as he, as wise his look,
Rubs the cull's noddle with his wings,
And, full of guile, thus small he sings:
 
 
Monarch, how canst thou sleeping lie,
When thou hast other fish to fry?
O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,
Whose father was a skilful farrier,
Hast thou no thought about decorum,
Who art the very head o'th' quorum?
I shame myself to think I'm catching
Thee fast asleep, instead of watching.
Is not all Greece pinn'd on thy lap?
Rise, and for once postpone thy nap,
Lest by some rogue it should be said,
The chief of chiefs went drunk to bed:
For Jove, by whom you are respected,
Says your affairs sh'an't be neglected;
So sends you word he now is poring
On your concerns, whilst you are snoring:
He bids thee arm thy ragged knaves
With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,
Then instantly thy time employ
To rattle down the walls of Troy:
To this, he adds, Miss Destiny
And all the heav'nly crew agree:
For Juno has made such a riot,
The gods do aught to keep her quiet.
 
 
Then nothing more this Nothing says,
But turn'd about, and went his ways.
Up starts the king, and with his nail
Scratch'd both his head, and back, and tail;
And all the while his fancy's tickl'd,
To think how Troy would soon be pickl'd.
A silly goose! he little knew
What surly Jove resolv'd to do;
What shoals of sturdy knaves must tumble
Before they could the Trojans humble.
Down on an ancient chopping-block
This mighty warrior clapp'd his dock
(The block, worn out with chopping meat,
Now made the chief a rare strong seat):
Then don'd his shirt with Holland cuff,
For, Frenchman-like, he lay in buff;
Next o'er his greasy doublet threw
A thread-bare coat that once was blue,
But dirt and time had chang'd its hue;
Slipp'd on his shoes, but lately cobbled,
And to the board of council hobbled;
But took his sword with brazen hilt,
And wooden sceptre finely gilt.
Now, Madam Morn popp'd up her face,
And told 'em day came on apace;
When Agamemnon's beadles rouse
The Greeks to hear this joyful news.
He long'd, like breeding wife, it seems,
To tell his tickling, pleasing dreams.
I' th' int'rim, trotting to the fleet,
Old Nestor there he chanc'd to meet,
Whose tent he borrows for that morn,
To make a council-chamber on;
And reason good he had, I ween,
It kept his own apartment clean.
 
 
Now all-hands met, he takes his time,
And told his case in prose or rhyme:
 
 
Friends, neighbours, and confed'rates bold,
Attend, whilst I my tale unfold:
As in my bed I lay last night,
I saw an odd-look'd kind of sprite;
It seem'd, grave Nestor, to my view,
Just such a queer old put as you —
'Tis fact, for all your surly look —
And this short speech distinctly spoke:
 
 
How canst thou, monarch, sleeping lie,
When thou hast other fish to fry?
O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,
Whose father was a special farrier
(Which, by the by, although 'tis true,
Yet I'd be glad you'd tell me how
This bushy-bearded spirit knew),
Hast thou no thought about decorum,
Who art the very head o' th' quorum?
I shame myself to think I'm catching
Thee fast asleep, instead of watching.
Is not all Greece pinn'd on thy lap?
Rise, and for once postpone thy nap;
Or by some rogue it will be said,
The chief of chiefs went drunk to bed:
For Jove, by whom you are respected,
Says your affairs sha'n't be neglected:
But now on your affair he's poring,
Whilst you lie f – ting here and snoring:
He bids thee arm thy ragged knaves
With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves;
For now the time is come, he swears,
To pull Troy's walls about their ears:
Nay more, he adds, the gods agree
With Fate itself it thus shall be.
Jove and his queen have had their quantum
Of jaw, and such-like rantum-scantum:
She now puts on her best behaviours,
And they're as kind as incle-weavers.
Then nothing more the Vision said,
But kick'd me half way out of bed.
This very token did, I vow,
Convince me that the dream was true;
For, waking soon, I found my head
And shoulders on the floor were laid,
Whilst my long legs kept snug in bed:
Therefore, since Jove, with good intent,
So rare a messenger has sent,
We should directly, I've a notion,
Put all our jolly boys in motion:
But first, what think you if we settle
A scheme to try the scarecrows' mettle,
As with nine years they're worn to th' stumps?
I'll feign my kingship in the dumps
With Jove himself, and then propose
That homeward they direct their nose.
But take you care, if I succeed,
To show yourselves in time of need:
Swear you don't mind the gen'ral's clack,
But in a hurry drive 'em back.
 
