[1]Thrasymede.
[1]Thrasymede.
[2]This Grimstone is a preaching shoemaker, and as fine a fellow as either of the other two brimstone-merchants; but less known, because he is confined to a small circle in the country.
[2]This Grimstone is a preaching shoemaker, and as fine a fellow as either of the other two brimstone-merchants; but less known, because he is confined to a small circle in the country.
[3]Pope.
[3]Pope.
[4]Orpheus.
[4]Orpheus.
[5]Handel, to make as much noise as possible, introduced cannon into a concert.
[5]Handel, to make as much noise as possible, introduced cannon into a concert.
[6]Through the Devil's Gap was the way to the Duke of Newcastle's.
[6]Through the Devil's Gap was the way to the Duke of Newcastle's.
Finding that no Achilles comes,Poor Agamemnon bites his thumbs;And though his heavy eyes kept winking,He could not steal a nod for thinkingHow he from this unlucky scrapeMight with his ragged rogues escape:For as says he, our woeful pickleRequires that ev'ry man should stickle,Why should our Grecian lazy dogsKeep snoring like distillers' hogs,Whilst I for gen'ral good am watching,And flaying all my rump with scratching?So up he gets, sans more ado,And sends the cuckold MenelauTo bring their comrades all together,That they might club their noddles, whetherThey ought, in this great strait, to stay,Or take good start and ran away.A council call'd, they send from thenceTwo spies, tostealintelligence;Andstealthey did for, by their prize,You'd swear he sent two Yorkshire spies,For, after stealing sev'ral purses,They stole a special pair of horses.
The Greeks, though sorely drubb'd all day,Asleep before their scullers lay—All but poor Agamemnon, whoCould only nod a spell or so.Distracted with a thousand fearsHow to get off and save his ears,His fears did such a rumbling keepWithin his guts, he could not sleep.As when a barrel of small-beer,No matter whether foul or clear,Begins to leak, drop follows dropAs fast as wanton schoolboys hop:So quick this valiant Greek kept sighing.At last he fairly fell a-crying;Then, with a face of rueful length,Peep'd up to spy the Trojans' strength;When, to his wondrous great amaze,He saw a thousand bonfires blaze,And heard so plain the Trojans f—t,It vex'd him to the guts and heartTo think the rogues were got so near,That he their very ——s could hear;Which sound he hated full as muchAs Britons do the belching Dutch.Whilst he was grunting in disputeTo hang himself or fight it out,He almost lugg'd, at one smart pullA pound of carrots from his skull;But finding that did little good,He fell to praying as he stood.Just as his second prayer begun,Thinks he, By G-d, we're all undone,If Nestor can't the Trojans nickBy some old square-toe'd slipp'ry trick!On which he wrapp'd his calf's-hide inA jacket made of lion's skin,And then put on a pair of shoes,Such as St. Giles's statesmen use,With scarce a sole to keep out weather,And forty holes i' th' upper leather.His brother likewise found his tripesMost sorely twisted with the gripes,Because the very Greeks that cameTo fetch away his light-heel'd dameWere drawn into so bad a layThey could not fetch themselves awayTo think they'd got in such a trap,Disturb'd the honest Spartan's nap:So out of bed in haste he got,And quickly found the chamber-pot,And whilst he made a little water,Took time to think about the matter;For his schoolmaster, Peter Ashley,Had taught him to do nothing rashly.When this important job was done,He put his greasy breeches on;Next button'd, underneath his chin,A very fierce-look'd leopard-skin;Then took a broomstick in his hand,And trudg'd away along the strandTo call his elder brother up;When, lo! he found the squabbling tupRear'd up against his lighter's sideTwisting a string, with which he tiedA rusty hanger to his side.To him the Spartan thus began:What makes you put your dudgeon on?D' you think of sending out some spyThis dark and dismal night, to tryWhether the Trojans watch are keeping,Or pay great idle whelps for sleeping?But who the pox d'ye think will moteThis dismal night? Not I, by Jove!The hardiest rogue in Fielding's gang,At such a task an a—e would hang.The king replies: O Menelaus,I fear these Trojan rogues will pay usBoth scot and lot for all our tricks,And baste us with their crabtree sticks.When cases, like our case, are bad,The best of counsel must be had:Therefore, besides both —— and M—n,Above all things secure us N——n:Unless he's for us, d—n my bloodIf Beelzebub can do us good:For if on t'other side you place him,You know the devil cannot face him:And Jove, you see, denies us help,But lends it to that Trojan whelp.Would ever man believe that oneCould smoke us all as he has done?But yesterday that blust'ring scrub,What heaps of serjeants did he drub!The Sun, before his link went out,Saw how he kick'd us all about;And yet, like yours and mine, the bitchHis dam was never thought a witch;Nor is his dad, that queer old cur,A wizard, or a conjurer:Yet unborn Greeks, before they're gotten,Shall wish the rascal dead and rotten,Because his laming all our nationWill make a limping generation.Don't stand a moment to consider,But send me bully Ajax hither;Next hasten to Idomeneus,And hurry him away to see us:To Nestor I will go before ye;He's telling some long trimtram story,Such as at any time he'll makeTo keep the drunken watchmen wake;For that's his task to-night, and thereI'm sure th' old cock will show his care;But more especially that entryWhere Merion and his son stand sentry.Thus spoke the king; and MenelauReplies: Pray, brother, when I go,And all your orders safely carry,Must I return, or must I tarry?Tarry, be sure, replies the brother,We else shall miss of one another;The night is rather thick than clear,And candles are excessive dear;The very last half-pound we boughtYou fetch'd yourself, and paid a groat.Resides, our lantherns were, you know,All broke to shatters long ago;But we must shift without 'em. Now,What I would recommend to youIs, all our ragged rogues to cheer,Tell 'em what whelps their fathers were:For us, since things so bad are got,We e'en must work, or go to pot;Jove has decreed that man must labour,And kings by chance must help their neighbour:In former days 'twas often done,But now as often let alone:Necessity has driv'n me to't,Or I'd as soon be hang'd as do't.Away then Agamemnon goes:But first he clapp'd within his jawsA plug of