[1]Every body knows Ulysses could lie with a very grave face.
[1]Every body knows Ulysses could lie with a very grave face.
[2]Homer makes the gods go home at sun-set; I wish he could make all country justices and parsons do the same.
[2]Homer makes the gods go home at sun-set; I wish he could make all country justices and parsons do the same.
Jove, or by fame he much bely'd is,Sends off a Dream to hum Atrides:His conscience telling him it meet isTo make his promise good to Thetis;Gave it commission as it went,To tell the cull by whom 'twas sent;And bid it fill his head top full,Of taking Troy, and cock and bull.The Vision goes as it was bid,And fairly turns the poor man's head,Who eagerly began to stareAt castles building in the air,And fancy'd, as the work went on,He heard Troy's walls come tumbling down.But ere he starts, he has an eyeThe metal of his rogues to try:He tells the chiefs, when he proposesThat homeward all shall point their noses,They must take care, when he had sped,To come and knock it all o' th' head.The plot succeeds; they're glad to go;But sly Ulysses answer'd, No;Then drove his broomstick with a thwackUpon Thersites' huckle back;Check'd other scoundrels with a frown,And knock'd the sauciest rascals down;Proving, that at improper timesTo speak the truth's the worst of crimes.Th' assembly met; old Nestor preaches,And all the chiefs, like schoolboys, teachesOrders each diff'rent shire to fixA rendezvous, nor longer mix,But with their own bluff captains stay,Whether they fight or run away:And whilst thus gather'd in a cluster,They nick the time, and make a muster.
The watch past twelve o'clock were roaring,And citizens in bed were snoring,And all the gods of each degreeWere snoring hard for company,Whilst Jove, whose mind could get no ease,Perplex'd with cares as well as fleas(For cares he in his bosom carried,As every creature must that's married),Was plotting, since he had begun,How he might honour Thetis' son;And scratch'd, and scratch'd, but yet he couldNot find a method for his bloodTo keep his word. At last he caught,By scratching hard, a lucky thought(And 'faith, I think, 'twas no bad scheme);To send the Grecian chief a Dream,Made of a Cloud, on which he putA coat and waistcoat, ready cutOut of the self-same kind of stuff,But yet it suited well enoughTo give it shape: Now, Mr. Dream,Take care you keep the shape you seem,Says Jove; then do directly goTo Agamemnon's tent below:Tell him to arm his ragged knavesWith cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,Then instantly their time employTo rattle down the walls of Troy.Tell him, in this, Miss DestinyAnd all the heav'nly crew agree:For Juno has made such a riot,The gods do aught to keep her quiet.Away goes Dream upon the wing,And stands before the snoring king:Grave Nestor's coat and figure took,As old as he, as wise his look,Rubs the cull's noddle with his wings,And, full of guile, thus small he sings:Monarch, how canst thou sleeping lie,When thou hast other fish to fry?O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,Whose father was a skilful farrier,Hast thou no thought about decorum,Who art the very head o'th' quorum?I shame myself to think I'm catchingThee fast asleep, instead of watching.Is not all Greece pinn'd on thy lap?Rise, and for once postpone thy nap,Lest by some rogue it should be said,The chief of chiefs went drunk to bed:For Jove, by whom you are respected,Says your affairs sh'an't be neglected;So sends you word he now is poringOn your concerns, whilst you are snoring:He bids thee arm thy ragged knavesWith cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,Then instantly thy time employTo rattle down the walls of Troy:To this, he adds, Miss DestinyAnd all the heav'nly crew agree:For Juno has made such a riot,The gods do aught to keep her quiet.Then nothing more this Nothing says,But turn'd about, and went his ways.Up starts the king, and with his nailScratch'd both his head, and back, and tail;And all the while his fancy's tickl'd,To think how Troy would soon be pickl'd.A silly goose! he little knewWhat surly Jove resolv'd to do;What shoals of sturdy knaves must tumbleBefore they could the Trojans humble.Down on an ancient chopping-blockThis mighty warrior clapp'd his dock(The block, worn out with chopping meat,Now made the chief a rare strong seat):Then don'd his shirt with Holland cuff,For, Frenchman-like, he lay in buff;Next o'er his greasy doublet threwA thread-bare coat that once was blue,But dirt and time had chang'd its hue;Slipp'd on his shoes, but lately cobbled,And to the board of council hobbled;But took his sword with brazen hilt,And wooden sceptre finely gilt.Now, Madam Morn popp'd up her face,And told 'em day came on apace;When Agamemnon's beadles rouseThe Greeks to hear this joyful news.He long'd, like breeding wife, it seems,To tell his tickling, pleasing dreams.I' th' int'rim, trotting to the fleet,Old Nestor there he chanc'd to meet,Whose tent he borrows for that morn,To make a council-chamber on;And reason good he had, I ween,It kept his own apartment clean.Now all-hands met, he takes his time,And told his case in prose or rhyme:Friends, neighbours, and confed'rates bold,Attend, whilst I my tale unfold:As in my bed I lay last night,I saw an odd-look'd kind of sprite;It seem'd, grave Nestor, to my view,Just such a queer old put as you—'Tis fact, for all your surly look—And this short speech distinctly spoke:How canst thou, monarch, sleeping lie,When thou hast other fish to fry?O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,Whose father was a special farrier(Which, by the by, although 'tis true,Yet I'd be glad you'd tell me howThis bushy-bearded spirit knew),Hast thou no thought about decorum,Who art the very head o' th' quorum?I shame myself to think I'm catchingThee fast asleep, instead of watching.Is not all Greece pinn'd on thy lap?Rise, and for once postpone thy nap;Or by some rogue it will be said,The chief of chiefs went drunk to bed:For Jove, by whom you are respected,Says your affairs sha'n't be neglected:But now on your affair he's poring,Whilst you lie f—ting here and snoring:He bids thee arm thy ragged knavesWith cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves;For now the time is come, he swears,To pull Troy's walls about their ears:Nay more, he adds, the gods agreeWith Fate itself it thus shall be.Jove and his queen have had their quantumOf jaw, and such-like rantum-scantum:She now puts on her best behaviours,And they're as kind as incle-weavers.Then nothing more the Vision said,But