 
He spoke, and squatting on his breech,
Square-toes got up and made a speech:
I think our chief would not beguile us,
Says the old constable of Pylos.
Had any soul though, but our leader,
For dreams and visions been a pleader,
I should, my boys, to say no worse,
Have call'd him an old guzzling nurse.
I seldom old wives' tales believe,
Nurses invent 'em to deceive.
But now there can be no disguise,
For kings should scorn to tell folks lies;
So let us e'en, with one accord,
Resolve to take his royal word:
For though the speech is queerish stuff,
'Tis the king's speech, and that's enough.
I therefore say, My buffs so stout,
Of this same vision make no doubt;
The tokens are so very clear,
There can be little room for fear.
Did not our monarch, as he said,
Feel the Dream kick him out of bed,
And, by his waking posture, knew
His sense of feeling told him true?
Then, since affairs so far are gone,
Let's put our fighting faces on.
He said; nor did they longer stay,
But from the council haste away.
The leaders bring their men along;
They still were many thousands strong;
As thick as gardens swarm with bees,
Or tailors' working-boards with fleas:
And Jove, for fear they should not all
Attend, and mind their general's call,
Bid Fame, a chatt'ring, noisy strumpet,
To sound her longest brazen trumpet:
 
 
This brought such numbers on the lawn,
The very earth was heard to groan,
Nine criers went to still their noise;
That they might hear their leader's voice.
He haw'd and hemm'd before he spoke,
Then rais'd his truncheon made of oak:
'Twas Vulcan's making, which Jove gave
To Mercury, a thieving knave;
Who going down to Kent to steal hops,
Resign'd his staff to carter Pelops;
From Pelops it to Atreus came;
He to Thyestes left the same,
Who kept it dry, lest rain should rot it,
And when he dy'd Atrides got it:
With this he rules the Greeks with ease,
Or breaks their noddles if he please;
Now leaning on't, he silence broke,
And with so grum an accent spoke,
Those people that the circle stood in,
Fancy'd his mouth was full of pudding.
 
 
Thus he began: We've got, my neighbours,
Finely rewarded for our labours:
On Jove, you know, we have rely'd,
And several conjurers have try'd,
But both, I shame to say't, have ly'd.
One says, that we on board our scullers
Should all return with flying colours;
Another, we should cram our breeches
As full as they can hold with riches,
For presents to our wives and misses,
Which they'll repay us back with kisses.
Instead of this, we're hack'd and worn,
Our money spent, and breeches torn;
And, to crown all, our empty sculls
Fill'd with strange tales of cocks and bulls.
Now Jove is got on t'other tack,
And says we all must trundle back:
Dry blows we've got, and, what is more,
Our credit's lost upon this shore:
Nor can I find one soul that's willing
To trust us now a single shilling.
No longer since than yesterday,
Our butcher broke, and ran away:
The baker swears too, by Apollo,
If times don't mend he soon must follow:
As for the alehouse-man, 'tis clear
That half-penny a pot on beer
Will send him off before next year;
And then we all must be content
To guzzle down pure element.
A time there was, when who but we!
Now were humbugg'd, you plainly see;
And, what's the worst of all, you'll say,
A handful makes us run away:
For, if our numbers I can ken,
Where Troy has one man, we have ten.
Nine years, and more, the Grecian host
Have been upon this cursed coast;
And Troy's as far from being sack'd
As when it was at first attack'd;
The more we kill, the more appear;
They grow as fast as mushrooms here!
Like Toulon frigates rent and torn,
Our leaky boats to stumps are worn;
Then let's be packing and away;
For what the vengeance should we stay?
Our wives without it won't remain;
Pray how the pox should they contain?
For one that fasts, I'll lay there's ten
Are now employing journeymen:
If that's the case, I know you'll say
'Tis time indeed to hyke away;
Let us no more then make this fuss,
Troy was not doom'd to fall by us.
 