Hobson's best tobacco,Then found old Nestor in a cracko;Stretch'd in his hammock snug he found him,With clubs, oak-sticks, and broomstaves round him;Like an old coachman, who, unableTo drive, yet loves the smell o' th' stable,Th' old firelock on his guard did keep,A sprite, called Fear, prevented sleep;He lean'd his head upon his hand.And call'd aloud, Plague on you, stand!Say, who the pox are you that keepStrolling about whilst folks should sleep?Perhaps you're some poor hungry thief,Whose nose has smelt my leg of beef:If so, you've nos'd it mighty soon,'Twas only bak'd this afternoon.Or do you hunt some other prey,Or seek some sentry run away?Be who you will, it will undo yeIf I should make the moon shine through ye.Then Agamemnon thus replies:I'll tell thee all without disguise;And thou, in whom our nation gloriesFor telling Canterbury stories,Shalt hear a tale as lamentableAs any thou thyself art ableTo find in all thy endless budget;With patience listen then, and judge it:For curs'd ill fortune now astride isAcross the back of poor Atrides;And Jove resolves, though e'er so stout.With rubs and cuffs to wear him out;On my tir'd knees my body rocks,My heart against my liver knocks;On fifty things I poring keep,But cannot get a wink of sleep,And find myself so plaguy queer,I'm neither easy here nor there,But dying with the mullygrubsBecause the Greeks have met such rubs.Now, if thy cunning nob should teemWith any pretty likely scheme,How to repair this last day's scrubbing,And save us such another drubbing,Give us your good advice with speed—A friend in need's a friend indeed—And then, old buff, we'll go togetherTo hearten those who're watching whetherThese damn'd infernal Trojan tartarsMay not by night beat up our quarters.Th' old cock replies, I've often said it,You must give Jove a little credit;He's sometimes cross, but, all together,He best can rule both wind and weather:This Hector, though he hector now,God help his soul! what will he doWhen bold Achilles comes to fight him?I'll answer for't, he'll soon b-sh-te him.Be that as't may, just here I standYour humble servant at command;But let us summon for this boutSome other bucks to help us out;That canting lying rogue Ulysses,At such a woeful pinch as this is,Will help us greatly with his cunning;Then bold Oileus, fam'd for running;There's Meges too, a strong-back'd whelp,With Diomede, will lend us help.But let some other spark, d'ye see,With nimbler heels than you or me,Run to the other end o' th' fleet,And call the constable of Crete,With bully Ajax, or some other:I'll rouse that drowsy whelp your brother,And hear what lame excuse he'll makeFor snoring when he should awake.Now, as these broils were of his brewing,He ought to do what you are doing,Should keep himself upon the peep,And share in work as well as sleep;For, at this dreadful pinch of pinches,We all are lost if one man flinches.To whom the king: Without disputeYou're often right, but now you're out;My brother is, to speak the truth,A very modest, harmless youth,And ne'er presumes to take the lead,Because he knows that I'm the head:But when his leader shows the way,He's always ready to obey.You blame him oft, which you are right in,For loving whoring more than fighting,Although 'tis what we all delight in.But yesterday's confounded scrambleSo made his great and small guts wambleHe could not lie in bed, not he,So up he got, and call'd on me;Then posted forward, with intentionTo rouse the very whelps you mention;And whilst we idly here are prating,I'll hold a tester they are waitingAt th' alehouse underneath the wall,Where I a council bade them call,And speak some hot-pots for us all.There they may sit secure and snug,The watchmen for a single mugWill look so sharp, you need not fear 'em,They'll let no Trojan rogues come near 'em.Hot-pots! says Nestor. By Apollo,If that's the case, we'll quickly follow:I'll in a twinkling put my coat on:These jobs, the moment they are thought on,Should be perform'd as soon as told,Or else the hot-pots may grow cold.With that his gummy eyes he washes,And cas'd his legs in spatterdashes,Then on his arms began to pullAn old red waistcoat lin'd with wool;And ere he left the tent he tookA sapling of the toughest oak.Then through the drowsy crowd he pass'd,And call'd Ulysses out in haste;Ulysses starting heard his voice,And ran to see who made such noise.Old dad, says Ithacus, I'm sorryTo find your beard in such a hurry;You must be in a woeful frightTo wander out so late at night;Those scoundrel rogues of reformation,The pest of ours and ev'ry nation,Durst hardly, though so vile a crew,Disturb so grave a man as you.When Nestor answers: Our bad stationRequires indeed a reformation:But though thy cunning pate, Ulysses,To trace out knowledge seldom misses,In whatsoever shape she dwells,As folks guess eggs by seeing shells;Yet now you're plaguy wide o' th' mark:For, let me tell you, ev'ry sparkOf rogu'ry in your crafty nobWe want to mend this last day's job;All the calves' brains that Jove e'er gave us,Must be employ'd this night to save us.We must, 'fore George! before 'tis day,Resolve to fight, or run away:And if it should be found, uponA consultation, we should run,As I am fearful we must mog off,The sooner then, my friends, we jog offThe better; for when folks departIncog. they always choose good start.The moment that Ulysses heardThis speech from honest grizzle-beard,He turn'd upon his heel, and wentTo fetch his pot-lid from his tent,Made of a curious old coach-pannel,Painted without, and lin'd with flannel;Then join'd the noble captains twain,And trotted with them o'er the plain.Quickly bold Diomede they foundClose by his tent, upon the ground,With all his bloods and bucks around:But that no man would trust him much,The figure of his crew was such,You'd think the chief had got a packOf bailiff's followers at his back.In spite of fear they slept secure,A mile, at least, you'd hear 'em snore;Around the circle stood a rowOf broomstaves, stuck upright for show.The honest Grecian, void of pride,Lay snug upon an old cow-hide,And for a pillow roll'd a pieceOf linsey-woolsey brought from Greece;Old goody Nestor with his footGave him a d—-d hard kick o' th' gutTo wake him, but could hardly do't;Then halloos to the snoring tup:For God's sake fall a-getting up!How can you lie, you sleepy dog,Snoring like Farmer Blake's fat hog?Whilst all your