kick'd me half way out of bed.This very token did, I vow,Convince me that the dream was true;For, waking soon, I found my headAnd shoulders on the floor were laid,Whilst my long legs kept snug in bed:Therefore, since Jove, with good intent,So rare a messenger has sent,We should directly, I've a notion,Put all our jolly boys in motion:But first, what think you if we settleA scheme to try the scarecrows' mettle,As with nine years they're worn to th' stumps?I'll feign my kingship in the dumpsWith Jove himself, and then proposeThat homeward they direct their nose.But take you care, if I succeed,To show yourselves in time of need:Swear you don't mind the gen'ral's clack,But in a hurry drive 'em back.He spoke, and squatting on his breech,Square-toes got up and made a speech:I think our chief would not beguile us,Says the old constable of Pylos.Had any soul though, but our leader,For dreams and visions been a pleader,I should, my boys, to say no worse,Have call'd him an old guzzling nurse.I seldom old wives' tales believe,Nurses invent 'em to deceive.But now there can be no disguise,For kings should scorn to tell folks lies;So let us e'en, with one accord,Resolve to take his royal word:For though the speech is queerish stuff,'Tis the king's speech, and that's enough.I therefore say, My buffs so stout,Of this same vision make no doubt;The tokens are so very clear,There can be little room for fear.Did not our monarch, as he said,Feel the Dream kick him out of bed,And, by his waking posture, knewHis sense of feeling told him true?Then, since affairs so far are gone,Let's put our fighting faces on.He said; nor did they longer stay,But from the council haste away.The leaders bring their men along;They still were many thousands strong;As thick as gardens swarm with bees,Or tailors' working-boards with fleas:And Jove, for fear they should not allAttend, and mind their general's call,Bid Fame, a chatt'ring, noisy strumpet,To sound her longest brazen trumpet:
He haw'd and hemm'd before he spoke,Then raised his truncheon made of oak,'Twas Vulcan's making, which Jove gaveTo Mercury, A thieving knave.
He haw'd and hemm'd before he spoke,Then raised his truncheon made of oak,'Twas Vulcan's making, which Jove gaveTo Mercury, A thieving knave.
This brought such numbers on the lawn,The very earth was heard to groan,Nine criers went to still their noise;That they might hear their leader's voice.He haw'd and hemm'd before he spoke,Then rais'd his truncheon made of oak:'Twas Vulcan's making, which Jove gaveTo Mercury, a thieving knave;Who going down to Kent to steal hops,Resign'd his staff to carter Pelops;From Pelops it to Atreus came;He to Thyestes left the same,Who kept it dry, lest rain should rot it,And when he dy'd Atrides got it:With this he rules the Greeks with ease,Or breaks their noddles if he please;Now leaning on't, he silence broke,And with so grum an accent spoke,Those people that the circle stood in,Fancy'd his mouth was full of pudding.Thus he began: We've got, my neighbours,Finely rewarded for our labours:On Jove, you know, we have rely'd,And several conjurers have try'd,But both, I shame to say't, have ly'd.One says, that we on board our scullersShould all return with flying colours;Another, we should cram our breechesAs full as they can hold with riches,For presents to our wives and misses,Which they'll repay us back with kisses.Instead of this, we're hack'd and worn,Our money spent, and breeches torn;And, to crown all, our empty scullsFill'd with strange tales of cocks and bulls.Now Jove is got on t'other tack,And says we all must trundle back:Dry blows we've got, and, what is more,Our credit's lost upon this shore:Nor can I find one soul that's willingTo trust us now a single shilling.No longer since than yesterday,Our butcher broke, and ran away:The baker swears too, by Apollo,If times don't mend he soon must follow:As for the alehouse-man, 'tis clearThat half-penny a pot on beerWill send him off before next year;And then we all must be contentTo guzzle down pure element.A time there was, when who but we!Now were humbugg'd, you plainly see;And, what's the worst of all, you'll say,A handful makes us run away:For, if our numbers I can ken,Where Troy has one man, we have ten.Nine years, and more, the Grecian hostHave been upon this cursed coast;And Troy's as far from being sack'dAs when it was at first attack'd;The more we kill, the more appear;They grow as fast as mushrooms here!Like Toulon frigates rent and torn,Our leaky boats to stumps are worn;Then let's be packing and away;For what the vengeance should we stay?Our wives without it won't remain;Pray how the pox should they contain?For one that fasts, I'll lay there's tenAre now employing journeymen:If that's the case, I know you'll say'Tis time indeed to hyke away;Let us no more then make this fuss,Troy was not doom'd to fall by us.Most of the rabble, that were notConsulted in this famous plot,Were hugely pleas'd, and straight beginTo cry, God save our noble king!He that spoke last, spoke like a man.So whipp'd about, and off they ran.As they jogg'd on, their long lank hairDid like the dyers' rags appear;Which you in every street will findWaving like streamers in the wind:To it they went with all their heart,To get things ready to depart;And made a sort of humming roar,Like billows rumbling to the shore.Halloo, cry'd some, here lend a handTo heave the lighters off the strand;Don't lounging stand to bite your nails,But bustle, boys, and bend the sails.Now all the vessels launch'd had been,If scolding Juno had not seen:That noisy brimstone seldom slept,But a sharp eye for ever kept;Not out of love to th' Grecian state,But to poor harmless Paris hate,Because on Ida's mountain heSwore Venus better made than she:And most are of opinion still,He show'd himself a man of skill;For Juno, ever mischief hatching,Had wrinkled all her bum with scratching,Whilst this enchanting Venus wasAs smooth all o'er as polish'd glass.Since then there was so wide a difference,Pray who can wonder at the preference?For wrinkles I'm myself no pleader:Pray what are you, my gentle reader?A simple answer to the questionWill put an end to this digression:Why can't you speak now, when you're bid?You like smooth skins? I thought you did:And, since you've freely spoke your mind,We'll back return, and Juno find.Upon a cloud she sat astride,(As now-a-days our angels ride)Where calling Pallas, thus she spoke:Would it not any soul provoke,To see those Grecian hang-dogs run,And leave their bus'ness all undone?This will be pretty