 
Most of the rabble, that were not
Consulted in this famous plot,
Were hugely pleas'd, and straight begin
To cry, God save our noble king!
He that spoke last, spoke like a man.
So whipp'd about, and off they ran.
As they jogg'd on, their long lank hair
Did like the dyers' rags appear;
Which you in every street will find
Waving like streamers in the wind:
To it they went with all their heart,
To get things ready to depart;
And made a sort of humming roar,
Like billows rumbling to the shore.
 
 
Halloo, cry'd some, here lend a hand
To heave the lighters off the strand;
Don't lounging stand to bite your nails,
But bustle, boys, and bend the sails.
Now all the vessels launch'd had been,
If scolding Juno had not seen:
That noisy brimstone seldom slept,
But a sharp eye for ever kept;
Not out of love to th' Grecian state,
But to poor harmless Paris hate,
Because on Ida's mountain he
Swore Venus better made than she:
And most are of opinion still,
He show'd himself a man of skill;
For Juno, ever mischief hatching,
Had wrinkled all her bum with scratching,
Whilst this enchanting Venus was
As smooth all o'er as polish'd glass.
 
 
Since then there was so wide a difference,
Pray who can wonder at the preference?
For wrinkles I'm myself no pleader:
Pray what are you, my gentle reader?
A simple answer to the question
Will put an end to this digression:
Why can't you speak now, when you're bid?
You like smooth skins? I thought you did:
And, since you've freely spoke your mind,
We'll back return, and Juno find.
Upon a cloud she sat astride,
(As now-a-days our angels ride)
Where calling Pallas, thus she spoke:
Would it not any soul provoke,
To see those Grecian hang-dogs run,
And leave their bus'ness all undone?
This will be pretty work, indeed;
For Greece to fly, and Troy succeed.
Rot me! but Priam's whoring race
(Sad dogs, without one grain of grace)
Shan't vamp it thus, whilst lovely Helen
Is kept for that damn'd rogue to dwell in;
That whoring whelp, who trims her so
She never thinks of Menelau:
But I shall stir my stumps, and make
The Greeks once more their broomsticks shake,
Then fly, my crony, in great haste,
Lest opportunity be past.
The cause, my girl, is partly thine;
He scorn'd thy ware as well as mine:
And, just as if he'd never seen us,
Bestow'd the prize on Madam Venus,
A blacksmith's wife, or kettle-mender,
And one whose reputation's slender;
Though her concerns I scorn to peep in,
Yet Mars has had her long in keeping.
 
 
Pallas obeys, and down the slope
Slides, like a sailor on a rope.
Upon the barren shore she found
Ulysses lost in thoughts profound:
His head with care so very full,
He look'd as solemn as an owl;
Was sorely grip'd, nor at this pinch
Would launch his boats a single inch.
 
 
And is it thus, she says, my king,
The Greeks their hogs to market bring?
See how they skip on board each hoy,
Ready to break their necks for joy!
Shall Priam's lecherous son, that thrives
By kissing honest tradesmen's wives,
Be left that heaven of bliss to dwell in,
The matchless arms of beauteous Helen?
O, no; the very thought, by Gad,
Makes Wisdom's goddess almost mad!
Though, by thy help, I think 'tis hard.
But yet I singe the rascal's beard.
Then fly, Ulysses, stop 'em all;
The captains must their troops recall.
Thou hast the gift o' th' gab, I know;
Be quick and use it, prithee do:
From Pallas thou shalt have assistance,
Should any scoundrel make resistance.
 