comrades, though they're drunk so,Can't get a wink of sleep they funk soBecause Troy's rogues on yonder hillCan lug your ears just when they will.Tydides, in a mighty pother,Pull'd one eye open, then the other;Then to old grey-beard 'gan to swear,D—n your old soul! what brought you here?If 'tis resolv'd no man shall sleep,But ev'ry buck on guard must keep,Send younger puppies to awake 'em,Your gouty legs can't undertake 'em;They sleep so sound that you must kick 'em,Or take a corking pin to prick 'em.Nestor replies; My friend, d'ye see,I thank you for your care of me:I might, I know, have got my sonTo do what I've at present done,Or, if no better could be had,They offer'd me the butcher's lad;But matters now so bad are grown,That we no noddles but our ownCan trust; affairs are out of joint,We stand upon a needle's point,And therefore each in this disasterMust show himself a balance-master,Like Prussia's king; for in this jumbleIf we don't stand we're sure to tumble.Yet, as you think I'm grown too oldTo trudge about in nights so cold,So soon as you have don'd your broguesJog off, and rouse the other rogues:Thy nimbler heels may useful be;Serving the state, is serving me.By different roads men serve the state,Some ply their heels, and some their pate:When jobs are doing for the court,And statesmen fear that ayes run short,Some loon's employ'd t' amuse the houseWith a fine speech not worth a louse,Asks if the king bestow'd that post onA proper man, to make the most onThe pious canting knaves at Boston;Or if the India CompanyThis year must pay another fee;Whilst S—l—n's nimble heels beginTo fetch the ayes by dozens in,Searches all holes, you need not fear him,And ev'ry bawdy-house that's near him,Takes no excuse, but makes them limp in,And leave all bus'ness, though they're pimping.
Away to Meges' tent he steers,And laid fast hold on both his ears,Gave his cod's-head a hearty shake,Then kick'd the lesser Ajax 'wake.
Away to Meges' tent he steers,And laid fast hold on both his ears,Gave his cod's-head a hearty shake,Then kick'd the lesser Ajax 'wake.
He said; when lo! the valiant knightJump'd from his cow-skin bolt upright;Then with a wooden skewer did pinAcross his back a shaggy skin,Which he had plunder'd in great wrathFrom an old lion starv'd to death;Then grasp'd a cudgel in his hand,And scour'd full speed along the strand.Away to Meges' tent he steers,And laid fast hold on both his ears,Gave his cod's head a hearty shake,Then kick'd the lesser Ajax' wake,Help'd 'em to fumble on their shoes,Then hied to the place of rendezvous,A penny pot-house, known by all,And by 'em call'd the Hole i' th' Wall.And now the chiefs approach'd the gateWhere twenty ragged sentries sat,A sharp look-out the knaves did keep,Fear would not let them fall asleep.Thus have I seen, if right I judge it,A cur-dog guard a tinker's budget;The thief to steal the budget tries,Yet cannot gain the weighty prize:Turn as he may, do what he will,The mongrel guards the budget still:Just so these loons at ev'ry soundWould whip their eyes and ears around;Though the least noise did so affright 'em,It made the better half besh—e 'em.Old Nestor joy'd to find 'em wake,And each man by the hand did shake;Though, had his nose been worth the keeping,He soon had smelt what barr'd their sleeping:However, at his usual rateThe good old soul began to prate:My boys, says he, if thus you watch,These Trojan rogues will meet their match:But if you slack your hands a jot,I'll venture to be hang'd or shotif ev'ry soul don't go to pot!Just as he spoke, this queer old bitchGave a great jump across the ditch;His comrades follow'd on a heap,Some straddled o'er, but most did leap—All but great Ajax, slow and stout,He tumbled in, then rumbled out:Last Merion came in mighty fuss,Join'd with that whelp Antilochus.A place they found, which all that dayHad shar'd but little cudgel-play,The very spot, as we conjecture,Where Mistress Night stopp'd bully Hector;And had he not been so o'ertaken,Nought could have say'd the Grecians' baconNor would he, since he'd got his hand in,Have left a single Grecian standing:No other spot on all the plainsWas free from blood, and mud, and brains.Here they sat down, when Nestor's tongueIts usual kind of larum rung.Is there, says he, a heart of oak'Mongst us, is there a bully rockDares steal into the Trojan camp,Without the aid of link or lamp,To seize some straggler in the dark,Or listen, and their counsel mark,Whether they think we've got enough,Or still design to work our buff?This could he learn, and tell our peers,And safe return with both his ears,What an amazing share of gloryWould fall to him in future story,When good old wives shall tell the taleO'er roasted eggs and butter'd ale!Beside, his country would bestowA quarter guinea, if not two;And he should always have th' first cut onOur Sunday's leg of rotten mutton.He spoke; when lo! the goddess FearBid with so pale a face appear,It made 'em look confounded queer,All but the bold Tydides, whoBrawls out, By Jupiter I'll go,In spite of your pale phiz, and tryWhat weighty matters I can spy:Within my breast a spirit lies,That tells me I shall steal some prizeNot such a spright as moves the quakerTo preach to sister Ruth, then take herInto some private place and shake her—Mine is a knowing honest spright,As true as Highland second-sight.But though I'm not afraid, yet mind me,A trusty comrade you must find me,Because, by ev'ry fool 'tis known,Two heads are twice as good as one:When one stands forward, one abaft,They spy all matters, fore and aft:What's right ahead I need but mind,My friend looks sharp to all behind.Then if we fall into a scrape,We help each other to escape;When one poor thief goes out alone,I've known him like a devil run,And burst himself, before he feelsThere's nought but conscience at his heels:But when there's two, we know for certainA scoundrel can a scoundrel hearten.If that's the case with thieves, pray then,What won't it do for honest men?The moment this harangue was done,Up jump'd the captains ev'ry one:For, as one man was only wanted,That each would 'scape they took for granted.I'll go, says bully Ajax, d—n me!And I, says little Ajax, slam me!Cries Merion, with a furious nod,I'll venture my calf-skin, by G-d!Then roar'd out chatt'ring Nestor's son,Sowse my old pluck but I'll make one!At which the cuckold MenelauShrugg'd up his breeks, and swore