work, indeed;For Greece to fly, and Troy succeed.Rot me! but Priam's whoring race(Sad dogs, without one grain of grace)Shan't vamp it thus, whilst lovely HelenIs kept for that damn'd rogue to dwell in;That whoring whelp, who trims her soShe never thinks of Menelau:But I shall stir my stumps, and makeThe Greeks once more their broomsticks shake,Then fly, my crony, in great haste,Lest opportunity be past.The cause, my girl, is partly thine;He scorn'd thy ware as well as mine:And, just as if he'd never seen us,Bestow'd the prize on Madam Venus,A blacksmith's wife, or kettle-mender,And one whose reputation's slender;Though her concerns I scorn to peep in,Yet Mars has had her long in keeping.Pallas obeys, and down the slopeSlides, like a sailor on a rope.Upon the barren shore she foundUlysses lost in thoughts profound:His head with care so very full,He look'd as solemn as an owl;Was sorely grip'd, nor at this pinchWould launch his boats a single inch.And is it thus, she says, my king,The Greeks their hogs to market bring?See how they skip on board each hoy,Ready to break their necks for joy!Shall Priam's lecherous son, that thrivesBy kissing honest tradesmen's wives,Be left that heaven of bliss to dwell in,The matchless arms of beauteous Helen?O, no; the very thought, by Gad,Makes Wisdom's goddess almost mad!Though, by thy help, I think 'tis hard.But yet I singe the rascal's beard.Then fly, Ulysses, stop 'em all;The captains must their troops recall.Thou hast the gift o' th' gab, I know;Be quick and use it, prithee do:From Pallas thou shalt have assistance,Should any scoundrel make resistance.Ulysses ken'd her voice so shrill,And mov'd to execute her will;Then pull'd his breeches up in haste,Which being far too wide i' th' waist,Had left his buttocks almost bare—He guess'd what made the goddess stare;Next try'd his coat of buff to doff,But could not quickly get it off,So fast upon his arms it stuck,Till Pallas kindly lent a pluck.Off then it came, when, like a man,He took him to his heels and ran.The first that in his race he metWas Agamemnon in a pet,Striving, for breakfast, with his truncheonTo bruise a mouldy brown-bread luncheon.Ulysses tells him, with a laugh,I've better bus'ness for that staff,And must request you'll lend it meTo keep up my authority.Which having got, he look'd as bigAs J-n-n's coronation wig;Then flew, like wild-fire, through the ranks?'Twas wond'rous how he ply'd his shanks.Each captain by his name he calls;I'm here, each noble captain bawls.Then thus: O knights of courage stout,Pray, what the devil makes this rout?You that exalted are for samples,Should set your soldiers good examples:Instead of that, I pray, why strove yeTo run as if the devil drove ye?You knew full well, or I belie ye,Our general only spoke to try ye:All that he meant by't was to know,Whether we'd rather stay or go?And is more vext to find us willingTo run, than if he'd lost a shilling;Because at council-board, this day,Quite different things you heard him say.But if he met a common man,That dar'd to contradict his plan;Or, if the scoundrel durst but grumble;Nay, if he did but seem to mumble;He, with his truncheon of command,First knock'd him down, then bid him standBy this good management they stopp'd;But not till eight or ten were dropp'd.From launching boats, with one accord,They trudg'd away to th' council-board.The hubbub then began to cease:The noise was hush'd, and all was peace.Only one noisy ill-tongu'd whelp,Thersites call'd, was heard to yelp:The rogue had neither shame nor manners;His hide was only fit for tanners:With downright malice to defameGood honest cocks, was all his aim:All sorts of folks hard names he'd call,But aldermen the worst of all.Grotesque his figure was and vile,Much in the Hudibrastic style:One shoulder 'gainst his head did rest,The other dropp'd below his breast;His lank lean limbs in growth were stinted,And nine times worse than Wilkes he squinted:His pate was neither round nor flat,But shap'd like Mother Shipton's hat.You'd think, when this baboon was speaking,You heard some damn'd blind fiddler squeaking.Now this sad dog by dirty jokingWas every day the chief provoking:The Greeks despis'd the rogue, and yetTo hear his vile harangues they'd sitSilent as though he'd been a Pitt.His screech-owl's voice he rais'd with mightAnd vented thus his froth and spite:Thersites from the matter wide is,Or something vexes great Atrides;But what the murrain it can be,The Lord above can only see!No man alive can be censorious,His reign has been so very glorious:Then what has lodg'd the heavy bulletOf discontent within his gullet,That makes him look as foul as thunder,To me's a secret and a wonder:He had the best, the Grecians know,Of gold, and handsome wenches too.Best did I say? Bar Helen's bum,He had the best in Christendom,And yet's not pleas'd: but tell us whatThy mighty kingship would be at?Say but, shall Greece and I go speedTo Troy, and bring thee in thy needThe race of royal sons of whores,By ransom to increase thy stores?When we return, prepare to seizeWhate'er the royal eye shall please:This thou mayst do sans dread and fear;'Tis mighty safe to plunder here.When the fit moves thee for that same,Take any captain's favourite dame;Our master wills, and 'tis but fitSuch scrubs as we should all submit.Ye women Greeks, a sneaking race,Take my advice to quit this place;And leave this mighty man of pleasureTo kiss his doxies at his leisure.When Hector comes, we'll then be mistWhen Hector comes, he'll be bepist.The man that makes us slaves submit,When Hector comes, will be be—t;He'll rue the dire unlucky dayHe forc'd Achilles' girl away:That buxom wench we all agreedTo give the bully for his need.Achilles, though in discontent,Don't think it proper to resent:But if the bully's patience ceases,He'll kick thee into half-crown pieces.Sudden Ulysses with a boundRais'd his backside from off the ground,Ready to burst his very gallTo hear this scurvy rogue so maulThe constable of Greece—an elf,Famous for hard-mouth'd words himself;His eyes look'd fierce, like ferrets red;Hunchback he scans; and thus he said:Moon-calf, give o'er this noisy babbling,And don't stand prating thus and squabbling.If thy foul tongue again disputeThe royal sway, I'll cut it out;Thou art, and hast been from thy birth,As great a rogue as lives on earth.What plea canst thou have names to call,Who art the vilest dog of all?Think'st thou a single Greek will stirAn inch for such a snarling cur?How dar'st thou use Atrides' name,And of a constable make game?For safe