Then Ajax grasps his clumsy fistAnd gives the box a devilish twist—Out pop the dice—cries Nestor; Seven'S the main; a nick, by Jove, eleven.
Then Ajax grasps his clumsy fistAnd gives the box a devilish twist—Out pop the dice—cries Nestor; Seven'S the main; a nick, by Jove, eleven.
Atrides then his elbows shak'dThough inwardly his gizzard quak'd:But soon he was reliev'd this bout,For Nestor cries, Aums ace, you're out:Then Ajax grasps his clumsy fist,And gives the box a dev'lish twist—Out pops the dice, cries Nestor—Seven'S the main; a nick, by Jove, eleven.Another throw then Ajax tries:Eight is the main, old Nestor cries;Resolv'd his jobbernoul to cozen,Roars out, Another nick, a dozen!And so it might, I swear and vow,For aught that honest Ajax knew,Who took on trust whate'er was done,So whipp'd his fighting-jacket on,Whilst all the rest could hardly helpFrom laughing at the thick-skull'd whelp.O warriors! cries this, head of cod,I'll smoke great Hector's hide, by G-d!But lend me first each man a prayer,So low the Trojans may not hear:But let 'em hear; on recollection,To pray is no such great reflection:No mortal scrub on earth dare sayThat I'm afraid because I pray.In days of old, though 'twas but rare.Men bold as me have said a pray'r;Cromwell himself, I've heard folks say,Like any popish saint could pray;And yet, when people were not civil,Could swear and bully like a devil.Then bring the man alive or dead,That valiant Ajax ought to dread:Not Warwick's earl, that kicking cub,Whose arm could whirl so thick a club,That all our grannies tell us howHe kill'd a whacking great dun cow—Was he alive, I make no doubtTo kill him, and his cow to-boot.In Salamis my mother bore me,And bid me kick the world before me.No more he said, but on the stonesDropp'd down upon his marrow-bones,Held up his hands, and then beganTo say his lesson like a man;His comrades too perform their parts,And club their prayers with all their hearts;But, like the Jews, the varlets madeD——'d ugly faces[3]whilst they pray'd:O father Jove! whose greatest pride-aIs whoring on the mount of Ida!Now grant that honest Ajax mayGive the first broken head to-day:But, if thou guard'st those Trojan cattle,Then grant it may be a drawn battle,That, like the German and the Gaul,Both sides may sing, and roar, and bawlTe Deum, though for nought at all,And tell their God a cursed lie;That both have got the victory.Now Ajax, 'cause the coat he put onWas left without a single button,To keep it tight, he ty'd it fastWith a rope's end about his waist,Then like a Spaniard struts, who pridesTo show his wrath in mighty strides.Great joy ran through the Grecian bands,Though his hands shak'd like drunken Rand's:And, whilst he was the Trojan eyeing,He grinn'd to keep himself from crying.The Greeks were humm'd, and Troy, besides,Was scar'd to see him take such strides.Hector himself was wond'ring thatHis mighty heart went pit-a-pat;Though now there was no time to take,But he must brew as well as bake.Ajax behind his shield did keep,But ventur'd now and then to peep;A dev'lish thumping shield it was,'Twould load an English ox or ass;Look Scotland through till you are blind,So large a targe you'll hardly find:Seven good tup-skins as can be seen,Cover'd a greasy kitchen-screen.The roast-meat side of which, we find,With old tin cannisters was lin'd:One Tychius, who dwelt in Hyle,Where Yorkshire shoes are made most vilely,Finish'd this shield, and made it neat,By sawing off two clumsy feet:This potlid Ajax held beforeHis guts, and then began to roar:Hector, come here, you whelp, and tryWho cudgels best, or you or I.Achilles dare not come—who cares?You see as good a man that dares;Let him sit sulky, if he will;His place great Ajax' self dares fill:Bold hearts like me we have good store;There's three, I'm certain, if not four,That any hour o' th' day are willingTo box for sixpence or a shilling;Nay, some for half a crown will try,When cash and courage both run high:So, let me lose the day or win it,Here I stand ready to begin it.Hector replies, Great son of Tel,You seem to scold it pretty well;But, sure, you think the rock of TroySome chuckle-headed booby boy,Just parted from a country school,And therefore dares not face an owl;But I will face you, you shall see,Though you were in an ivy-tree.And look'd as fierce before you spoke,As Charley in the royal oak:I dare, for th' honour of our house,Say boh! to any Grecian goose.Your broomshaft strokes with ease I'll cut off.And all Broughtonian thumps can put off;But as I value not a f—tYour puffs, I shan't make use of art;By downright strength I'll