he'd go.That crafty dog, Ulysses, knowingGreat odds would be against his going.Puts on his fighting face, and cries,I'll take my chance, boys, smite my eyes!When thus great Agamemnon bellows,Now, by my soul, you're clever fellows!But the bold Diomede himselfMust point us out what sturdy elfWill likeliest be to stand the test,And back his knotty pate the best.Therefore, sans favour and affection,Take thou, my boy, thy own election;'Twixt man and man, pay thou no def'rence,Nor give to any lord the pref'rence,Unless it suit thy own accord,But not because he is a lord;For you, as well as I, can scanRibands and stars can't make a man;A lord will never prove your friend.Unless you can yourself defend;If you're in want of help, he's sureTo bid his porter shut the door.The gen'ral thus his fears did smother,Lest he should choose his loving brother.Then thus says Diomede the steady,My lord, I've made my choice already;Nor think my judgement much amiss is,When I declare I choose Ulysses.They tell me I have spunk enough,But he can plot as well as cuff,Which makes the Trojans more afraidOf his queer noddle than his blade.Guarded by such a bold defenderI'll face Old Nick, or, if he'll send her,Get twins upon the witch of Endor.Ulysses cries, My friend, hush! hush!You'll make a modest fellow blush;None but a courtier, or his Grace,Can bear such praising to his face.But whilst we chatter thus and prate,We never dream it grows so late;White streaks the blueish sky do wrinkle,And the north star begins to twinkle;If any thing we think of doing,'Tis time, by Jove, we should be going.No sooner was it said than done:They whipp'd their greasy buff-coats on;When Thrasymede, a man of note,A potlid and a broomstick brought,Which he the varlet Diom. lent;Then for an old church-bucket sent,With dirt and mouldy grease o'erspread;This serv'd to case his leather head.Ulysses next was fitted outWith a tough broomshaft for this bout;When Merion, that he nought might lack,Hung him a bow upon his back;And then, to guard his paper skull,Lent him a cap well lin'd with wool,A cap made wondrous fine before,With two grim tushes of a boar—This skull-cap, though not worth a louse,Was stole by one AutolycusFrom rich Amyntor, and the knaveThe prize to Amphidamus gave;To Molus, Amphidamus lent it,And he to valiant Merion sent it;By Merion it was given nowTo guard this sly old soaker's brow.Away they went, though half bepist,And trotted through a thick Scotch mist;When, from the middle of a bush,With noise and flutter, out did rushA bird, so large and fierce, it madeThis pair of bully Greeks afraid:
When, from the middle of a bush,With noise and flutter, out did rushA bird, so large and fierce, it madeThis pair of bully Greeks afraid.
When, from the middle of a bush,With noise and flutter, out did rushA bird, so large and fierce, it madeThis pair of bully Greeks afraid.
Though 'twas so dark they could not 'spyWhat bird it was by th' naked eye,Yet quickly, by the voice they heard,'Twas a Scotch nightingale that scar'dTheir valiant hearts so much, that theyHad turn'd about to run away;When sly Ulysses, vex'd to th' soulTo be so frighten'd by an owl,Like a queer rogue did quickly start upA special scheme to keep his heart up,Swore it would be a lucky night,Because she took a turn to the right—Had she to the left hand made a ring,He still had sworn the self-same thing.But here we do not find he stopp'd,For on his knappers down he dropp'd;Then, like a canting knave in town,Cock'd one eye up and t'other down.Daughter, says he, of thund'ring Jove,Who holds you all in awe above(For, did he not the scales keep even,You'd out o' th' windows throw all heaven),Thou who hast aided my escapeFrom many a bitter bang and scrape,Assist us, whilst this night we roamTo steal and carry something home!That Trojans yet unborn may rueThe loss of goods they never knew.Then Diomede began to pray,But spoke just as a man may say:Daughter of Jove, began he too,Why may'nt I say my prayers to you,As well as this queer dog Ulysses?Who, I've a notion, never missesTo pray for aught that he may want,Because you seldom fail to grant;And therefore, as he leads the way,I'll try a spell how I can pray,Though, being us'd so little to't,I shall be damn'd hard switch'd to do't;And would much rather, you are sure,Box a whole week than pray an hour.—But stop—ahem, I have it now:Daughter of thund'ring Jove, as youDid often help my little dad,I hope you won't forsake his lad;For when to Thebes he took a walkWith their chief constable to talk—He went ambassador from GreeceTo make, or else to patch, a peace;For in those days, our records show,Peace might be patch'd as well as now;But though he spoke in peaceful fashion,They quickly put him in a passion,On which he drubb'd those foes to Greece,And gave them two black eyes a-piece—Now, as thou didst my father help,Pr'ythee assist his hopeful whelp,And, by my soul, as I'm a sinner,I'll ask you to a handsome dinner;I'll kill a cow both fat and good,And you shall have the guts and blood!Thus Diomede, though hard put to't,A middling prayer at last made out;And Pallas, be it plain appears,Listen'd to both with her ears.Then, like two hungry half-starv'd cats,Who long to be amongst the rats,They crept, as if they trod on eggs,Through heaps of mangled arms and legs.Now Hector, from the close of day,Was looking sharp as well as they,And would sleep none, you need not doubt him,And call'd his bloods and bucks about him;When thus the mighty Trojan BroughtonBegan a speech they little thought on:My lads, says he, I would not wrong ye,But, I'm afraid, there's not among yeA brave bold-hearted buck that's willingTo risque his ears, and earn a shillingBy looking sharp among these fighters,And learn what's doing in their lighters;Spy if a proper watch they keep,Or like good city watchmen sleep;What resolution is begun,Whether the rogues will stand or run?By him that rolls the rumbling thunder!I'll give him choice of all the plunder:Himself shall choose from all the restThe cart that suits his fancy best.Just as he spoke, their eyes were all onA simple youngster fix'd, called Dolon,Who was, they say, the only ladThe usurer Eumedes had;But he had five fine girls beside,As any man would wish to ride.