return great Jove we trust:'Tis ours to fight, and fight we mustIf to our noble chief a fewMake presents, pray, what's that to you?What mighty gifts have you bestow'd,Except your venom? scurvy toad!If the bold bucks their plunder gave,Thou canst not think' among the braveWe reckon such a lousy knave.May I be doom'd to keep a tin-shop,Or smite my soul into a gin-shop,There to be drawn by pint or gill,For drunken whores to take their fill;Or may I find my dear son TelleyWith back and bones all beat to jelly;Or in his stead behold another,Got by some rascal on his mother;If I don't punish the next fault,By stripping off thy scarlet coat,That shabby, ragged, thread-bare lac'd coatThen with a horsewhip dust thy waistcoat;I'll lay on so that all the navyShall hear thy curship roar peccavi.This said, his broomshaft with a thwackHe drove against his huckle back.It fell with such a dev'lish thump,It almost rais'd another hump.The poor faint-hearted culprit cries,And tears ran down his blood-shot eyes:With clout he wip'd his ugly face,And sneak'd in silence to his place.Then might you hear the mob declareTheir thoughts on courage, and on fear.Up to the stars they cry'd Ulysses,A braver fellow never pisses;Of insolence he stops the tide,Nor gives it time to spread too wide.We want but half a score such samples,To make all prating knaves examples:'Twould teach the mob much better things,Than dare to chatter about kings.Whilst thus they sing Ulysses' praises,The constable his body raises.The gen'ral's truncheon of commandHe flourish'd in his dexter hand.Pallas in herald's coat stood by,And with great noise did silence cry,That all the rabble far and nearThis crafty Grecian's speech might hear.With staring looks and open jawsThey catch each syllab as it flows.First, with his hand he scratch'd his head,To try if wit's alive or dead:But, when he found his wit was strong,And ready to assist his tongue,To clear his throat he hem'd aloud,And thus humbugg'd the list'ning crowd:Unlucky chief, to be so us'd,Deserted first, and then abus'd!At Argos, when we came to muster,And were all gather'd in a cluster,The general voice was heard to say,The de'il fetch him that runs away!Then took a bible oath that night,They never would return from fightTill the old Trojan town should tumble;And yet you see for home they grumble.I own myself, 'tis very hardTo be from home so long debarr'd:If but a single fortnight weAre kept confin'd upon the seaFrom our good wives and bantlings dear,How do we rave, and curse, and swear!Then, after nine years' absence, sureThese folks may look a little sour.They're not to blame for being sad;But thus bamboozled, makes one mad:Though wizard Calchas plainly said,If we the space of nine years staid,The tenth we surely should destroyThis paltry mud-wall'd borough Troy.Have patience then, and let's endureTo box it out a few weeks more.Remember how a mighty dragonA plane-tree mounted from a waggon;He found a bird's nest at the top,And quickly ate eight young ones up;To make the ninth there wants another;On which the serpent snapp'd the mother:Though, after he had made this rout,He ne'er had time to shit 'em out;For twenty minutes were not goneBefore he chang'd to solid stone,Where, on the summit of a hill,At Aulis, you may see him still.When Calchas saw this wondrous thing,Like Endor's witch, he drew a ring;And, standing by himself i' th' middle,Began this wonder to unriddle:My friends, if you'll but lend an ear,I'll quickly ease you of your fear:Give you but credit to my speeches,And then you'll all keep cleaner breeches.This prodigy from Jove was sent ye,To show that something good he meant ye:As many birds, so many yearsShould we be kept in hopes and fears;But 'ware the tenth, for then shall IlionTumble, though guarded by a million.All this may happen, if you stay,But cannot, if you run away:For, be the captains e'er so cunning,No towns were ever ta'en by running.Can you remember Helen's rape,And let those Trojan whelps escape?Let that eternal rascal goThat made poor Helen cry O! O?Up started then old chitter chatter,And lent his hand to clench the matter:You are fine fellows, smite my eyes,If blust'ring words could get a prize:At first you all could say great things,And swear you'd pull down popes and kings;In a great splutter take, like Teague,The solemn covenant and league;For Ilion's walls resolve to steer,And store of bread and cheese prepare.Now all, I find, was but a joke;Your bouncing's vanish'd into smoke.But precious time by talk is spent;To pull down Troy is our intent;And we will do't without delay,If you, Atrides, lead the way.Whoever here are not content,Pray let 'em all be homeward sent.Their help we value not three farthings:Cowards make excellent churchwardens;Then let them to their parish go,And serve their town in noise and show.No weapon should they touch but needles,Or staves for constables and beadles:Such posts as these will suit men right,That eat much keener than they fight;Therefore, whoever dare not stay,I'd have directly sneak away.When we the Trojan hides shall curryWithout their help, they'll be so sorryThat they will hang themselves, I hope—And, by my soul, I'll find 'em rope.Then how the rogues will wish they'd fought!But wishes will avail 'em nought.Did not great Jove, when we set out,Make a most damn'd confounded rout?Did he not roll the ball, and rollTill he half crack'd his mustard bowl[1];And kept the noise upon our right,To hearten us to go and fight,Till every wench that Troy did dwell inShould cry O! O! as much as Helen?Show me the man that dare but thinkTo make the poorest Grecian shrink;If any rascal draws one scrub in,I'll give the dog a handsome drubbing.And thou, my bully, be not nice,But take for once a fool's advice;Let's not like city rabble fight,Who roar all day, and drink all night;Millions of such can ne'er opposeA little band of men well chose;For discipline, when manag'd right,Will make a trainband captain fight.Let me advise, that ev'ry shireTo their own rendezvous retire;Nor let them mix, but each be sentTo his own ragged regiment.Let their chief constable command,If you can find a chief will stand:The leaders then will quickly kenWho fight like women, who like men;Who fight as if inspir'd by Mars,Or who, like Dutchmen, hang an arse;Can punish every sneaking knave,And with good punch reward the brave:Then shall we understand, no doubt,Why Troy so long has held it out;And if they've done us all these evils,By help of men, or gods, or devils.Atrides gave him this for answer:I now can plainly