 
Ulysses ken'd her voice so shrill,
And mov'd to execute her will;
Then pull'd his breeches up in haste,
Which being far too wide i' th' waist,
Had left his buttocks almost bare —
He guess'd what made the goddess stare;
Next try'd his coat of buff to doff,
But could not quickly get it off,
So fast upon his arms it stuck,
Till Pallas kindly lent a pluck.
Off then it came, when, like a man,
He took him to his heels and ran.
The first that in his race he met
Was Agamemnon in a pet,
Striving, for breakfast, with his truncheon
To bruise a mouldy brown-bread luncheon.
Ulysses tells him, with a laugh,
I've better bus'ness for that staff,
And must request you'll lend it me
To keep up my authority.
Which having got, he look'd as big
As J-n-n's coronation wig;
Then flew, like wild-fire, through the ranks?
'Twas wond'rous how he ply'd his shanks.
Each captain by his name he calls;
I'm here, each noble captain bawls.
Then thus: O knights of courage stout,
Pray, what the devil makes this rout?
You that exalted are for samples,
Should set your soldiers good examples:
Instead of that, I pray, why strove ye
To run as if the devil drove ye?
You knew full well, or I belie ye,
Our general only spoke to try ye:
All that he meant by't was to know,
Whether we'd rather stay or go?
And is more vext to find us willing
To run, than if he'd lost a shilling;
Because at council-board, this day,
Quite different things you heard him say.
But if he met a common man,
That dar'd to contradict his plan;
Or, if the scoundrel durst but grumble;
Nay, if he did but seem to mumble;
He, with his truncheon of command,
First knock'd him down, then bid him stand
By this good management they stopp'd;
But not till eight or ten were dropp'd.
From launching boats, with one accord,
They trudg'd away to th' council-board.
The hubbub then began to cease:
The noise was hush'd, and all was peace.
Only one noisy ill-tongu'd whelp,
Thersites call'd, was heard to yelp:
The rogue had neither shame nor manners;
His hide was only fit for tanners:
With downright malice to defame
Good honest cocks, was all his aim:
All sorts of folks hard names he'd call,
But aldermen the worst of all.
Grotesque his figure was and vile,
Much in the Hudibrastic style:
One shoulder 'gainst his head did rest,
The other dropp'd below his breast;
His lank lean limbs in growth were stinted,
And nine times worse than Wilkes he squinted:
His pate was neither round nor flat,
But shap'd like Mother Shipton's hat.
You'd think, when this baboon was speaking,
You heard some damn'd blind fiddler squeaking.
Now this sad dog by dirty joking
Was every day the chief provoking:
The Greeks despis'd the rogue, and yet
To hear his vile harangues they'd sit
Silent as though he'd been a Pitt.
His screech-owl's voice he rais'd with might
And vented thus his froth and spite:
 
 
Thersites from the matter wide is,
Or something vexes great Atrides;
But what the murrain it can be,
The Lord above can only see!
No man alive can be censorious,
His reign has been so very glorious:
Then what has lodg'd the heavy bullet
Of discontent within his gullet,
That makes him look as foul as thunder,
To me's a secret and a wonder:
He had the best, the Grecians know,
Of gold, and handsome wenches too.
Best did I say? Bar Helen's bum,
He had the best in Christendom,
And yet's not pleas'd: but tell us what
Thy mighty kingship would be at?
Say but, shall Greece and I go speed
To Troy, and bring thee in thy need
The race of royal sons of whores,
By ransom to increase thy stores?
When we return, prepare to seize
Whate'er the royal eye shall please:
This thou mayst do sans dread and fear;
'Tis mighty safe to plunder here.
When the fit moves thee for that same,
Take any captain's favourite dame;
Our master wills, and 'tis but fit
Such scrubs as we should all submit.
Ye women Greeks, a sneaking race,
Take my advice to quit this place;
And leave this mighty man of pleasure
To kiss his doxies at his leisure.
When Hector comes, we'll then be mist
When Hector comes, he'll be bepist.
The man that makes us slaves submit,
When Hector comes, will be be – t;
He'll rue the dire unlucky day
He forc'd Achilles' girl away:
That buxom wench we all agreed
To give the bully for his need.
Achilles, though in discontent,
Don't think it proper to resent:
But if the bully's patience ceases,
He'll kick thee into half-crown pieces.
Sudden Ulysses with a bound
Rais'd his backside from off the ground,
Ready to burst his very gall
To hear this scurvy rogue so maul
The constable of Greece – an elf,
Famous for hard-mouth'd words himself;
His eyes look'd fierce, like ferrets red;
Hunchback he scans; and thus he said:
 