—The boy had carts and horses store,And yet the bastard wanted more:Though he was not so handsome quiteAs Molly ——'s catamite,Yet he had got (I scorn to wrong 'em)The longest pair of legs among 'em.Hector, says he, and puff'd his cheeks,I'll go among these sweaty Greeks:But hold your broomstaff in your hand,And swear to grant me my demand;For you must know, good Sir, my will isTo have the horses of Achilles,And his fine cart with painted rails,All stuck with spanking great brass nails:Say but the word they shall be mine,I'll quickly smoke out their design;I'll steal, by such temptations led,Under their gen'ral's truckle-bed.His broomstaff then above his headGreat Hector flourish'd, whilst he said:Be witness thou, whose rumbling thunderMakes wicked reprobates knock under,Drives the vile scoundrels, helter skelter,To ale and cyder vaults for shelter,I promise, ere the Greeks we fall on,To give these nags to honest Dolon.Thus Hector swore: but Jove, they say,Was looking then another way;Whether some bullock's guts were burning,And he that way his head was turning;Or saw some ruddy country lassThat took his eye so much, he wasContriving how to get a grope-a,Or bull her, as he did Europa—Be that as't may, his chuckle headHeard not a word that Hector said.Howe'er, the lad prepar'd to pack,So slung his bow across his back,Then o'er his narrow shoulders tied,To keep him warm, a grey wolf's hide:A brown fur cap, well lin'd withinWith rabbit or else weazle's skin,Serv'd his misshapen pate to grace,And cover'd half his weazle face:With an oak stick he grop'd the track,And went—but never yet came back.A mile he walk'd not, nor three quarters,Before he met this pair of tartars:Ulysses, that sly lurching dog,Heard first, and gave a gentle jogTo Diomede; then whisp'ring cries,Flux me! but both my ears tell lies,If I don't hear a pair of feetCome paddling this way to the fleet;Some peeping whelp, like us, a-goingTo see what t'other side are doing,Or pilf'ring rogue stole out of bedTo pick the pockets of the dead.Be what he will, we'll here lie snug,Let him but pass, we have him rug;Tor when we've got the heedless whelpSo far, he can't roar out for help:If he should run, do you but follow,I'll answer for't you'll beat him hollow:But if he slips you in the track,I'll stay and catch him coming back.At this they stepp'd among the grass,And stoop'd to let poor Dolon pass;Go where he would, these sharpers mind him,And follow pretty close behind him;There was not, could the eye have seen 'em,Above a rood of land between 'em.Now Dolon heard a sort of humming,But thought some messenger was comingTo fetch him back: but soon the loutBegan to smell the rascals out—Smell 'em, I say, because they tell usThe Greeks were dev'lish sweaty fellows,Therefore no wonder he so wellCould nose 'em by their frowsy smell—On which a strong desire he feelsTo trust his good old friends, his heels.Away the long-legg'd varlet flew,Whilst they, like staunch old hounds, pursue;Cut short the ground he scamper'd over,And met him as he made to cover;And thus, in spite of all his heels,They drove him 'mongst the Grecian keels.When Pallas came to Diomede—Says she, You run a hellish speed:But this same spark, if I speak true, canRun half as fast again as you can,And, if a race you longer hazard,Split me but he will burst your mazzard!Then, when you've almost run him down,Some other Greek will crack his crown.At this he roars with threat'ning hand:You cursed dog, if you don't stand,The moment that your long legs fail ye,Blast my old slippers but I'll nail ye!His trusty broomstaff then he threw,Which over Dolon's shoulder flew,But whizz'd so as it pass'd his ear,It stak'd him to the ground with fear.Trembling he stood a dev'lish odd piece,Whilst his teeth chatter'd in his c—piece;The bullies, almost burst with tryingT' outrun him, came and seiz'd him crying.Blubb'ring, he roars, You see I wontRun any more; so pray ye don'tHurt a poor hopeful harmless lad,And, I can tell you, my old dadWill give you each a half-peck hopperBrimful of excellent good copper—None of your Birmingham affairs,Nor any such-like shabrag wares,But good new halfpence from the mint,With honest George's face in print.My daddy all the copper handlesThat we receive for soap and candles,Picks out the good ones from the pack.And turns the Birminghams all back;Or, if by chance a few are taken,He pops 'em off for cheese and bacon.Uly, whose ears would bear no stopperWhen money chink'd, although but copper,At present makes this queer reply:Be bold, my cock, don't fear to die:But tell us why, instead of sleeping,You choose to spend your time in peeping.Did Hector's bribes set you a-goingTo find what business we were doing?Or by yourself, whilst all are snoring,You're got upon some scheme of whoring?Or are you some poor lousy soul,Sprung up from Hockley in the Hole,Come to steal waistcoats from the dead,To pawn for porter, cheese, and bread?Tell us, my boy, and tell us true,And then you'll see what we shall do.Whilst Dolon took some time to pause,His grinders rattling in his jaws,With doleful phiz at last he speaks:I'll tell you all, thrice worthy Greeks!'Twas Hector, curse his pimpled face!That sent me to this luckless place;He promis'd me, confound his brags!That pair of flaming pye-bald nagsAchilles bought of Farmer Saul:He promis'd me the cart and all.Those damn'd brass lacquer'd nails that shine,And made his cart so flaming fine,Tempted my loggerhead to comeAnd leave a good warm bed at home,Only to find if Madam FearHad made you run, or kept you here;Or if there was a chance of snappingA proper time to catch you napping.Body o' me! Ulysses cries,You ask'd the devil of a prize;How could'st thou be so strangely flamm'd?Thou drive his horses? thou be d—d!Did you not know, you stupid elf,No man alive, except himself,Can either drive his tits, or catch 'em?Bever himself could never match 'em.But he can stop 'em with a twitch,'Cause got upon a water-witch;Had he been mortal man, I know,They'd broke his neck some years ago.But, if you'd have me your protector,Say where the great kill-devil HectorGoes ev'ry night to drink a pot;How many geldings has he got?For, whilst the drunken ostlers nod,We'll steal 'em if we can, by G-d!Where do the other captains sleep?How many watchmen do they keep?But tell us truly, whilst you're doing,What kind of mischief they are brewing;Whether they'll stay to cut our throats,And burn our crazy rotten boats,Or think 'tis better to employTheir strength to guard their whore's-nest Troy.Thus