Buch lesen: «A Burlesque Translation of Homer»

THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD

ARGUMENT

 
Atrides, as the story goes,
Took parson Chrysis by the nose.
Apollo, as the gods all do,
Of Christian, Pagan, Turk, or Jew,
On that occasion did not fail
To back his parson tooth and nail.
This caus'd a dev'lish quarrel 'tween
Pelides and the king of men;
Which ended to Achilles' cost,
Because a buxom wench he lost.
On which great Jove and's wife fell out,
And made a damn'd confounded rout:
And, had not honest Vulcan seen 'em
Ready for blows, and stepp'd between 'em;
'Tis two to one but their dispute
Had ended in a scratching-bout.
Juno at last was over-aw'd,
Or Jove had been well clapper-claw'd.
 

SOMETHING BY WAY OF PREFACE

 
Good people, would you know the reason
I write at this unlucky season,
When all the nation is so poor
That few can keep above one whore,
Except the lawyers – (whose large fees
Maintain as many as they please) —
And Pope, with taste and judgement great,
Has deign'd this author to translate —
The reason's this: – He may not please
The jocund tribe so well as these;
For all capacities can't climb
To comprehend the true sublime.
Another reason I can tell,
Though silence might do full as well;
But being charg'd – discharge I must,
For bladder, if too full, will burst.
The writers of the merry class,
E'er since the time of Hudibras,
In this strange blunder all agree,
To murder short-legg'd poetry.
Words, though design'd to make ye smile,
Why mayn't they run as smooth as oil?
No poetaster can convince
A man of any kind of sense,
That verse can be the greater treasure,
Because it wants both weight and measure
Or can persuade, that false rough metre,
Than true and smooth, by far is sweeter.
This is the wherefore; and the why,
Have patience, you'll see by-and-by.
 

HOMER'S ILIAD

BOOK I

 
Come, Mrs. Muse, but, if a maid,
Then come Miss Muse, and lend me aid!
Ten thousand jingling verses bring,
That I Achilles' wrath may sing,
That I may chant in curious fashion
This doughty hero's boiling passion,
Which plagu'd the Greeks; and gave 'em double
A Christian's share of toil and trouble,
And, in a manner quite uncivil,
Sent many a Broughton to the devil;
Leaving their carcasses on rows,
Food for great dogs and carrion crows.
To this sad pass the bully's freaks
Had brought his countryfolks the Greeks!
But who the devil durst say no,
Since surly Jove would have it so?
Come tell us then, dear Miss, from whence
The quarrel rose: who gave th' offence?
Latona's son, with fiery locks,
Amongst them sent both plague and pox.
And prov'd most damnably obdurate,
Because the king had vex'd his curate;
For which offence the god annoy'd 'em,
And by whole waggon-loads destroy'd 'em.
 
 
The case was this: These sons of thunder
Took a plump wench amongst their plunder.
A red-nos'd priest came hobbling after,
With presents to redeem his daughter;
Like a poor supplicant did stand,
With an old garland in his hand
Filch'd from a May-pole, and to boot
A constable's short staff lugg'd out.
These things, he told the chief that kept her,
Were his old master's crown and sceptre;
Then to the captains made a speech,
And to the brothers joint, and each:
 
 
Ye Grecian constables so stout,
May you all live to see Troy out;
And when you've pull'd it to the ground,
May you get home both safe and sound!
Was Jove but half the friend that I am,
You quickly should demolish Priam;
But, since the town his godship spares,
I'll help you all I can with pray'rs.
For my part, if you'll but restore
My daughter, I'll desire no more.
You'll hardly guess the many shifts
I made to raise you all these gifts.
If presents can't for favour plead,
Then let your pity take the lead.
Should you refuse, Apollo swears,
He'll come himself, and lug your ears.
 
 
The Grecians by their shouts declare
Th' old gentleman spoke very fair;
They swore respect to him was due,
And he should have his daughter too:
For he had brought, to piece the quarrel,
Of Yarmouth herrings half a barrel.
No wonder then their mouths should water
More for his herrings than his daughter.
But Agamemnon, who with care
Had well examin'd all her ware,
And guess'd that neither Troy nor Greece
Could furnish such another piece,
Roars out: You make a cursed jargon!
But take me with ye ere you bargain:
My turn's to speak; and as for you, Sir,
This journey you may chance to rue, Sir:
Nor shall your cap and gilded stick
Preserve your buttocks from a kick,
Unless you show your heels, and so
Escape the rage of my great toe.
What priest besides thyself e'er grumbled
To have his daughter tightly tumbled?
Then don't provoke me by your stay,
But get you gone, Sir, whilst you may.
I love the girl, and sha'nt part with her
Till age has made her hide whit-leather.
I'll keep her till I can no more,
And then I will not turn her o'er,
But with my goods at Argos land her,
And to my own old mansion hand her,
Where she shall card, and spin, and make
The bed which she has help'd to shake.
From all such blubb'ring rogues, depend on't,
I'll hold her safe, so mark the end on't.
Then cease thy canting sobs and groans,
And scamper ere I break thy bones.
 