 
Moon-calf, give o'er this noisy babbling,
And don't stand prating thus and squabbling.
If thy foul tongue again dispute
The royal sway, I'll cut it out;
Thou art, and hast been from thy birth,
As great a rogue as lives on earth.
What plea canst thou have names to call,
Who art the vilest dog of all?
Think'st thou a single Greek will stir
An inch for such a snarling cur?
How dar'st thou use Atrides' name,
And of a constable make game?
For safe return great Jove we trust:
'Tis ours to fight, and fight we must
If to our noble chief a few
Make presents, pray, what's that to you?
What mighty gifts have you bestow'd,
Except your venom? scurvy toad!
If the bold bucks their plunder gave,
Thou canst not think' among the brave
We reckon such a lousy knave.
May I be doom'd to keep a tin-shop,
Or smite my soul into a gin-shop,
There to be drawn by pint or gill,
For drunken whores to take their fill;
Or may I find my dear son Telley
With back and bones all beat to jelly;
Or in his stead behold another,
Got by some rascal on his mother;
If I don't punish the next fault,
By stripping off thy scarlet coat,
That shabby, ragged, thread-bare lac'd coat
Then with a horsewhip dust thy waistcoat;
I'll lay on so that all the navy
Shall hear thy curship roar peccavi.
 
 
This said, his broomshaft with a thwack
He drove against his huckle back.
It fell with such a dev'lish thump,
It almost rais'd another hump.
The poor faint-hearted culprit cries,
And tears ran down his blood-shot eyes:
With clout he wip'd his ugly face,
And sneak'd in silence to his place.
Then might you hear the mob declare
Their thoughts on courage, and on fear.
Up to the stars they cry'd Ulysses,
A braver fellow never pisses;
Of insolence he stops the tide,
Nor gives it time to spread too wide.
We want but half a score such samples,
To make all prating knaves examples:
'Twould teach the mob much better things,
Than dare to chatter about kings.
Whilst thus they sing Ulysses' praises,
The constable his body raises.
The gen'ral's truncheon of command
He flourish'd in his dexter hand.
Pallas in herald's coat stood by,
And with great noise did silence cry,
That all the rabble far and near
This crafty Grecian's speech might hear.
With staring looks and open jaws
They catch each syllab as it flows.
First, with his hand he scratch'd his head,
To try if wit's alive or dead:
But, when he found his wit was strong,
And ready to assist his tongue,
To clear his throat he hem'd aloud,
And thus humbugg'd the list'ning crowd:
 
 
Unlucky chief, to be so us'd,
Deserted first, and then abus'd!
At Argos, when we came to muster,
And were all gather'd in a cluster,
The general voice was heard to say,
The de'il fetch him that runs away!
Then took a bible oath that night,
They never would return from fight
Till the old Trojan town should tumble;
And yet you see for home they grumble.
I own myself, 'tis very hard
To be from home so long debarr'd:
If but a single fortnight we
Are kept confin'd upon the sea
From our good wives and bantlings dear,
How do we rave, and curse, and swear!
Then, after nine years' absence, sure
These folks may look a little sour.
They're not to blame for being sad;
But thus bamboozled, makes one mad:
Though wizard Calchas plainly said,
If we the space of nine years staid,
The tenth we surely should destroy
This paltry mud-wall'd borough Troy.
Have patience then, and let's endure
To box it out a few weeks more.
Remember how a mighty dragon
A plane-tree mounted from a waggon;
He found a bird's nest at the top,
And quickly ate eight young ones up;
To make the ninth there wants another;
On which the serpent snapp'd the mother:
Though, after he had made this rout,
He ne'er had time to shit 'em out;
For twenty minutes were not gone
Before he chang'd to solid stone,
Where, on the summit of a hill,
At Aulis, you may see him still.
When Calchas saw this wondrous thing,
Like Endor's witch, he drew a ring;
And, standing by himself i' th' middle,
Began this wonder to unriddle:
 
 
My friends, if you'll but lend an ear,
I'll quickly ease you of your fear:
Give you but credit to my speeches,
And then you'll all keep cleaner breeches.
This prodigy from Jove was sent ye,
To show that something good he meant ye:
As many birds, so many years
Should we be kept in hopes and fears;
But 'ware the tenth, for then shall Ilion
Tumble, though guarded by a million.
All this may happen, if you stay,
But cannot, if you run away:
For, be the captains e'er so cunning,
No towns were ever ta'en by running.
Can you remember Helen's rape,
And let those Trojan whelps escape?
Let that eternal rascal go
That made poor Helen cry O! O?
 