try my fate,And scorn to steal a broken pate.At this his quarter-staff he rears,And laid about the Grecian's ears:His nob he gave a swingeing knock,But might as well have hit a rock.Ajax then drove at Hector's crown,Who flinch'd, or else he'd knock'd him down;So vastly furious was the stroke,Both quarter-staves to pieces broke.The cudgels next the bullies try,And baste each other hip and thigh;Fierce as two squabbling lawyers prate,Or two fish-wives at Billingsgate,And seem'd to be a special match,Till Hector got a little scratch.His wrath to see his blood run downMade him let fly a thumping stone,Which hit his pate, and off did passAs if his noddle had been brass.But Ajax threw with such a shockA craggy ragged piece of rock,And aim'd the stone so well, that heAlmost demolish'd Hector's knee.Hector was glad to lean uponHis potlid, else he'd tumbled down:But Sol, who always did attend him,Brought him a dram of rum to mend him.Andrew Ferrara's next the word,For each had got a highland sword,Which when they flourish'd in the air,The glitt'ring blades made people stare.Just as they met in guise uncivil,Like great St. Michael and the devil,With fell intent to cut and slash,And of their bodies make a hash,The wary seconds both popp'd out,And put an end to this tough bout.Talthybius did the Greek attend;Idæus was great Hector's friend;(Both constables and cunning knaves)Betwixt the swords they thrust their staves.Idæus first began to speak,For he had learnt a little Greek:Forbear, my buffs, your farther fray,Jove says ye fight no more to-day;No more of bus'ness can be doneTo-day, because the day is gone.Ajax was now grown cock-a-hoop,Because he could with Hector cope;Pray, Sir, says he, to Hector speak:He challeng'd forth the boldest Greek.If he should say 'tis time to part,I'll give it up with all my heart;But he, you both must own, begun first,And therefore ought, I think, t'have done first.Then Hector speaks: Great Sir, you're right;And, if you dare but trust your sight,By looking sharp you'll see 'tis night:And you and all the people know,To box at night's against the law:For want of light, we by surpriseMight knock out one another's eyes;And e'en just now, so dark it grows,I scarce can see your copper nose:So let's decide some other dayWho's the best man at cudgel-play:Your great escape the Greeks will tell of,They'll jump to find you're come so well off;And all the good old wives in TroyAt my escape will jump for joy.But let us make, this glorious day,Some sort of swap, that folks may say,These souls were neither Whig nor Tory,But battled for their country's glory.With that a sword he gave, whose hiltWas made of brass, but double gilt:This gift did Ajax' stomach meltSo much, he gave his greasy belt:Then with a Spanish air those twainMajestic strutted home again.
In this queer trim the Grecians bringThe puff'd-up hero to the king,Who, far from thinking 'twas a man,Thought they had drest a sack of branIn Ajax' clothes,—
In this queer trim the Grecians bringThe puff'd-up hero to the king,Who, far from thinking 'twas a man,Thought they had drest a sack of branIn Ajax' clothes,—
Hector, at his return to Troy,Did really make 'em jump for joy:They star'd, but yet the better halfCame up to feel if he was safe.Poor Ajax was swell'd up and puff'd,Like a black-pudding over-stuff'd.In this queer trim the Grecians bringThe puff'd-up hero to the king,Who, far from thinking 'twas a man,Thought they had dress'd a sack of branIn Ajax' clothes; but, being fullyConvinc'd it was the very bullyThat could with valiant Hector box,He bid the butcher kill an ox.That you mayn't think the gen'ral boasted,A fine Scotch runt was kill'd and roasted:Great Agamemnon laid the cloth,Then boil'd the neck and shanks for broth.When all was cook'd, the king took careTo deal each hungry knave his share:But valiant Ajax for his supperAte the sirloin and half the crupper;By which you'll think, and think aright,The man could eat as well as fight.When they had stuff'd their bellies full,And drunk each man a hearty pull,Nestor begins, who never longWas known to hold his noisy tongue:It grieves my very guts to sayThat this has been a dismal day,But faith it was: upon the shoreA dozen hearty cocks, or more,Were on their backs by Hector laid,And half of them half-knock'd o' th' head.Whilst we are drown'd in grief and sorrow,How can we think to box to-morrow?A little time should sure be foundTo get our dead men under ground;Which if we don't, I know full wellThey'll quickly make a cursed smell:To Hector's drubs we need not yield,Our friends will stink us off the field.When