spake Ulysses; and this Dolon,Whom these two rogues design'd to fall on,Cries, like a coward son of whore,I'll tell you all the truth, and more:Upon a grave-stone near yon farm,Kicking their heels to keep them warm,I left the captains all with Hector,Clubbing their pates, as I conjecture,How they may rid the Trojan shoresOf all you Grecian sons of whores:As to the watchmen, a small shareAre thinly scatter'd here and there,And e'en those few that watch should keep,Like city watchmen, soundly sleep,The Trojans guard the sentry boxes,For fear the Greeks should trim their doxies;But all the foreigners, who're comeTo help us, left their wives at home;For, as one woman caus'd the routThat all this mischief is about,Should we our wenches bring, think they,The devil then will be to pay;For mischief's never in perfection,Unless when under their direction:Therefore in leaving them, we find,They left their greatest plagues behind,And now they sleep as free from careAs if your Greekships were not near.Then, says Ulysses, tell, I pray,Where do these sleeping fellows lay;Amongst the Trojans do they snore,Or by themselves along the shore?I'll tell you all, replies the spy,And how their raggamuffins lie:The Peons first, who shoot their arrowsSo true, they hit tom-tits or sparrows;The Carians, sharp as wolves or falconsAt beef and pudding; then the CauconsWith the Pelasgians, hardy mortalsAt drinking punch, and eating turtles—A task that they perform so well,All corporations they excel;By them great **** would be beat inBoth guzzling punch, and turtle-eating.As for the Leleges, they lieAlong the shore; and pretty nigh,A little higher, snores the Lycian,With the Mæonian, and the Mycian.Quite snug, near Thymbra's old mud wall,The Phrygian horse are there; and allThe Thracians pig in by themselves,A set of roaring, sturdy elves,That came last night, led on by Rhesus,A fellow twice as rich as Crœsus:In your born days you never sawSuch milk-white tits, they beat the snow;With silver all his cart is grac'd,And his buff jacket double-lac'd.Now you have heard my mournful ditty,I hope you'll spare a little pity;Keep me in limbo till you tryIf I don't scorn to tell a lie.When bully Diomede replies:May Hector knock out both my eyesIf I've a grain of pity nowFor such a sneaking rogue as you!Should you escape us both to-nightSuch rogues as you will never fight,But sure as eggs, whilst folks are sleeping,We both again should catch thee peeping.The moment that these words he said,He from his shoulders whipp'd his head,Which at that time for grace was seeking,So as it fell continued speaking,And even on the ground lay mutt'ring,And for a minute good kept sputt'ring;But chang'd its tone, and with an oathBid the great devil fetch them both.Quickly these champions made a snapAt both the grey wolf's skin and cap:Whilst Diom. seiz'd his bow and stick,Ulysses did his pocket pick,In which he found a silver penny,But, 'stead of owning he found any,He set his roguish plotting headTo work, to cheat poor Diomede.Tydides, says this face of gallows,One day as I held chat with Pallas,She told me, maugre all her careHer goat-skin coat was worn threadbare,She therefore would be much my debtorIf I another coat could get her.As for her part, she does not careWhether I get it in Rag-Fair,Or Monmouth-Street, or any where,So it comes cheap, for times are nowAs hard above stairs, as below;Not one of all the royal pagesBut wants six quarters of his wages,Occasion'd by a thriving band,That keep the money in their hand.Now, since the goddess is hard setA coat of any kind to get,What better can she have than these?Which we'll present her, if you please.Then, without waiting a reply,He pray'd, and upward cock'd his eye:Broughtonian queen! receive these goods,And do not leave us in the suds,But help us now to mind our hits,And boldly steal these Thracian tits,Nor suffer any Trojan scrubThy true and trusty 'squires to drub.If they should come before we've doneThe bus'ness we are now upon,Do you but keep the whelps in play,And we'll take care to run away.'Twill only be a grateful deedTo help us in this time of need,Because of all the sky-bred crewWe say our prayers the first to you.With sapient face, so saying, heHung the wolf's hide upon a tree,Though not so high but he could reach it—Pallas, he knew, would never fetch it;Then scatter'd reeds along the track,To help to guide their rogueships back.Now o'er the field they skulk away,Like bailiffs hunting for their prey:They found the Thracians in a trench,Snoring like judges on the bench;A broomstaff lay at each man's side,And to their carts their nags were tied.The luckless Rhesus soon they spyAmongst his raggamuffins lie;His two brave geldings, fit to startFor thousands, stood behind his cart.Ulysses, ever quick of sight,Was first to see th' unlucky wight;Then, pointing to his comrogue, cries,See there, my boy, a tempting prize!Rhesus, the cart and horses too,Are planted fair within your view:Besides the jerkin lac'd with gold,Of which we were by Dolon told,I'm pretty sure, before we part,That one of us may steal the cart:If you don't feel your courage lags,Kill you the loons, I'll steal the nags.He said; and Pallas, never slackAt mischief, clapp'd the whelp o' th' back;On which the rascal fell to kicking,Slashing, and cutting throats, and sticking,With a long Dutchman's knife, that heHad bought to play at snickersnee:Where'er the varlet walk'd or stood,He made the ground all wet with blood.Just so the cat that guards the house,Leaps from the dresser on a mouse,Pots, pans, and kettles, all give way,Till puss has seiz'd the trembling prey;Just so this dog pursu'd his luck,Till he'd a dozen Thracians stuck.Ulysses, as his friend did stick 'em,Behind a cock of hay did kick 'em,For fear, he said, the horses mightAt dead men's bodies take a fright;But the true reason was, the elfCould pick their pockets by himselfAnd that he did; but, by the by,'Tis only known to you and I.Now, having murder'd twelve, at lastThey found poor Rhesus snoring fast;Pallas had sent an ugly dream,Wherein a Dutch-built thief did seemTo shake a snickersneeing knife,And swear he'd have his purse and life:All this he dream'd, old Homer knew,But never wak'd to find it true.Ulysses quickly seiz'd the bits,And bridled both the flaming tits;Leading them out, to make 'em goHe smack'd their buttocks with his bow:Though the