 
Away then sneak'd the harmless wizard,
Grumbling confoundedly i' th' gizzard,
And, as in doleful dumps he pass'd,
Look'd sharp for fear of being thrash'd.
But out of harm's way when he got,
To Phœbus he set up his throat:
Smintheus, Latona's son and heir,
Cilla's chief justice, hear my pray'r!
Thou link-boy of the world, that dost
In Chrysa's village rule the roast,
And know'st the measure, inter nos,
Of ev'ry wench in Tenedos,
Rat-catcher general of heaven,
Remember how much flesh I've given
To stay your stomach; beef and mutton
I never fail'd your shrine to put on;
And, as I knew you lik'd them dearly,
I hung a dozen garlands yearly
About your church, nor charg'd the warden
Or overseers a single farthing;
But paid the charge and swept the gallery
Out of my own poor lousy salary.
This I have done, I'll make't appear,
For more than five-and-fifty year.
In recompense I now insist
The Grecians feel thy toe and fist;
For sure thou canst not grudge the least
To vindicate so good a priest.
 
 
Thus Chrysis pray'd: in dreadful ire,
The carrot-pated god took fire;
But ere he stirr'd he bent his bow,
That he might have the less to do,
Resolv'd before he did begin
To souse 'em whilst his hand was in.
Fierce as he mov'd the Greeks to find,
He made a rumbling noise behind;
His guts with grumbling surely never
Could roar so loud – it was his quiver,
Which, as he trotted, with a thwack
Rattled against his raw-bone back.
In darkness he his body shrouds,
By making up a cloak of clouds.
But, when he came within their view,
Twang went his trusty bow of yew:
He first began with dogs and mules,
And next demolish'd knaves and fools.
Nine nights he never went to sleep,
And knock'd 'em down like rotten sheep;
And would have sous'd 'em all, but Juno,
A scolding b – h as any you know,
Came and explain'd the matter fully
To Thetis' son, the Grecian bully,
Who ran full speed to summon all
The common council to the hall.
When seated, with a solemn look
Achilles rose, and thus he spoke:
 
 
Neighbours, can any Grecian say
We ought not all to run away
From this curst place without delay?
Else soon our best and bravest cocks
Will be destroy'd by plague or pox.
We cannot long, though Jove doth back us,
Resist, whilst two such foes attack us.
I think 'tis time to spare the few
Our broils have left; but what think you?
A cunning man perhaps may tell us
The reason why this plague befel us
Or an old woman, that can dream,
May help us out in this extreme;
For dreams, if rightly you attend 'em,
Are true, when Jove thinks fit to send 'em.
Thus may we form some judgment what
This same Apollo would be at;
Whether he mauls each wicked sinner,
Because a mighty pimping dinner
He often had but then he knew
That we had damn'd short commons too.
If 'tis for that he makes such stir,
He's not the man I took him for:
But, as I've reason for my fears,
I vote to pay him all arrears.
Therefore let such a man be found,
Either above or under ground,
To tell us quickly how we may
In proper terms begin to pray,
That he may ease us of these curses,
And stay at home and mind his horses —
Much better bus'ness for the spark
Than shooting Grecians in the dark.
 
 
He said, and squatting on his breech,
Calchas rose up, and look'd on each:
With caution he began to speak
A speech compos'd of purest Greek.
He was a wizard, and could cast
A figure to find out things past;
And things to come he could foretel,
Almost as well as Sydrophel.
The diff'rent languages he knew
Of every kind of bird that flew,
Each word could construe that they spoke.
Or screech-owl's scream, or raven's croak,
And, by a science most profound,
Distinguish rotten eggs from sound.
When first the Grecians mann'd their boats
To sail and cut the Trojans' throats,
Safely to steer 'em through the tide,
They chose this wizard for their guide.
As slow as clock-work he arose,
Then with his fingers wip'd his nose:
Dubious to speak or hold his tongue,
His words betwixt his teeth were hung:
But, having shook 'em from his jaws,
As dogs shake weasels from their nose,
Away they came both loud and clear,
And told his mind, as you shall hear:
 
 
Thou that art Jove's respected friend,
To what I speak be sure attend,
And in a twinkling shalt thou know,
Why Phœbus smokes the Grecians so,
But promise, should the chief attack me,
That thou my bully-rock wilt back me;
Because I know things must come out,
Will gripe him to the very gut.
These monarchs are so proud and haughty,
Subjects can't tell them when they're faulty,
Because, though now their fury drops,
Somehow or other out it pops.
And this remember whilst you live,
When kings can't punish, they'll forgive.
 
 
Achilles thus: Old cock, speak out,
Speak freely without fear or doubt.
Smite my old pot-lid! but, so long
As I draw breath amidst this throng.
The bloodiest cur in all the crew
Sha'n't dare so much as bark at you:
Not e'en the chief, so grum and tall,
Who sits two steps above us all.
 
 
These words the doubtful conj'ror cheer,
Who then proceeded without fear:
To th' gods you never play'd the thief,
But paid them well with tripe or beef;
But 'tis our chief provok'd Apollo
With this curst plague our camp to follow
Because his priest was vilely us'd,
His daughter kiss'd, himself abus'd.
The curate's pray's caus'd these disorders:
Gods fight for men in holy orders.
Nor will he from his purpose flinch,
Nor will his godship budge one inch,
But without mercy, great and small,
Will never cease to sweat us all,
If Agamemnon doth not send her,
With cooks and statesmen to attend her.
Then let's in haste the girl restore
Without a ransom; and, what's more,
Let's rams, and goats, and oxen give,
That priests and gods may let us live.
 