see, old grandsire,That noisy chatt'ring ribs of thineHas got more brains by half than mine:If Jove, to help us in our streights,Would lend us half a score such pates,Split me, we should have brains enoughTo strip these Trojans into buff,And all the men and women leaveAs nak'd as Adam first knew Eve.But Jove, or by design or chance;Has led us all a pretty dance:'Tis he that makes us thus disputeAnd squabble till we all fall out.As for Achilles, I abus'd him,Kidnap'd his girl, and vilely us'd him;And, like two English tars, we sworeAnd scolded for a little whore;But hope (unless I am beguil'd)Ere long we shall be reconcil'd;And then, my boys, you'll see how soonThis whore's nest, Troy, will tumble down.But now 'tis time for every sinnerTo look out sharp to find a dinner;And then we'll fight, while fighting's good,And drench our soleless shoes in blood.Fit then your potlids on your wrists,And grasp your broomsticks in your fists;Your mettled horses bring all out,Both cut and longtail, for this bout.Like hungry wolves and bears we'll fight,And kick and cuff from morn to night:Who dares his coward head to flinchThe thousandth part of half an inchOr should a moment's time let slip,By skulking in his crazy ship,His scurvy hide, for shunning blows,Shall be devour'd by carrion crows.Soon as he spoke, both front and rearBegan to look confounded queer.But late they thought to kiss their wives,And lead at home good quiet lives;Instead of that, they find they mustHave t'other bout at cut and thrust:So forc'd against their wills to stay,The grumbling whore's-birds sneak'd away.Now fires by scores were quickly made,And cows by dozens knock'd o' th' head.The victuals for theirselves they took,But wisely fed their gods with smoke:For men it would be choking stuff,But for the gods did well enough.And whilst the garbage broils, they prayT'escape a broken pate that day.But to fill all their bellies full,The priest had drest a fine young bull;And then invited ev'ry chiefTo come and eat this rare bull beef;Ask'd Nestor first, because his beardWas longest by a full half-yard;Idomen did the next succeed,And then that varlet Diomed:Ajax the less, and Ajax great,With sly Ulysses took their seat;Lest they should think the cuckold slighted,He came to dinner uninvited.Now each man draws his pudding-knife,And eats as though he ate for life.But first, Atrides said a grace,Holding his hat before his face;Then added, in a canting tone,A pray'r he'd better left alone.O mighty Jupiter! that shroudsThy dwelling-house with coal-black cloudsOf thy own weaving, great protector,Grant I may swinge this sad dog, Hector,Without the help, if so thy will is,Of that same bullying scrub Achilles.But Jove, I verily believe,Just then was laughing in his sleeve;Nor would he let the foolish elfKill one much better than himself:But though he kick'd the canting pray'rA thousand fathom in the air,Yet did he not refuse the treat,But snuff'd the smoke, and lick'd the meat.And now, to show they scorn all thieving,They serve Jove first, then take his leaving;Upon his altar burnt a piece,And up his nose sent smoke and grease:The god they were resolv'd to please,Or smoke him till they made him sneeze:For he would think them very hollowTo keep him sharper than Apollo;Therefore, Burn more and more, they cry'd,Until he owns he's satisfy'd.When all had stuff'd their bellies full,And ate the very hoofs o' th' bull,Old chatt'ring Nestor 'gan to talk,And thus to Agamemnon spoke:Bid the blind fiddlers scrape away,And all the troops shall march to-day;And, that no useful man be mist,Let muster-master bring his listAnd call 'em o'er: if then we're right,Do you lead on, by Jove we'll fight.At the chief constable's commandsThey muster'd all their trusty bands;Each knew his right and left hand man,And eke his officer could scan.As Nestor said, each hang-dog wentTo his own ragged regiment.Minerva too was got among 'em,Though she of right did not belong 'em;Her brawny arm a potlid shak'd,As bright as blacking-balls could make't,On which there hung an ugly head,So grim, 'twould strike the train-bands dead:With this, and other little helps,She cheers the poor faint-hearted whelps.
Her brawny arm a potlid shak'd,As bright as blacking-balls could make't,On which there hung an ugly head,So grim, 'twould strike the train-bands dead:
Her brawny arm a potlid shak'd,As bright as blacking-balls could make't,On which there hung an ugly head,So grim, 'twould strike the train-bands dead:
For wives they now no longer sob,But swear to die or do the job.As when a bonfire, with a noise,Is kindled by the parish-boys,It catches first the straw, then rushes.And seizes on the dry furze-bushes,Which causes such a dev'lish glaring,That half the fools i' th' town stand staring:Just so you spy'd reflected streaksFrom greasy doublets of the Greeks;For noise, you'd swear these sons of GreeceWere nought but flocks of Solan geese,Who gabble rarely in their flight,But ten times louder when they 'light:Thus in a noisy crowd they wander,Before they reach the fam'd Scamander;And as they hasten to the shore,They make the very welkin roar.Thick as the crowds that walk the Strand,Upon the river's bank they stand;Or thick as leaves that yearly fall,By pecks and bushels in the Mall;Or swarms of flies, that find a cropOf sugar in a grocer's shop;So throng'd the varlets stand, and vowThey'll beat the Trojans black and blue.About each trusty serjeant goes,And sets them all in proper rows,As easily as Rachael SparrowPlaces the apples in her barrow,Where (though at first no form they keep)She quickly makes a curious heap.Above the rest the king appears,And tops 'em all by th' head and ears:He look'd, amidst this set of warriors,Like a great hound amongst the tarriers.For breadth of chest, as well as back,He beat the mighty bruiser, Slack;But in his strut and martial airHe seem'd a first-rate grenadier.This day Jove order'd he should passTo view, much bigger than he was:And as he knew the head o' th' cullWith brains was not a quarter full,He clapp'd a candle in his skull,Which shining briskly through his eyes,Fill'd all the Grecians with surprise;For Jove, you need not fear, took care,At proper times, to make folks stare.As for these various ragged packsOf rogues, from different wapentakes,Their Christian names I've many timesLabour'd to jumble into rhymes;But could not do it for my soul,So leave them to the muster-roll.If any critic choose to popHis head into my printer's shop,He'll find a copy there, not spurious,Left for th' inspection of the curious.