whip hung where he might reach it,He durst as well be hang'd as fetch it,But tipp'd the sign to DiomedeTo come away with all his speed.Now he was standing to consider,And think about the matter, whetherTo stick more men, which he could do,Or steal the cart and jacket too.Pallas, who saw him thus disputeWithin himself, in haste roars out,Pray what the pox are you about?Enough in conscience have you done,And split me but 'tis time to run!In jobs like these the man that lingersIs sure at last to burn his fingers.When Diom. heard Minerva sayThat she would have him run away,He knew she scorn'd her friends to banter,So mounts, and pops into a canter;For wise men oft exert their might inRunning away as well as fighting.Ulysses with his bow-string floggingTook care to keep these cart-tits jogging.Apollo, who was Hector's friend,Had seen this jade from heav'n descend,And guess'd it was for no good end;He saw the bitch, by mischief led,Help this damn'd rogue, this Diomede,To murder honest folks in bed;Which vex'd him so, he whipp'd him down,And wak'd the trusty Hippocoon,Who came on Rhesus to attend,And was his coz. as well as friend.The moment that this loving cousinAwak'd, he saw a baker's dozenOf Thracians kill'd, and, what much worse is,The rogues had carried off the horses.At this poor Hip. began to cry,And wring his hands most bitterly;For all he sobb'd, but Rhesus longRemain'd the burden of his song:Had the damn'd dogs that came to fleece us,Says he, but spar'd my cousin Rhesus,I'd not have lent 'em twenty cursesFor stealing half a hundred horses;But since they have my cousin struck,May all their schemes have damn'd bad luck!And to spin out their life in pain,Pray G-d they ne'er may sh-te again!Whilst Hippy mumbles out this prayer,The Trojans flock about and stare,Wond'ring what rascals had been there.In the mean while these Yorkshire dealers,By London juries call'd horse-stealers,Kept flogging both their tits away,To reach the place where Dolon lay:Ulysses stopp'd, and begg'd TydideWould 'light, and fetch the grey wolf's hide,With arrows, bow, and staff, and allThey had from long egg'd Dolon stole.This done, their nags away they spang,Like thieves pursu'd by Fielding's gang.Old Nestor was in woeful doubt,And therefore kept a sharp look-out;So, when the thieving rogues drew near 'em,No wonder he was first to hear 'em:And hear 'em Square-toes did for sure,For thus th' old buff began to roar:Lay but your ears upon the ground,And, if you do not hear the soundOf horses galloping this road,Call me a stupid queer old toad!Some geldings they perhaps have stole,(I wish they may with all my soul!)And now perhaps are rattling comeIn triumph with their booty home;Though 'faith I can't help looking blue;Pray Jove my fears don't prove too true!But I'm afraid they may be watch'd,And by that means be overmatch'd;And then my fine-laid scheme's abolish'd,And both their knotty pates demolish'd.These words old buff had hardly said,But up the varlet DiomedeCame puffing, like the trainband guardAfter a march of fifty yards;Ulysses follow'd; off they jumpUpon the ground with such a bump,They made it rattle with the thump.Their comrogues shook them by the hand,With, Well, and how do matters stand?We funk'd a little, 'faith and troth,Lest we should lose you one or both,And 'gan to look confounded blue,Both for ourselves, as well as you.But silence call'd, the queer old Greek,Who always claim'd first turn to speak,Began this speech: Ye sons of thunder,Pray tell us, in the name of wonder,Where you purloin'd these nags, which ISuspect ar'n't come at honestly?As sure as Helen is a punk,You've found some whoring god dead-drunk,Or fast asleep, so stole these nags,Which beat Apollo's all to rags.I'll take upon my oath to swearHe never yet had such a pair,Though he's obliged, or lose his pay,To run his hackneys ev'ry day;And therefore, in discretion, oughtTo have the best that can be bought.Though I am old, yet, strike me stiff,And dry me for a mummy, ifIn all the lands I've travell'd o'erI ever saw such nags before!But speak the truth, if on the roadYou did not fudge 'em from some god,As we all know, when once you're setOn thieving, nothing 'scapes your net,And Jove himself, and Pallas too,Have help'd your roguish tricks ere now.When Ithacus begins to chatter:Old dad, says he, 'tis no such matter.God gives us grace, and that of course isMuch better for our souls than horses:But these grey nags were born in Thrace;Their master to a better place,Or worse, is gone, I can't say whether:But bold Tydides sent him thither:And with him a round dozen wentOf scrubs, that for his guard were meant;And they have prov'd so very civil,As guard their master to the devil.But at our lucky setting out,I should have told, we seiz'd a scout,So judg'd it would be for the best,To hell to send this prying guest,To 'speak warm places for the rest,Which we design'd should quickly follow,Unless prevented by Apollo.So Diomede the scoundrel led off,And in a moment whipp'd his head off.This said, he took him up a switch,And spank'd the horses o'er the ditch.The rabble follow'd all the way,Roaring Huzza! huzza! huzza!And ne'er could get their wide mouths shutUntil they reach'd the gen'ral's hut.There his old tits, not worth a guinea,Welcom'd the strangers with a whinney;Then, for a handsome sort of treat,As oats were scarce, they gave 'em wheat.This done, Ulysses takes a tripWith Dolon's hide on board a ship,Where on the stern-post did he stretch it,Then bade Minerva come and fetch it.By this rogue's trick, 'tis pretty clear,He cheated Diom. of his share.Now in the sea, to keep 'em sweet,They wash'd their dirty, sweaty feet,And, to refresh them from their toil,Their noses rubb'd with salad-oil;And then, to give their stomachs ease,Each cut a slice of bread and cheese:But, as on Pallas first they think,To her they fill th' first mug of drink,Which gently on the ground they pour,And bid her lick it off the floor.But how she did, to me's a doubtWhich I could never yet make out.And now these jovial lucky fellowsChaunted Old Rose, and burn the Bellows;Having great reason to believe,The next time they went out to thieve,This scratching brim, without dispute,Would stand their friend, and help 'em out.Joyful they dance, and sing, and roar,Till they can sing and dance no more;Then smoke their pipes, and drink, and funk,Till every soul got bloody drunk!