 
Ready to burst with vengeful ire,
That made his bloodshot eyes strike fire,
Atrides, with an angry scowl,
Replies, The devil fetch your soul!
I've a great mind, you lousy wizard,
To lay my fist across your mazzard.
Son of an ugly squinting bitch,
Pray who the pox made you a witch?
I don't believe, you mongrel dog,
You ken a handsaw from a hog;
Nor know, although you thus dare flounce,
How many f – s will make an ounce;
And yet, an imp, can always see
Some mischief cooking up for me,
And think, because you are a priest,
You safely may with captains jest.
But I forewarn thee, shun the stroke,
Nor dare my mighty rage provoke.
A pretty fellow thou! to teach
Our men to murmur at thy speech,
Tell lies as thick as you can pack 'em,
And bring your wooden gods to back 'em
And all because a girl I keep
For exercise, to make me sleep.
Besides, the wench does all things neatly,
And handles my affairs completely.
She hems, marks linen, and she stitches,
And mends my doublet, hose, and breeches,
My Clytemnestra well I love,
But not so well as her, by Jove!
Yet, since you say we suffer slaughter
Because I kiss this parson's daughter,
Then go she must; I'll let her go,
Since the cross gods will have it so;
Rather than Phœbus thus shall drive,
And slay the people all alive,
From this dear loving wench I'll part,
The only comfort of my heart.
But, since I must resign for Greece,
I shall expect as good a piece:
'Tis a great loss, and by my soul
All Greece shall join to make me whole!
Don't think that I, of all that fought,
Will take a broken pate for nought.
 
 
Achilles, starting from his breech,
Replies, By Jove, a pretty speech!
Think'st thou the troops will in her stead
Send what they got with broken head;
Or that we shall esteem you right in
Purloining what we earn'd by fighting?
You may with bullying face demand,
But who the pox will understand?
If thou for plunder look'st, my boy,
Enough of that there is in Troy:
Her apple-stalls we down may pull,
And then we'll stuff thy belly full.
 
 
The chief replies: For you, Achilles,
I care not two-pence; but my will is
Not to submit to be so serv'd,
And thou lie warm whilst I am starv'd.
Though thou in battle mak'st brave work,
Can beat the devil, pope, and Turk,
With Spaniards, Hollanders, and French,
I won't for that give up my wench:
Nor shall I, Mr. Bluff, d'ye see,
Resign my girl to pleasure thee.
Let something be produc'd to view,
Which I may have of her in lieu,
Something that's noble, great and good,
Worthy a prince of royal blood;
Just such another I should wish her,
As sev'n years since was Kitty Fisher;
Or else I will, since you provoke,
At all your prizes have a stroke;
Ulysses' booty will I seize,
Or thine or Ajax', if I please.
The man that's hurt may bawl and roar,
And swear, but he can do no more.
But this some other time may do,
I must go launch a sand-barge now:
Victuals and cooks I must take care,
With oars and pilots, to prepare;
See the ropes tarr'd, the bottom mended,
And the old sails well piec'd and bended
Then put the wench on board the boat,
Attended by some man of note,
By Creta's chief, or, if he misses,
By Ajax, or by sly Ulysses;
Or, if I please, I'll make you skip
Aboard, as captain of the ship.
We make no doubt but you with ease
His angry godship may appease;
Or else your goggle eyes, that fright us,
May scare him so he'll cease to smite us.
 
 
You would have sworn this mortal twitch
Had given old Peleus' son the itch,
So hard he scratch'd; at last found vent,
And back to him this answer sent:
 
 
Thou wretch, to all true hearts a stain,
Thou damn'd infernal rogue in grain!
Thou greater hypocrite than G-ml-y,
Thou dirtier dog than Jeremy L – y!
Whose deeds, like thine, will ever be
A scandal to nobility;
From this good day I hope no chief
Will fight thy broils, or eat thy beef.
How canst thou hope thy men will stand,
When under such a rogue's command?
What bus'ness I to fight thy battle?
The Trojans never stole my cattle.
My farm, secur'd by rocks and sands,
Was safe from all their thieving bands.
My steeds fed safe, both grey and dapple;
Nor could they steal a single apple
From any orchard did belong
To me, my fences were so strong.
I kept off all such sons of bitches
With quick-set hedges fac'd with ditches.
Our farm can all good things supply,
Our men can box, and so can I.
Hither we came, 'tis shame I'm sure,
To fight, for what? an arrant whore!
A pretty story this to tell.
Instead of being treated well,
As a reward for all our blows,
We're kick'd about by your dog's nose.
And dar'st thou think to seize my plunder,
For which I made the battle thunder,
And men and horses truckle under?
No! since it was the Grecians' gift,
To keep it I shall make a shift.
What wouldst thou have? thou hadst the best
Of every thing; nay, 'tis no jest:
But you take care to leave, I see,
The fighting trade to fools like me.
In this you show the statesman's skill,
To let fools fight whilst you sit still.
First I'm humbugg'd with some poor toy,
Then clapp'd o' th' back, and call'd brave boy.
This shall no more hold water, friend:
My 'prenticeship this day shall end.
When I go, and my men to boots,
I leave thee then a king of clouts.
 