we have got them under ground,Both rotten carcasses and sound,Each man shall have a handsome stoneFor babes to cry or piss upon:Next we will all our bricklay'rs call upTo dig a ditch and build a wall up,To save our huts, and boats, and lighters,From those damn'd copper-nos'd sheep-biters;Then make strong gates, that, if the routShould come too near, we'll bolt 'em out;Next on the walls build towers, and prop 'em;The devil's in't, if that don't stop 'em:Then if the foe comes helter skelter,We all know where to run for shelter:For want of this, if they should beat us,They burn our boats, and roast and eat us.Thus spake this queer old Grecian wight,And all the captains thought him right.In the mean time the Trojan peersWere met, and almost got by th' ears:Though their hearts ach'd, this crew so factiousCould not refrain from being fractious:All order they despis'd, or summons,Just like an English house of ———-.At last the grave Antenor rose,And strove their diff'rence to compose.What I shall utter is no merit,'Tis inspiration of the spirit,Says 'this old cuff: Restore but Helen,And we our houses safe may dwell in;Let Helen and her money goTo Sparta or to Strumbello,With all belongs her head or tail;Don't keep the paring of a nail.If Paris hath not got enoughOf trimming her bewitching buff,But longs to switch the gipsy still,You'll own with me he never will;Then must be forc'd—and so I voteTo do the very thing he ought:We broke the truce, the Grecians felt us,And Jupiter, by G-d, will pelt us;Then let us quickly stir about,And do't before you're forc'd to do't.Th' old Trojan spoke, and down he sat,When Paris rose and twirl'd his hat;Smelt at his box, perfum'd with musk,Then hem'd, and look'd as fierce as H—k:You say your speech must claim no merit,'Tis inspiration of the spirit;But, if the matter I can handle,A canting quaker's farthing candle,Twinkling within him, gives more lightThan this of yours that burns so bright.When young perhaps you might be wise;Wisdom decays as well as eyes:You think that I have had enoughOf trimming Helen's heav'nly buff.The thought is mighty well for you,For whom three times a year might do;But Helen ne'er shall quit my hand,So long as I can go or stand.As for the money that she broughtFrom Greece, I scorn to touch a groat;It lies, with his tobacco-stopper(Five pounds in silver, three in copper),In an old trunk, with some old gearI never yet would let her wear.Let Menelaus touch the pelf,I only want to touch herself.Besides, I'll pay him for the touch,And give him twenty times as muchFrom my own stock as she brought with her,When first she came from Sparta hither:But ere she goes, by holy Paul!I'll see the devil fetch ye all.Priam, who fear'd by all this routHis trusty Trojans might fall out,Rose up to speak; the crew so vi'lentHad the good manners to be silent;On which th' old Trojan bow'd to each,Then hem'd, and made this king-like speech:Ye hearts of oak, that round me sit,What think ye if we pick a bit?I saw the cook-maid, Mary, put onThe spit a thumping loin of mutton,Above an hour and half ago;It must be ready now, I know.When we have pick'd the bones and tail,And each man drunk a gill of ale,We'll guard the walls, and all the nightLook sharp to keep our matters right:A bellman in the morn shall mention.To the Greek captain our intention;And add, 'twill suit us to a tittle,If both sides take their breath a little,That those who on the ground are laidMay come and tell us if they're dead;If they're alive, we can assure them,Our quacks will either kill or cure 'em;Then, if they please, with might and mainWe'll buckle to't, and box again.Soon as the Trojan long had said,Each captain seiz'd a piece of bread;But could not stay to pick a bit,So whipp'd a slice from off the spit;Then pocketing both bread and roast,Ran off to eat it at their post.Before the sun brush'd up his lamp,Idæus went to th' Grecian camp:He found the chief, his friends, and brother,Looking as wise at one anotherAs justices, when on the benchThey try some poor unlucky wrench,And make the jade at Bridewell yelpFor breeding brats without their help:The bellman tinkled first his bell,And then began his tale to tell:—Ye Grecian constables, I prayLend all your ears to what I say;And from my soul I wish, to ease ye,That ev'ry word I speak may please ye:I wish our rogue and your d——d whoreHad both been drowned long beforeThis hubble bubble they had coin'd,By getting both their giblets join'd!I wish the brimstone's pepper'd tailWas in the belly of that whaleThat swallow'd Jonah, though the JewHad such rank flesh, he made him spew;And