[1]They made thunder formerly in the play-houses by rolling a ball in an empty mustard bowl.
[1]They made thunder formerly in the play-houses by rolling a ball in an empty mustard bowl.
Now all the troops in order plac'd,Against their minds, each other fac'd;When nimble Paris, by a fitOf courage, or of phrensy, bit,Fierce sallies forth upon the plain;The cuckold drives him back again:Yet hearten'd afterwards by Hector,Who read him a confounded lecture,This dancing, cuckold-making knightChalleng'd the cuckold out to fight;Which Menelaus answer'd soon,And in the scuffle knock'd him down.Fast by the crown the Spartan held him,And swore most bloodily he'd geld him:But Venus, queen of love and beauty,Who thinks all whoring tricks a duty,In a great hurry came and caught himFast by the luggs, and fairly brought himTo his own room; then from the closetShe fetch'd a smoking-hot sack posset.Soon as she found it warm'd his belly,She stepp'd to th' door, and call'd up Nelly;Who scolded hard at first, but soonPull'd off her clothes, and laid her downUpon the bed beside her swain,Who trimm'd her buff with might and main.How oft, at exercise so vi'lent,They cry'd Encore, our author's silent.
Thus muster'd by their leaders' care,Both sides for fisty-cuffs prepare.The Trojans toss their caps and shout,And noise proclaims 'em bloody stout;Like cranes that fly in winter time(As poets tell us) to a climeWhere pigmies dwell, with whom they fightTo th' ears in blood from morn to night.But the bold Grecians on their toesSteal softly to surprise their foes,Taking huge steps along the greenTo get a blow before they're seen,Knowing, a sorry rogue may crackA brave man's crown behind his back.With nimble feet, in sweat well soak'd,They trudge it, though with dust half chok'd.Thus, when a mist on mountain headAs thick as mustard round is spread,The puzzled shepherd cannot keepThe goats from mingling with the sheep:So of the Greeks, not one, I trow,Ask him but hastily, could knowWhether his nose was on or no.Now front to front they ready standTo fight, and only wait command;When nimble Paris to the van,Dress'd à la mode de François, ran:With coney-skins he edg'd his coat,To show he was a man of note:A cross-bow o'er his back was slung;And on his thigh his poniard hung.A staff he pois'd would fell an ox,And dar'd the boldest Greek to box.As thus he struts, and makes a splutter,Like crow i' th' middle of a gutter,Him Menelaus soon espies,And joyful to himself he cries:Blast my old shoes, but very soonI'll have a knock at your rogue's crown!Then darted, in a bloody rage,From his old duns cart to engage:And as he hied along to meet him,He look'd as if he meant to eat him.So joys the bailiff, when he spiesA half-pay officer his prize:Headlong he drives across the way,Regardless both of cart and dray,Nor stops till he has seiz'd his prey.Soon as the youth the cuckold saw,As guilt will ever feel an awe,In spite of all that he could say,He found his legs would run away:Then, since the matter turn'd out so,'Twas best, he thought, to let 'em go;So turn'd about, and in a crackThey brought their master safely back;And, as he puff'd along, we find himNot daring once to look behind him.As when a bumpkin sees a snakeCome slyly stealing from the brake,He starts, and looks confounded cunning,But quickly saves himself by running:So this young beau the cuckold shuns,And 'mongst his trusty Trojans runs.This the bold Hector could not bear;He thought he ran away for fear—Without considering, now and thenThe very best and boldest menCannot their members so commandTo make 'em at all seasons stand.Be that as't may; with accent graveHe thus began to scold the knave:Paris, says he, you're but a cheat,And only dare the wenches meet;But though a man you dare not face,Yet, when the fight becomes a chase,You'd beat a thousand in the race.I wish, ere Nelly thou hadst felt,Thou'dst broke thy neck, or hadst been gelt:Better by half than thus to bully,Then run away from such a cully.The Greeks all swear thou art besh-t,And their fat sides with laughing split.Thou look a soldier! thou be d——d!The Grecians cannot be so flamm'd.When thy fine long-boats went to GreeceTo steal away this precious piece;Say, did'st thou, in thy first attackOn Helen's freehold, thus give back?Joy to thy foes, shame to thy race,Thy father's grief, and Troy's disgrace,Recover thy lost credit soon,And stoutly stand by what you've done;Or else all Troy, as well as me,Thy buxom wench will plainly seeBelongs a better man than thee.Take heed, Troy may awake at last,And make thee pay for all that's past.Here Paris blush'd—a sign of grace;Nor durst he look in Hector's face:Then answers, By my soul, you're rightBut who like you can preach and fight?I know you're made of best of steel,And box as if you could not feel.You have your gifts, and I have mine:Where each may in his province shine.Smite you the men; I smite the wenches,And seldom fail to storm their trenches.Don't you despise the lover's charms:They're Venus' gift, her powerful arms.A good strong back, and proper measureOf love, to give the fair ones pleasure,Are blessings, which the gods bestowOnly to favourites below.Yet, if it please thee, I will standThis cuckold's combat hand to hand:His mutton-fist bold Paris scorns,He only fears his branching horns;Should he receive from these a wound,Our quack can never make him sound.But go, explain the matter fully,And I will box this Spartan bully.My pretty Nelly shall be setFor him that doth the conquest get:Her swelling breasts and matchless eyesShall be the lucky conqu'ror's prize:Then Troy and Greece, in any weather,May smoke a sober pipe together.This challenge pleas'd, and Hector quickStopp'd all the Trojans with his stick;Next to the foe, with Spanish pace,Advanc'd, to let them know the case.The Greeks, like coward sons of whores,Threw bricks and cobble-stones in show'rs.Atrides soon the tumult spies:Give o'er, ye silly dogs! he cries;'Tis Hector comes, if I am right,To talk a little, not to fight:I know him by his breadth of chest,I know his skull-cap's always drestWith goose quills of the very best:Then be not in such woeful splutter,But hear what Hector has to utter.At this rebuke they threw no more:The tumult ceas'd; the fray was o'er:His eyes the bully Trojan roll'd,And briefly thus his story told:Hear, all ye warriors, fam'd for toils,In civil feuds and drunken broils:Paris demands you now forbearTo kick and cuff, and curse and swear;But on the ground your cudgels throw,And stick your broomstaves on