 
The general gave him tit for tat,
And answer'd, cocking first his hat:
Go, and be hang'd, you blust'ring whelp,
Pray who the murrain wants your help?
When you are gone, I know there are
Col'nels sufficient for the war,
Militia bucks that know no fears,
Brave fishmongers and auctioneers.
Besides, great Jove will fight for us,
What need we then this mighty fuss?
Thou lov'st to quarrel, fratch, and jangle,
To scold and swear, and fight and wrangle.
Great strength thou hast, and pray what then?
Art thou so stupid, canst not ken,
The gods, that ev'ry thing can see,
Give strength to bears as well as thee?
Of all Jove's sons, a bastard host,
For reasons good, I hate thee most.
Prithee be packing; thou'rt not fit,
Or here to stand, or there to sit:
In your own parish kick your scrubs,
They're taught to bear such kind of rubs;
But, for my part, I scorn the help
Of such a noisy, bullying whelp:
Go therefore, friend, and learn at school,
First to obey, and then to rule.
The gods they say for Chryseis send,
And to restore her I intend;
But look what follows, Mr. Bully!
See if I don't convince thee fully,
That thy bluff wench with sandy hair
The loss I suffer shall repair:
I'll let thee feel what 'tis to be
A rival to a chief like me;
That thou and all these folks may know,
Great men are only subject to
The gods, or right or wrong they do.
 
 
Had you but seen Achilles fret it,
I think you never could forget it;
A sight so dreadful ne'er was seen,
He sweat for very rage and spleen:
Long was he balanc'd at both ends;
When reason mounted, rage descends;
The last commanded sword lug out;
The first advis'd him not to do't.
With half-drawn weapon fierce he stood,
Eager to let the general blood;
When Pallas, swift descending down,
Lent him a knock upon the crown;
Then roar'd as loud as she could yelp,
Lugging his ears, 'Tis I, you whelp!
Now Mrs. Juno, 'cause they both
Were fav'rites, was exceeding loth
To have 'em quarrel; so she sent
This wench all mischief to prevent,
And, to obstruct her being seen,
Lent her a cloud to make a screen.
 
 
Pelides wonder'd who could be
So bold, and turn'd about to see:
He knew the twinkling of her eyes,
And loud as he could bawl, he cries,
Goddess of Wisdom! pray what weather
Has blown your goatskin doublet hither?
Howe'er, thou com'st quite opportune
To see how basely I'm run down;
Thou com'st most à-propos incog.
To see how I will trim this dog:
For, by this trusty blade, his life
Or mine shall end this furious strife!
 
 
To whom reply'd the blue-ey'd Pallas,
I come to save thee from the gallows:
Thou'rt surely either mad or drunk,
To threaten murder for a punk:
Prithee, now let this passion cool;
For once be guided by a fool.
From heav'n I sous'd me down like thunder,
To keep your boiling passion under;
For white-arm'd Juno bid me say,
Let reason now thy passion sway,
And give it vent some other day;
Sheathe thy cheese-toaster in its case,
But call him scoundrel to his face.
To Juno both alike are dear,
And both alike to me, I'll swear.
In a short time the silly whelp
Will give a guinea for thy help;
Only just now revenge forbear,
And be content to scold and swear.
 
 
Achilles thus: With ears and eyes
I mind thee, goddess bold and wise!
'Tis hard; but since 'tis your command,
Depend upon't I'll hold my hand —
Knowing, if your advice I take,
Some day a recompense you'll make:
Besides, of all the heavenly crew,
I pay the most regard to you.
This said, he rams into the sheath
His rusty instrument of death.
 
 
(Pallas then instantly took flight,
Astride her broom-stick, out of sight;
And ere you could repeat twice seven,
Had reach'd the outward gate of heaven.)
His gizzard still was mighty hot,
And boil'd like porridge in a pot;
Atrides he did so randan,
He call'd him all but gentleman;
By Jove, says he, thou'rt always drunk,
And always squabbling for a punk.
Thou dog in face! thou deer in heart!
Thou call'd a fighter! thou a f – t!
When didst thou e'er in ambush lie,
Unless to seize some mutton pie?
And there you're safe, because you can
Run faster than the baker's man.
When fighting comes you bid us fight,
And claim the greatest profit by't.
Great Agamemnon safer goes,
To rob his friends than plunder foes:
And he who dares to contradict
Is sure to have his pockets pick'd:
Hear then, you pilfering dirty cur,
Whose thieving makes so great a stir;
And let the crowd about us hear
What I by this same truncheon swear,
Which to the tree whereon it grew
Will never join, nor I with you,
The devil fetch me if I do!
Therefore, I say, by this same stick,
Expect no more I'll come i' th' nick
Your luggs to save: let Hector souse ye,
And with his trusty broomshaft douse ye.
God help us all, I know thou'lt say,
Then stare and gape, and run away:
All this will happen, I conjecture,
The very next time you see Hector;
And then thyself thou'lt hang, I trow,
For using great Achilles so.
This said, his truncheon, gilded all
Like ginger-bread upon a stall,
Around the top and bottom too,
Slap bang upon the floor he threw.
His wrath Atrides could not hold,
But cock'd his mouth again to scold,
And talk'd away at such a rate,
He distanc'd hard-mouth'd scolding Kate,
The orator of Billingsgate.
 