I'm afraid this self-same whale,After he'd swallow'd Nelly's tail,Though plaguy salt, would find it stale;Therefore, like Jonah, on the mainWould come to spew her up again;And then some luckless country willBe plagu'd with her grimalkin still.But for all this, I'm bid to tell ye,That Paris will not part with Nelly;He finds her flesh so very sweet,He swears he'll touch no other meat;But says he'll give you ev'ry pieceOf money that she brought from Greece:And, if he can but peace restore,Will double it ten times o'er and o'er;But swears the wench sha'n't quit his hand,So long as he can go or stand.Next I'm to say 'twill suit us wellTo rest our weary limbs a spell,That those who lie in honour's bed,Whether knock'd down or knock'd o' th' head,May be sought out, and, when they're found,Be decently put under ground;And then with all our might and main,If so ye like, we'll box again:But who shall drub the other well,The Lord above can only tell.The Grecian chiefs, by what appears,Both cock'd their mouths and prick'd their ears;But, like a modern bill in chancer',They took some time to give an answer.This did Tydides so provoke,He jump'd upon his legs and spoke:Zooks! you would make a parson swear,To see ye all thus gape and stare!What signifies their money now,Though they would send the brimstone too?You see their wooden towers are shaken,Then what the pox can save their bacon?Let us but kick 'em out of doors,And the same men that shook their towersShall shake their daughters, wives, and whores.The Grecians shout their approbationOf this laconic bold oration.Atrides then the peace rejects,But sends to Priam his respects:You hear, good Sir, the shouts of GreeceAre, to a man, against this peace.As much as you all broils we hate,But think the peaceinadequate:Yet, though we can't agree to peace,I really think club-law should cease,That we may both sides look about,And try to find our dead men out.When yours are found, pray don't you thinkThat they are dead because they stink;For ours, that liv'd to run away,Stunk most confoundedly to-day;Therefore take care you turn and turn 'em,And shake 'em well before you burn 'em:Ispeak lest groundless fears should curb ye,For blast my eyes if we'll disturb ye!He then, to show he meant 'em fair,Flourish'd his broomshaft in the air.On this the crier trots awayTo Troy, to tell 'em what they say.The Trojan boys were got together,Like flocks of birds in frosty weather:Thus gather'd on a heap he caught 'em,Waiting to hear what news he brought 'em.Finding there was no time to spare,He hem'd, to make his throttle clear:They instant leave him room to enter,And place him in the very centre;From whence he with a crier's voice(Where words are mostly drown'd in noise)His speech deliver'd full as clearAs any crier you shall hear:The Grecian captains, from their tents,To Priam send their compliments;And, though they can't consent to peace,They all desire club-law should cease:'Cause then both parties might, they said,See if their dead men were all dead.The Trojans, upon this, thought good,To buy some loads of billet wood;But to the Greeks no man would sell it:On which they thought 'twas best to fell itWithout the lord o' th' manor's leave;So instantly began to cleave.But I can tell 'em, had they thenBeen caught by justice F—d—g's men,Those true-bred hounds would never drop 'em,Till they had seen his worship shop 'em.The sun had wash'd his fiery face,And greas'd his wheels to run his race,When Greeks and Trojans look'd aboutTo find who'd got their brains knock'd out;But neither side had time to weep,Till all were gather'd on a heap.The Trojans then to burning fall,And made one crying serve 'em all.The Grecians thought th' example good,So out they lugg'd their stolen wood:Then laid the bodies in their places,And fell to making d—-d wry faces.When they were burnt as black as coal,One lousy tombstone serv'd 'em all.This done, with might and main they fallTo dig a ditch, and build a wall;For Nestor, who had still some cunning,Guess'd, when the rascals took to running,This wall might stop the Trojan fightersFrom burning their old rotten lighters.Upon the wall these Grecian powersErected what themselves call'd towers:But in these days our modern doxiesWould call them hobbling watchmen's boxes.Some baker's billets next they took,The sharpen'd points did outward look,The blunt end stuck in earth; and theseThe Grecians call chevaux de frise.But whilst they thus their labour kept on,They rather discomfrontled Neptune.As near to surly Jove he sat,Brother, says he, I'll tell you what;If Greece should finish yon mud wall,And those I built for Troy should fall,This wall will be remember'd longerThan those I built, though so much stronger.This, by my soul, I shall not like!