a row:Let Troy and Greece but sit 'em down,Paris will fight this Spartan loon;The charming Helen shall be set,For him that shall the conquest get;Her snowy breasts and matchless eyesShall be the lucky conqu'ror's prize:Then Troy and Greece, in any weather,May smoke a sober pipe together.He spoke; and for six minutes good,With mouths half-cock'd, both armies stood:When Menelaus thus began:Bold Hector offers like a man,And I the challenge will accept;As freely as I ever slept.Hector, perhaps, may think I won't,But singe my whiskers if I don't!I know, my lads, you fight for me,And in my quarrel cross'd the sea.I thank you, friends, for what you've done;But now the battle's all my own:Who falls, it matters not a fig,If one survives to dance a jigWith that bewitching female Helen,And stump it tightly when he's well in.So, Trojans, if you mean no flams,Go buy directly two grass-lambs;One for the Earth, as black as crow,One for the Sun, as white as snow:For surly Jove, you need not fear,We'll get one, be they cheap or dear;For well we know he'll make us feel,If e'er we cheat him of a meal.But let King Priam on the placeAppear; we rev'rence his old face.His sons are hect'ring roaring fellows,And fifty thousand lies may tell us;Old age is not so quick in motion,But sees with care, and moves with caution.Experience makes old folks discerning;At blunders past they oft take warning.Both parties hear, and hope, at lastTheir broils and broken pates are past;Nor staid they to be bidden twice,But stripp'd their jackets in a trice:Their cudgels, all the circle roundAs quick as thought threw on the ground.Two beadles Hector sent to town,In haste to fetch his daddy down;And bid 'em tell old limberhams,Not to forget to bring two lambs.The running footman of the fleet(Talthybius call'd, with nimble feet)With all his speed his stumps did stirTo fetch a lamb for Jupiter.I' th' int'rim, fond of mischief-telling,The rainbow goddess flies to Helen:(Most modern farts, I ever knew,When set on fire, burn only blue,Or simple red; but when behindThis nimble goddess lets out wind,It leaves a track along the skiesCompos'd of fifty different dyes.)She seem'd like old Antenor's daughter,That Helen might not know she sought her.The housewife at her task she found,With all her wenches seated round:For, as she work'd in Priam's hall,She chose to have them within call:Where, like a brazen, saucy jade,She wrought her tale in light and shade:How, for her sake, the Greeks employTheir utmost force to pull down Troy;And wove the story in her loom,Of horns, her former husband's doom:Adding withal, to keep her going,What for nine years they had been doing:The necessary names wrote under,Lest lookers-on should make a blunder;Lest they should make a wrong conjecture:This is brisk Paris—that is Hector;This is Ulysses—that the beastThersites—so of all the rest.Helen, says Iris, pray come outAnd see what work they're all about.Their clubs thrown down; their staves they prickFast in the ground, and there they stick.They fight no more; for this good dayParis and Menelaus sayThey'll have one bout at cudgel play.These happy rogues appear in viewTo box their very best for you;And which soever of 'em win,With kissing he will soon begin.This put the light-heel'd dame in mindOf people she had left behindIn her own country: not these two(She'd try'd the best that they could do);But she had left behind some dozensOf uncles, aunts, and loving cousins.She gulp'd, and swallow'd down her spittle,But yet was seen to weep a little;Then left her work, and on her waitTwo wenches to the Scean gate,Where some old square-toes, grave and try'd,Were chatting close to Priam's side:I think they were in number seven;It matters not, or odd or even.The name of each I would rehearse,But it would edge your teeth in verse.Like grasshoppers they sat i' th' sun,Telling strange tales of ancient fun;And, in a feeble hollow tone,Repeated what great feats they'd done;How they had thrum'd the maids of Troy,When Adam was a little boy:At Helen's shapes they shook their wings;What could they more? they had no stings.No wonder, 'faith, they cry, that GreeceShould fight for such a tempting piece;The man that Helen's ringlets touzes,Can never grudge a thousand bruises;But since 'tis o'er with us long since,'Tis best to send the brimstone hence:If she stays here, Troy tumbles down;But pack her off, we save the town.Whilst thus the gipsy's praise they squeak,The Trojan king began to speak:Come hither, girl, I take a prideTo have thee chatter by my side.Behold your friends, my dearest honey,And take a view of your old crony.'Tis not your fault: you're not the causeOf half our bruises, kicks, and blows.The gods, they say, are in a pet;And when they're once on mischief setThe devil cannot keep 'em down,Till they've demolish'd some old town;And for nine years, I plainly see,They have been grumbling hard at me.But tell us, who's that swinging fellowThat struts so fierce? he's drest in yellow,And cocks his hat with such a pinch,He looks a soldier ev'ry inch.Helen replies, Although, good Priam,No woman's better kiss'd than I am,Yet I could wish I had been hang'd,Or at a whipping-post well bang'd,Ere I away with Paris ran,And cuckolded an honest man:My little girl most bitterly,They tell me, for her mam doth cry:I'm full of grief, if that would do;But matters can't be mended now.The gipsy, after this parade,Thus to the good old Trojan said:He whom to know my daddy seeks,Is the great leader of the Greeks:His fame is known both near and far,To scold in peace, and kick in war:My brother he was call'd, beforeYour son and I turn'd rogue and whore:To call him so I'm now asham'd,And even blush to hear him nam'd.Is that Atrides, quoth the king?To me he seems the very thing:I'm told he is, or grave or mellow,In peace or war, a clever fellow.Amongst the Phrygians I have been.But ne'er a tighter fellow seen.When Otreus sat upon their throne,And Migdon led their hang-dogs on,I and my Trojans join'd the roysters;Where, by the help of cod and oysters,We laid, with many strokes and thwacks,The Amazons upon their backs:Yet those now standing in our sightAre tighter fellows, by this light.But tell me, Helen, if you can,Who's that broad-breasted little man;His shoulders large and widely spread,But not so tall as th' last by th' head?He is no serjeant, I've a notion;Yet like a serjeant in his motion:He seems to bustle much about him;You'd swear they could not do without him.Helen replies, My judgment misses,If he you speak of ben't