 
Whilst thus they rant and scold and swear
Old Square-toes rises from his chair;
With honey words your ears he'd sooth,
Pomatum was not half so smooth.
Nestor had fill'd the highest stations
For almost three whole generations;
At ev'ry meeting took the chair,
Had been a dozen times lord-mayor,
And, what you hardly credit will,
Remain'd a fine old Grecian still.
On him with gaping jaws they look,
Whilst the old coney-catcher spoke:
To Greece 'twill be a burning shame,
But to the Trojans special game,
That our best leaders, men so stout,
For whores and rogues should thus fall out:
Young men the old may treat as mules,
We know full well young men are fools;
Therefore, to lay the case before ye
Plain as I can, I'll tell a story:
I once a set of fellows knew,
All hearts of oak, and backs of yew:
To look for such would be in vain,
I ne'er shall see the like again.
Though bruis'd from head to foot they fought on,
Pirithous was himself a Broughton.
Bold Dryas was as hard as steel,
His knuckles would make Buckhurst feel;
And strong-back'd Theseus, though a sailor,
Would single-handed beat the Nailor.
Great Polyphemus too I brag on,
He fought and kick'd like Wantley's dragon;
And Cineus often would for fun
Make constables and watchmen run.
Such were my cronies, rogues in buff,
Who taught me how to kick and cuff.
With these the boar stood little chance;
They made the four-legg'd Centaurs prance.
Now these brave boys, these hearts of oak,
Were all attention when I spoke;
And listen'd to my fine oration
Like Whitfield's gaping congregation:
Though I was young, they thought me wise;
You sure may now with me advise.
Atrides, don't Briseis seek;
For, if you do, depend, each Greek,
The dastard rogue as well as brave,
Will say our king's both fool and knave.
The want of brains is no great shame,
'Cause nature there is most to blame;
But this plain fact by all is known,
If you're a rogue, the fault's your own.
Achilles, don't you play the fool,
And snub the king; for he must rule.
Thou art in fight the first, I grant;
As brave as Mars, or John-a-Gaunt:
But then you must allow one thing,
No man should scold and huff a king.
Matters you know are just this length,
He has got pow'r, and you have strength
Of each let's take a proper sup
To make a useful mixture up.
Do you, Atrides, strive to ease
Your heart; this bully I'll appease.
I'd rather give five hundred pound
Than have Pelides quit the ground.
Bravo! old boy! the king replies,
I swear my vet'ran's wondrous wise:
But that snap-dragon won't submit
To laws, unless he thinks 'em fit;
Because he can the Trojans swinge,
He fancies I to him should cringe:
But I, in spite of all his frumps,
Shall make him know I'm king of trumps.
 
 
Achilles quickly broke the thread
Of this fine speech; and thus he said:
 
 
Now, smite me, but I well deserv'd
To be so us'd, when first I serv'd
So great a rogue as you; but damn me
If you another day shall flam me:
Seize my Briseis, if you list,
I've pass'd my word I won't resist;
Safely then do it, for no more,
For any woman, wife or whore,
Achilles boxes; but take care
Your scoundrels steal no other ware:
No more Achilles dare t'affront,
Lest he should call thee to account,
And the next scurvy squabble close,
By wringing off thy snotty nose.
 
 
This Billingsgate affair being o'er,
Sullen they turn'd 'em to the door.
Achilles in a hurry went,
And sat down sulky in his tent:
Patroclus, as a friend should do,
Both grumbled and look'd sulky too.
Mean time Atrides fitted out
From Puddle Dock a smuggling-boat.
On deck Miss Chryseis took her stand;
Ulysses had the chief command.
The off'rings in the hold they stuff'd,
Then, all sails set, away they luff'd.
The chol'ric chief doth next essay
The soldiers' filth to wash away;
A cart and horse to every tent,
He with a noisy bellman sent:
The bell did signify, You must
Without delay bring out your dust:
Then made 'em stand upon the shore,
And wash their dirty limbs all o'er:
Next, by advice of Doctor Grimstone,
He rubb'd their mangey joints with brimstone,
Because, when first they sally'd forth,
Some mercenaries from the north
Had brought a queer distemper, which
The learned doctors call'd the itch.
He next begins to cut the throats
Of bulls, and sheep, and lambs, and goats;
The legs and loins in order laid,
To Phœbus all his share is paid:
Apollo, as the smoke arose,
Snuff'd ev'ry atom up his nose;
And, rather than they would provoke him,
They sent him smoke enough to choke him.
Still in the midst of all this coil,
Atrides felt his ewer boil:
Talthybius and Euribates,
Two ticket porters, did await his
Dread will, to carry goods and chattels,
Or run with messages in battles:
To these he speaks: – Ye scoundrels two,
What I command observe ye do;
Run to Achilles' tent, take heed,
And bring away his wench with speed;
Tell him you're order'd to attend her,
And I expect he'll quickly send her;
Else with a file of musqueteers
I'll beat his tent about his ears.
 