—Ha' done, says Jove, thou wrangling tike!Thou admiral of the sea, and letA mortal work thy gullet fret?I love that much; but cease to grumble,These walls of mud shall quickly tumble.No bantling that's unborn shall viewA stick of what they're doing now.Thy waves shall sap the bottom soon,Or drunken cits shall piss 'em down,When, in a flaming one-horse chair,They come to take the country air;Where a round dozen pipes they funk,And then return to town dead drunk.Whilst thus they fratch'd, the Greeks were gettingJust finish'd, as the sun was setting;And then the hungry sons of whoresButcher'd their bulls and cows by scores;The fat sirloins on spits they put,But smoke their gods with tripe and gut.Just as they clapp'd 'em on their crupperTo eat this great uncommon supper,They spy'd a lighter under sail,Loaded with beer and Burton ale,Which came i' th' nick to cheer their souls,And fill their empty skins and bowls.Eunæus did the ale procure,For he was only small-beer brewer;A cask of both sorts did he sendA present for the king his friend;The rest the Grecian captains bought,To pay for which our author thoughtSome pawn'd a shirt, and some a coat.In feasting all their cares were sunk,And ev'ry noble chief got drunk;But they had made a woeful blunder,For Jove they pinch'd, who growl'd like thunder;Which scar'd the drunken rogues so sore,They spill'd their liquor on the floor;And, in the midst of all their airs,Forgot their oaths to say their pray'rs,And beg such coil he would not keep,But let the maudlin knaves go sleep.
[1]Cervantes tells us; if I remember right, that Sancho Pancho, after hearing the cause on both sides with wonderful attention, and taking a little time to digest the learned arguments on both sides, pulled out his box and dice to decide the matter, and the highest throw won the cause; which gave great content. If our j-dg-s would but follow his example, it would prevent their being so often interrupted in their nap, as they need be disturbed but once in a cause.
[1]Cervantes tells us; if I remember right, that Sancho Pancho, after hearing the cause on both sides with wonderful attention, and taking a little time to digest the learned arguments on both sides, pulled out his box and dice to decide the matter, and the highest throw won the cause; which gave great content. If our j-dg-s would but follow his example, it would prevent their being so often interrupted in their nap, as they need be disturbed but once in a cause.
[2]Whether Nestor means good or bad luck by the wordhellish, we must refer to the bucks of this age, because by them this word is used indifferently for both good and bad.
[2]Whether Nestor means good or bad luck by the wordhellish, we must refer to the bucks of this age, because by them this word is used indifferently for both good and bad.
[3]Our author says, that going one evening into the Jews' synagogue, he observed the most devout of them making confounded ugly faces. What reason they have for striving to put on worse phizzes than God has given them, he cannot tell.
[3]Our author says, that going one evening into the Jews' synagogue, he observed the most devout of them making confounded ugly faces. What reason they have for striving to put on worse phizzes than God has given them, he cannot tell.
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.
And whilst he to the supple gang,Like Harry, made a short harangue.They ey'd him all with fearful look,And their teeth chatter'd as he spoke.
And whilst he to the supple gang,Like Harry, made a short harangue.They ey'd him all with fearful look,And their teeth chatter'd as he spoke.
Aurora 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 Harry[1], 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.
These tits, one Friday afternoon,Jove purchas'd of a Yorkshire loonIn Smithfield, with great care, and yetGot most abominably bit.—
These tits, one Friday afternoon,Jove purchas'd of a Yorkshire loonIn Smithfield, with great care, and yetGot most abominably bit.—
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 Cox[2]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 yawds[3], 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 Don[4],But Jove again began to growl,And thunder'd from his mustard-bowl[5].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 bitches[6]!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 lightning[7]: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.