Ulysses.Now that I take a better view,'Tis he himself, I spy him now:Let him be standing still, or running,You'll hardly find his match for cunning;He knows a thousand slipp'ry tricks,But shines the most in politics.Though from a barren isle he came,The world's too little for his fame:And, had he not been born a prince,He'd been prime minister long since.Antenor told the king, he knewWhat Helen said was very true.When Atreus' son and he came over,This coaxing baggage to recover,Men of great worth they seem'd to be,I therefore let 'em lodge with me:I knew them both before that day,And knew they could their reck'ning pay.Whene'er we chatted o'er a canOf flip, with care I mark'd each man.Atrides standing, look'd the best,'Cause he was mostly better drest:Seated, Ulysses reverence drew;On breech he gave the clearest view.Atrides was no man of tongue;His speech was good, though never long:But when Ulysses 'gan to speak,You never heard so queer a Greek;He'd fix his eyes upon the ground,As if a speech could there be found;Look'd foolish, though he knew no tongueLike his was half so glibly hung:He could, with oily words, I tell ye,Make your heart jump within your belly:His rogueship from the flowers and treesWould call the very birds and bees.Then Priam thus: Amidst the throngI spy a man exceeding strong;Shoulders so spread, and such a chest,He's stole a giant's back and breast:So strong a carl you'll seldom see;My lovely girl, who can it be?Ajax, replies fair Leda's daughter,Is he you're now inquiring after:Of him the Grecians well may crack,For he upon his brawny backCould lug the city gates, when bid,As well as ever Samson did.The next that looks this way to see us,Is the far-fam'd Idomeneus:With my good man he once took quarter,And look'd so trim, my mouth did water.As for the rest, if I judge rightly,They're fellows that can box it tightly.But all this while, old dad, have IBeen looking sharp, if I can spyA pair of twins, and each my brotherCastor is one, and Pollux t'other.But hap the colonels fight no more,Or scorn to quarrel for a whore.Poor Helen dreamt not on her bed,Her brothers were as herrings dead;That the last doublet they put onWas made of Bath or Portland stone,Where, free from broils, they slept secure,And dreamt of whores and rogues no more.And now both beadles did with careThe lambs for sacrifice prepare;But first in order form the ring,And thus they call the Trojan king:Arise, O king! come down with speed.And lend a hand in time of needTo seal the truce; for there's no troth,Unless you come and take the oath.Your son and famous MenelauFor Nell agree to pull a crow:And he that makes his rival yield,Or lays him flat upon the field,May unmolested take his fill,And tousel Helen when he will;That we may cease this curs'd fatigue,And join in everlasting league;Trojans may plough their lands, and GreeceReturn, and kiss their wives in peace.Priam, though with a heavy heart,Gave orders for his apple-cart,A vehicle contriv'd with careTo serve for cart or one-horse chair;Then, with Antenor by his side,Like two grave cits they took a rideQuite through the Scean gate, amongThe Trojan and the Grecian throng:When Agamemnon 'midst the crew,And eke the sly Ulysses too,Both rose, and made a handsome bow.And now the blue-coat beadles, grac'dWith large red caps all silver-lac'd,The method of the farce to fix,Some Greek and Trojan beverage mix;Then pour a little on the handOf each commander, as they stand;But have our priestly way of thinking,To save the most for private drinking:Lastly,—this grand affair to close,His knife the Grecian gen'ral draws,And cutting from the beasts some hair,The beadles gave each chief a share,To show that all things should be fair.Then with a thund'ring voice, that madeA dev'lish noise, to Jove they pray'd:O Jupiter! who every FridayArt worshipp'd on a mount call'd Ida:O Phœbus! and thou mother Earth!That gives to thieves and lawyers birth:O demons! and infernal furies!Whose counsels aid Westminster juries:Thou discord-making fiend I that trudgesThe six months' circuits with the judges;And thou, the hellish imp, that bringsBrimstone to singe all wicked kings!Hear what we promise, and depend on't,We'll keep our words, or mark the end on't.Should Paris drub this Menelaus;To pox and poverty betray us,If we don't leave the brimstone HelenSafe in her present Trojan dwellingFor Paris' use! Much good may't do him,And make her true and faithful to him;Whilst we poor devils will depart,And trudge it home with all our heart.But if by Menelaus' blowsParis should get a bloody nose,They shall again restore his Nelly,With what belongs her back and belly;A forfeit too consent to payFor stealing of the girl away;And Paris cannot think it muchTo pay a piece for every touch:If they refuse, again we'll fight,And force the rogues to do us right.With that he seiz'd the sheep by th' crown.And cut their throats or knock'd them downBy death they soon were overtaken,Though they kick'd hard to save their bacon.The chiefs then tipp'd, the other round,And pour'd a little on the ground;Adding withal a shorter prayer,Because they'd not much time to spare:Hear, Jove, and all ye gods on high!Whose vicars say you hate a lie(Though amongst them, for lies and swearing,There's scarce a barrel better herring),Whoever takes a thing in hand,And will not to their bargain stand,May their heart's blood run out much quickerThan from the jug we pour this liquor;And may their wives such harlots be,That a whole parish can't serve three!Thus both the armies clubb'd a prayer,Which Jove refus'd, and kick'd in air.Now, when these popish rites were done,Old square-toes hasten'd to be gone:It will be rather hard, quoth he,For one so very old as me,Bruises and broken pates to see:But Jove knows best, who rules us all,Which knave shall stand, or which shall fall.To stay within yond' walls I choose,And be the last to hear bad news:Then instantly his chair ascended;Antenor by his side attended:But first, and rightly did he judge it,He stuff'd both lambs within his budget.Ulysses then, and Hector stout,The limits of the fight mark'd out:They both agreed that chance might tryWho first should let his broomstick fly.The people pray on bended knees,And mutter out such words as these:O Jupiter! who hast by oddsThe greatest head of all the gods,Let him that did this mischief brewReturn with ribs all black and blue;Or let him be demolish'd quick,And sent full gallop to Old Nick!Such rogues once hang'd, all wars would cease,And soldiers eat their bread in peace.