 
They hung an arse, what could they do?
They'd rather not, but yet must go:
Pensive they trod the barren sand,
On this side sea, on that side land,
And look'd extreme disconsolate,
Fearing at least a broken pate.
The hero in his tent they found,
His day-lights fix'd upon the ground:
They relish'd not his surly look,
So out of fear their distance took:
Quickly he guess'd they were in trouble,
And scorn'd to make their burden double
But with his finger, or his thumb,
Beckon'd the tardy knaves to come.
Ye trusty messengers, draw near,
And don't bedaub yourselves for fear,
Though you smell strong; but if 'tis so,
Pray clean yourselves before ye go;
Your master, if my thoughts prove true,
Will soon smell stronger far than you.
I partly guess for what you came;
Poor rogues, like you, should bear no blame.
Compell'd, you hither bent your way;
And servants always should obey.
Patroclus, fetch this square-stern'd jade,
Let her be to his tent convey'd:
But hark, ye messengers declare,
What I by Gog and Magog swear,
That though in blood all Greece shall wallow,
With fretting I'll consume no tallow,
But coolly let, and so I tell ye,
The Trojans beat your bones to jelly;
And if to me they are but civil,
May drive you scoundrels to the devil.
Your muddy-pated, hot-brain'd chief,
(Whose folly far exceeds belief)
When he has got a broken pate,
Will find himself an ass too late.
Mean time the bold Patroclus bears
The red-hair'd wench all drown'd in tears;
Who, with a woful heavy heart,
(As loth from his strong back to part)
Whilst with the porters twain she went,
Kept squinting backward to his tent.
 
 
Now, when the buxom wench was gone,
What think you doth this lubber-loon,
But, when he found no mortal near him,
Roar so, 'twould do you good to hear him;
And hanging his great jolter head
O'er the salt sea, he sobb'd, and said:
 
 
Oh, mother! since I'm to be shot,
Or some way else must go to pot,
I think great Jove, if he did right,
Should scour my fame exceeding bright.
'Tis quite reverse: yon brazen knave
Has stole the plumpest wench I have;
And in the face of all the throng
Of constables has done me wrong.
 
 
The goddess heard him under water,
And ran as fast as she could patter:
She saw he'd almost broke his heart,
And, like good mother, took his part:
 
 
My son, I'm vext to hear thee cry;
Come, tell mamma the reason why.
From th' bottom of his wame he sigh'd,
And to his mammy thus reply'd:
 
 
For what that rogue has made me cry,
You know, I'm sure, as well as I:
Yet since you bid me tell my story,
I'll whip it over in a hurry.
What think you that vile scoundrel's done,
That Agamemnon, to your son?
Because his pretty girl was gone,
He must have mine, forsooth, or none.
The Grecians gave to me this prize:
He huffs the Greeks, and damns their eyes.
We went to Thebes, and sack'd a village,
And brought away a world of pillage:
Amongst the plunder that was taken,
Besides fat geese, and eggs, and bacon,
We got some wenches plump and fair,
Of which one fell to that rogue's share:
But in the middle of our feast,
There came a hobbling red-nos'd priest;
In a great wallet that old dreamer
Had brought some presents to redeem her,
And made such humble supplication,
Attended with a fine oration,
That ev'ry Greek, except Atrides,
On the old hobbling parson's side is.
But he, of no one soul afraid,
Swore blood-and-oons he'd keep the maid
And, with an answer most uncivil,
Damn'd the old fellow to the devil.
The priest walk'd home in doleful dumps
(Like Witherington upon his stumps):
But, it is plain, he made a holla
That reach'd his loving friend Apollo;
For he in wrath, most furiously,
Began to smite us hip and thigh;
And had not I found out a prophet,
That told us all the reason of it,
Burn my old shoes, if e'er a sinner
Had now been left to eat a dinner;
But that, as sure as cits of London
Oft leave their spouses' business undone,
And trudge away to Russel-street
Some little dirty whore to meet,
Whilst the poor wife, to cure her dumps,
Works her apprentice to the stumps;
So sure this god, for rage or fun,
Had pepper'd ev'ry mother's son.
'Twas I, indeed, did first advise
To cook him up a sacrifice,
And then his pardon strive to gain
By sending home the wench again;
For which the damn'd confounded churl
Swore he would have my bouncing girl:
And I this minute, you must know,
Like a great fool, have let her go:
For which, no doubt, it will be said
Your son has got a chuckle head.
To Jove then go, and catch him by
The hand, or foot, or knee, or thigh;
Hold him but fast, and coax him well.
And mind you that old story tell,
How you of all the gods held out
When they once rais'd a rebel rout,
And brought a giant from Guildhall
With face so grim he scar'd 'em all:
When once you'd got him rais'd above,
And plac'd him by the side of Jove,
So fast with both his hands he thunder'd,
The rebels swore he'd got a hundred,
Threw down the ropes they'd brought to bind 'em,
And, scamp'ring, never look'd behind 'em:
Tell him, for this, to drive pell mell
The Grecian sons of whores to hell,
That Atreus' son, that stupid fool,
May have no scoundrels left to rule;
And then he'll hang himself for spite,
He durst the boldest Grecian slight.
 