 
Up started then old chitter chatter,
And lent his hand to clench the matter:
You are fine fellows, smite my eyes,
If blust'ring words could get a prize:
At first you all could say great things,
And swear you'd pull down popes and kings;
In a great splutter take, like Teague,
The solemn covenant and league;
For Ilion's walls resolve to steer,
And store of bread and cheese prepare.
Now all, I find, was but a joke;
Your bouncing's vanish'd into smoke.
But precious time by talk is spent;
To pull down Troy is our intent;
And we will do't without delay,
If you, Atrides, lead the way.
Whoever here are not content,
Pray let 'em all be homeward sent.
Their help we value not three farthings:
Cowards make excellent churchwardens;
Then let them to their parish go,
And serve their town in noise and show.
No weapon should they touch but needles,
Or staves for constables and beadles:
Such posts as these will suit men right,
That eat much keener than they fight;
Therefore, whoever dare not stay,
I'd have directly sneak away.
When we the Trojan hides shall curry
Without their help, they'll be so sorry
That they will hang themselves, I hope —
And, by my soul, I'll find 'em rope.
Then how the rogues will wish they'd fought!
But wishes will avail 'em nought.
Did not great Jove, when we set out,
Make a most damn'd confounded rout?
Did he not roll the ball, and roll
Till he half crack'd his mustard bowl³;
And kept the noise upon our right,
To hearten us to go and fight,
Till every wench that Troy did dwell in
Should cry O! O! as much as Helen?
Show me the man that dare but think
To make the poorest Grecian shrink;
If any rascal draws one scrub in,
I'll give the dog a handsome drubbing.
And thou, my bully, be not nice,
But take for once a fool's advice;
Let's not like city rabble fight,
Who roar all day, and drink all night;
Millions of such can ne'er oppose
A little band of men well chose;
For discipline, when manag'd right,
Will make a trainband captain fight.
Let me advise, that ev'ry shire
To their own rendezvous retire;
Nor let them mix, but each be sent
To his own ragged regiment.
Let their chief constable command,
If you can find a chief will stand:
The leaders then will quickly ken
Who fight like women, who like men;
Who fight as if inspir'd by Mars,
Or who, like Dutchmen, hang an arse;
Can punish every sneaking knave,
And with good punch reward the brave:
Then shall we understand, no doubt,
Why Troy so long has held it out;
And if they've done us all these evils,
By help of men, or gods, or devils.
 
 
Atrides gave him this for answer:
I now can plainly see, old grandsire,
That noisy chatt'ring ribs of thine
Has got more brains by half than mine:
If Jove, to help us in our streights,
Would lend us half a score such pates,
Split me, we should have brains enough
To strip these Trojans into buff,
And all the men and women leave
As nak'd as Adam first knew Eve.
But Jove, or by design or chance;
Has led us all a pretty dance:
'Tis he that makes us thus dispute
And squabble till we all fall out.
As for Achilles, I abus'd him,
Kidnap'd his girl, and vilely us'd him;
And, like two English tars, we swore
And scolded for a little whore;
But hope (unless I am beguil'd)
Ere long we shall be reconcil'd;
And then, my boys, you'll see how soon
This whore's nest, Troy, will tumble down.
But now 'tis time for every sinner
To look out sharp to find a dinner;
And then we'll fight, while fighting's good,
And drench our soleless shoes in blood.
Fit then your potlids on your wrists,
And grasp your broomsticks in your fists;
Your mettled horses bring all out,
Both cut and longtail, for this bout.
Like hungry wolves and bears we'll fight,
And kick and cuff from morn to night:
Who dares his coward head to flinch
The thousandth part of half an inch
Or should a moment's time let slip,
By skulking in his crazy ship,
His scurvy hide, for shunning blows,
Shall be devour'd by carrion crows.
Soon as he spoke, both front and rear
Began to look confounded queer.
But late they thought to kiss their wives,
And lead at home good quiet lives;
Instead of that, they find they must
Have t'other bout at cut and thrust:
So forc'd against their wills to stay,
The grumbling whore's-birds sneak'd away.
Now fires by scores were quickly made,
And cows by dozens knock'd o' th' head.
The victuals for theirselves they took,
But wisely fed their gods with smoke:
For men it would be choking stuff,
But for the gods did well enough.
And whilst the garbage broils, they pray
T'escape a broken pate that day.
But to fill all their bellies full,
The priest had drest a fine young bull;
And then invited ev'ry chief
To come and eat this rare bull beef;
Ask'd Nestor first, because his beard
Was longest by a full half-yard;
Idomen did the next succeed,
And then that varlet Diomed:
Ajax the less, and Ajax great,
With sly Ulysses took their seat;
Lest they should think the cuckold slighted,
He came to dinner uninvited.
Now each man draws his pudding-knife,
And eats as though he ate for life.
But first, Atrides said a grace,
Holding his hat before his face;
Then added, in a canting tone,
A pray'r he'd better left alone.
 