The Grecian chief his jacket put on,Though there was not a single button,Either of horn, or metal cast,Remain'd upon't, to make it fast.Yet, as they could not do without him,He tied it with a cord about him;Not a grand swashy green or red cord,But an old rotten piece of bed-cord;Then don'd a pair of piss-burnt brogues on,And went to lead his ragged rogues on;—Whilst Hector, ever bold and steady,Soon got his trusty Trojans ready.For signal, two celestial strumpetsEmploy their tongues instead of trumpets.Jove thunder'd too, but all the soundIn their superior noise was drown'd;For such a din they made at starting,His thunder sounded just like farting.And now, whilst Agamemnon mauls 'em,And with his crab-tree cudgel galls 'em,Jove call'd for Iris, to direct herTo go and caution bully HectorTo let this Grecian bruiser roam,Till some chance knock should send him home.Then Hector makes a woeful rout.And kicks the Grecians all about;Whome'er he hit, he surely dropp'd him,Till Diom. and Ulysses stopp'd him;Stopp'd for a while, but 'twas not much,For Diomede soon got a touch,Which made the bully limp away,And leave Ulysses in the fray,Who got, unless the poet lies,A broken rib and two black eyes;When Menelau, and Ajax stout,Came apropos to help him out.Hector for Ajax went to seek,But found his nob too hard to break.Whilst thus each other's bones they whackParis—had almost lam'd their quack;Nestor at this, without delay,Drives both himself and quack away.Achilles, who was looking outTo see what work they were about,Sends his companion to inquireWhat made old grizzle-beard retire.The threshold he had scarce set foot on,When Nestor seiz'd him by the button;In that condition did he hold him,Till he had two long stories told him,How cocks and bulls, when he was young,Would fight like devils all day long.But still the aim of this old whelpWas but to gain Achilles' help,Or, if he would not come to blows,To lend Patroclus his thick clothes.Patroclus then his best legs put on,Glad he'd so well releas'd his button,And met Euryp'lus as he wentLimping along to reach his tent;Though he just then was running fasterThan penny-postman, this disasterStay'd him till he had spread a plaster.
And now the Morn, with yellow locks,From Tithon's hammock stuff'd with flocks,Arose, to show both gods and menThat day was coming once again,To glad the hearts of those with lightWhose conscience could not bear the night;Lawyers, attorneys, bawds, and pimps,Born to replenish hell with imps,A race whose own reflection frets 'em,And damns 'em ere the devil gets 'em;When Jove, the constable of heav'n,Willing to keep things pretty even,A scolding quean, one Eris, seeks,And sends her down to help the Greeks;Her tongue he knew there was no holding,She storms and tempests rais'd with scolding.Away then flies the noisy witch,With a long roll well soak'd in pitch,The torch of discord call'd by Jove,And all the people else above;But if to me you'll yield belief,'Twas nothing but a lawyer's brief,Drawn for the plaintiff, and at th' end on'tWas tied another for th' defendant.This stuff the goddess Discord thinksThe best materials for her links;So, long ago, has ceas'd to spin,And buys her gear at Lincoln's-Inn.One of these torches Eris drewAlong the sky as down she flew,Which forty thousand sparkles shed,And mark'd the road she came all red;Then fix'd upon Ulysses' boat,And there began to tune her throat,Bawling a song to suit the case,To which her bum play'd thorough-bass,But made such thund'ring as she trump'd,Both Ajax and Achilles jump'd,Though their two boats could not be underThree miles at least, or four, asunder.Then through the fleet she inspires each chief,And strews the ashes of the brief.Such rancour now the varlets fills,They all look'd fierce as Bobadils;The rogues that readiest stood to runAs soon as slaps o' th' chaps begun,Now d—n their eyes, and make a rout,And strut, and kick their hats about.Great Agamemnon first did start out,And roar'd as if he'd roar his heart out;Then set th' example, and begunTo put his fighting doublet on.His legs he thought there were some doubts on,So whipp'd a pair of large jack-boots on,Borrow'd that morning by his surgeon,Of Foote's bold-hearted Major Sturgeon;Then went and fetch'd his basket-hilt,And o'er his bosom hung a quilt,A lousy quilt, although the thingWas giv'n him by a brother-king;Though from a king, says Doctor Swift,A man may get a lousy gift;But being stuff'd with rags and flocks,It kept his stomach free from knocks.On it was painted such a dragonAs few sign-painters e'er could brag on;St. George's dragon on the signAt Stamford, where they sell good wine,Would, I am sure, compar'd to that,Appear a common tabby cat.O'er all he tied a belt of buff-skin,Or doe, or tup, or some such tough skin,Such as our northern carriers foldAbout their loins to keep out cold.A potlid hung upon his arm,To guard his ribs from taking harm.