 
His mother's heart was almost broke,
To hear how dolefully he spoke:
But having belch'd, she thus replies,
The salt brine running from her eyes:
 
 
O Killey, since the Fates do stint
Thy precious life, the devil's in't
That thou must likewise bear to boots
This scurvy, mangey rascal's flouts:
But take thy mammy's good advice,
And his thee homeward in a trice;
Or, if thou'd rather choose to stay,
Don't help the dogs in any fray.
Depend upon't, to Jove I'll go,
And let him all the matter know:
He junkets now with swarthy faces
(For he, like men, has all his paces),
And will continue at the feast
Ten or eleven days at least:
Taking, like our Jamaica planters,
Their fill of what our vilest ranters
Would puke at but these kind of beast
Esteem it as a noble feast;
I mean the breaking-up the trenches
Of sooty, sweaty negro wenches
(Though most o' th' planters that thus roam,
Like Jove, have wife enough at home.)
Soon as his guts have got their fill,
I'll tell him all, by Jove I will!
Till he has granted my petition,
Don't stir to keep 'em from perdition;
Not e'en to save their souls, plague rot 'em!
So souse she plung'd, and reach'd the bottom.
 
 
Mean time Ulysses, full of cares,
Had moor'd his boat at Chrysa's stairs:
When sails were furl'd, and all made snug,
They tipp'd the can, and pass'd the jug;
Then fell to work, and brought their store
Of cows and rotten sheep ashore:
This done, the last of all came out
The girl that caus'd this woful rout.
Ulysses, ever on the lurch,
Hurries the girl away to church,
Knowing full well that there he had
Best chance of finding her old dad;
And as he gave her to th' old man,
To lie¹ and cant he thus began:
 
 
I come upon my bended knees,
Thine and Apollo's wrath t' appease;
And that I'm in good earnest, see
Thy girl come back, and ransom-free;
And, what I own is boldly said,
I've brought her with her maidenhead;
For which, I hope, our friend you'll stand,
That Sol may hold his heavy hand,
The parson hugg'd and kiss'd his daughter,
And shak'd the hands of them that brought her
So pleas'd to see the girl again,
He fell to prayers might and main;
And, whilst the Greeks the cattle slay,
The parson thus was heard to pray:
 
 
Apollo, pr'ythee hear me now,
As eke thou didst nine days ago:
As thou at my request didst murder
The Grecians, pr'ythee go no further;
Hear, once again, thy priest's petition,
And mend their most bedaub'd condition.
 
 
Apollo, as the sound drew near,
To ev'ry syllab lent an ear:
And now they fell to cutting throats
Of bulls and oxen, sheep and goats.
After the day-light god was serv'd,
The priest for all the people carv'd.
But how the hungry whoresons scaff'd;
How eagerly the beer they quaff'd,
Till they had left no single chink,
Either to hold more meat or drink,
None can describe: they grew so mellow,
Nothing was heard but whoop and halloo;
Rare songs they sung, and catches too —
(The composition good and true)
Apollo made 'em, but took care
They should not last above a year,
Well knowing that the future race
Of men all knowledge would disgrace,
And that his lines must have great luck,
Not to give place to Stephen Duck.
 
 
At sun-set all hands went from shore
On board their oyster-boat to snore.
I' th' morning, when they hoist their sail,
Apollo lent a mack'rel gale,
With which they nimbly cross'd the main,
And haul'd their boat ashore again.
 
 
But now 'tis time we look about
And find the bold Achilles out:
Pensive he sat, and bit his thumbs;
No comfort yet, no mammy comes:
The days had number'd just eleven,
When Jupiter return'd to heaven;
He'd got his belly full of smacks
From thick-lip'd Ethiopian blacks.
 
 
The mother on her word must think;
So up she mounted in a twink,
Approach'd his godship, whom she took
Fast by the hand, and thus she spoke:
 
 
If ever I had luck to be
Useful in time of need to thee,
(Which, I am sure, you can't deny,
Unless you tell a cursed lie)
Quickly revenge th' affront that's done
By Agamemnon to my son.
Let Hector thrash 'em, if he list,
Till ev'ry Grecian rogue's bepiss'd,
And make them run like frighten'd rats
From mother Dobson's tabby cats.
 
 
Whilst Jove considers what to say,
Onward she goes; she'll have no nay:
 
 
You must with my request comply,
My dearest dad, so don't deny;
But let the heavenly rabble see
Some kindness is reserv'd for me.
 
 
Then answers he who rolls the thunder:
I'm much amaz'd, and greatly wonder,
That you should thus attempt, with tears,
To set my rib and me by th' ears;
This, by my soul! will make rare work:
Juno will rate me like a Turk:
You surely know, and have known long,
The devil cannot match her tongue:
To Troy, I'm sure, I wish full well,
She ne'er forgets that tale to tell:
But his away from hence, lest she
Should spy you holding chat with me.
If I but say I'll grant your suit,
You may depend upon't I'll do't:
With head (observe) I'll make a nod,
That cannot be revers'd by god.
The thund'rer then his noddle shakes,
And Greece, like city custard, quakes.
Thetis, well pleas'd the Greeks to souse,
Dives under water like a goose;
Whilst Jove to th' upper house repairs,
And calls about him all his peers;
Who ran t' attend his call much faster
Than schoolboys run to meet their master.
All silent stood the gaping bevy,
Like sneaking courtiers at a levee,
Juno excepted: fear she scorns,
She hates all manners, damns all forms;
And because Jove had just been talking
With Thetis (nothing more provoking),
Her passion rose, and she ding dong
Would quarrel with him, right or wrong.
 