 
O mighty Jupiter! that shrouds
Thy dwelling-house with coal-black clouds
Of thy own weaving, great protector,
Grant I may swinge this sad dog, Hector,
Without the help, if so thy will is,
Of that same bullying scrub Achilles.
But Jove, I verily believe,
Just then was laughing in his sleeve;
Nor would he let the foolish elf
Kill one much better than himself:
But though he kick'd the canting pray'r
A thousand fathom in the air,
Yet did he not refuse the treat,
But snuff'd the smoke, and lick'd the meat.
And now, to show they scorn all thieving,
They serve Jove first, then take his leaving;
Upon his altar burnt a piece,
And up his nose sent smoke and grease:
The god they were resolv'd to please,
Or smoke him till they made him sneeze:
For he would think them very hollow
To keep him sharper than Apollo;
Therefore, Burn more and more, they cry'd,
Until he owns he's satisfy'd.
When all had stuff'd their bellies full,
And ate the very hoofs o' th' bull,
Old chatt'ring Nestor 'gan to talk,
And thus to Agamemnon spoke:
 
 
Bid the blind fiddlers scrape away,
And all the troops shall march to-day;
And, that no useful man be mist,
Let muster-master bring his list
And call 'em o'er: if then we're right,
Do you lead on, by Jove we'll fight.
At the chief constable's commands
They muster'd all their trusty bands;
Each knew his right and left hand man,
And eke his officer could scan.
As Nestor said, each hang-dog went
To his own ragged regiment.
Minerva too was got among 'em,
Though she of right did not belong 'em;
Her brawny arm a potlid shak'd,
As bright as blacking-balls could make't,
On which there hung an ugly head,
So grim, 'twould strike the train-bands dead:
With this, and other little helps,
She cheers the poor faint-hearted whelps.
 
 
For wives they now no longer sob,
But swear to die or do the job.
As when a bonfire, with a noise,
Is kindled by the parish-boys,
It catches first the straw, then rushes.
And seizes on the dry furze-bushes,
Which causes such a dev'lish glaring,
That half the fools i' th' town stand staring:
Just so you spy'd reflected streaks
From greasy doublets of the Greeks;
For noise, you'd swear these sons of Greece
Were nought but flocks of Solan geese,
Who gabble rarely in their flight,
But ten times louder when they 'light:
Thus in a noisy crowd they wander,
Before they reach the fam'd Scamander;
And as they hasten to the shore,
They make the very welkin roar.
Thick as the crowds that walk the Strand,
Upon the river's bank they stand;
Or thick as leaves that yearly fall,
By pecks and bushels in the Mall;
Or swarms of flies, that find a crop
Of sugar in a grocer's shop;
So throng'd the varlets stand, and vow
They'll beat the Trojans black and blue.
About each trusty serjeant goes,
And sets them all in proper rows,
As easily as Rachael Sparrow
Places the apples in her barrow,
Where (though at first no form they keep)
She quickly makes a curious heap.
Above the rest the king appears,
And tops 'em all by th' head and ears:
He look'd, amidst this set of warriors,
Like a great hound amongst the tarriers.
For breadth of chest, as well as back,
He beat the mighty bruiser, Slack;
But in his strut and martial air
He seem'd a first-rate grenadier.
This day Jove order'd he should pass
To view, much bigger than he was:
And as he knew the head o' th' cull
With brains was not a quarter full,
He clapp'd a candle in his skull,
Which shining briskly through his eyes,
Fill'd all the Grecians with surprise;
For Jove, you need not fear, took care,
At proper times, to make folks stare.
As for these various ragged packs
Of rogues, from different wapentakes,
Their Christian names I've many times
Labour'd to jumble into rhymes;
But could not do it for my soul,
So leave them to the muster-roll.
If any critic choose to pop
His head into my printer's shop,
He'll find a copy there, not spurious,
Left for th' inspection of the curious.