 
'Tis mighty civil, on my life,
To keep all secrets from your wife:
Is this the method, Mr. Jove,
You take to show your wife your love?
Pray who's that brimstone-looking quean,
With whom you whispering was seen?
Perhaps you're set some secret task,
And I'm impertinent to ask.
Is there a wife 'tween here and Styx,
Like me, would bear your whoring tricks?
But, goodman Roister! I'd have you know,
Though you are Jove, I still am Juno!
 
 
Madam, says Jove, by all this prate,
I partly guess what you'd be at;
You want the secrets to disclose,
Which I conceal from friends and foes;
You only seek your own disquiet;
Secrets to women are bad diet.
A secret makes a desp'rate rumble,
Nor ceases in the gut to grumble
Till vent it finds; then out it flies,
Attended with ten thousand lies;
All characters to pieces tears,
And sets the neighbourhood by th' ears.
What's proper I'll to you relate,
The rest remains with me and Fate:
But from this day I'll order, no man
That's wise shall trust a tattling woman.
 
 
The goddess with the goggle eyes
Roll'd 'em about, and thus replies:
 
 
I find 'twill be in vain to plead,
When once you get it in your head
To contradict your loving wife;
You value neither noise nor strife,
But, spite of all that we can say,
You mules will always have your way.
But yet for Greece I'm sore afraid,
E'er since that cunning white-legg'd jade,
That Thetis, a long conf'rence had;
I'm sure she's hatching something bad,
And hath some mighty favour won
For her dear ranting roaring son?
Else, by my soul, you'd not have given
A nod that shook both earth and heaven;
Perhaps you'll take the whore's-bird's side,
And thrash my Grecians back and hide.
Flux me! quoth Jove, thy jealous pate,
Instead of love, will move my hate.
I tell thee, cunning thou must be
To worm this secret out of me;
'Tis better far, good wife, to cease
To plague me thus, and study peace;
Or if you want to make resistance,
Call all the gods to your assistance;
So all your jackets will I baste,
You'll not rebel again in haste.
 
 
Juno, with face as broad as platter,
Soon found she had mista'en the master;
She relish'd not this surly dish,
So sat her down as mute as fish:
At which the guests were so confounded,
That all their mirth was well nigh drowned
Their knives and forks they every one
Before their greasy plates laid down;
Each mouth was ready cock'd, to beg
Leave to depart, and make a leg;
When Juno's son, ycleped Vulcan,
A special fellow at a full can,
Who was of handicrafts the top,
And kept a noted blacksmith's shop,
Where he made nets, steel caps, and thunder,
And finish'd potlids to a wonder;
He, finding things were going wrong,
And that they'd fall by th' ears ere long,
Starts up, and in a merry strain
Hammer'd a speech from his own brain.
 
 
Quoth he, What pity 'tis that we,
Who should know nought but jollity,
Should scold and squabble, brawl and wrangle,
And about mortal scoundrels jangle!
In peace put we the can about,
Let Englishmen in drink fall out,
And, at the meetings of the trade,
Fight when the reck'ning should be paid.
Mother, you know not what you're doing;
To CALLOT thus will be your ruin;
He'll some time, in a dev'lish fury,
Do you some mischief, I'll assure you:
Yet, I'll lay sixpence to a farthing,
He'll kiss you, if you ask his pardon.
This said, a swingeing bowl he takes,
And drank it off for both their sakes;
Then with a caper fill'd another,
Which he presented to his mother:
 
 
Not courtier-like I hand this bowl:
But take it from an honest soul,
That means and thinks whate'er he says;
It won't be so in future days:
Here, drink Jove's health, and own his sway:
You know all women must obey.
When once my father's in a passion,
He's dev'lish cross, hear my relation:
In your good cause I felt his twist,
My leg he seiz'd in his strong wrist;
In vain it was with him to grapple,
He grasp'd me as you would an apple;
And from his mutton-fist when hurl'd,
For three long days and nights I twirl'd;
At last upon the earth fell squash,
My legs were broken all to smash:
'Tis true, they're set, as you may see,
But most folks think damn'd awkwardly.
He then the bowl, with clownish grace,
Fill'd round, and wip'd his sooty face,
Then limp'd away into his place.
 
 
This cur'd them all from being dull,
And made 'em laugh their bellies full:
Once more their teeth to work they set,
And laid about 'em till they sweat,
Drinking, like well-fed aldermen,
A bumper every now and then,
Which they took care their guts to put in
Whilst t' other slice of beef was cutting;
For they, like cits, allow'd no crime
So great as that of losing time,
At home, abroad, or any meeting
Where the debate must end in eating.
Now they were in for't, all day long
They booz'd about, and had a song:
The fiddlers scrap'd both flat and sharp;
Apollo thrum'd the old Welch harp:
Nine ballad-singers from the street
Were fetch'd, with voices all so sweet,
Compar'd with them, Mansoli's squeaking
Would seem like rusty hinges creaking.
At sun-set², with a heavy head,
Each drunkard reel'd him home to bed,
Vulcan, who was the royal coiner,
Besides both carpenter and joiner,
Had built for every god a house,
And scorn'd to take a single sous.
Now night came on, the thund'rer led
His helpmate to her wicker bed;
There they agreed, and where's the wonder?
His sceptre rais'd, she soon knock'd under.