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 enough
To strip these Trojans into buff,
And all the men and women leave
As nak'd as Adam first knew Eve.
But Jove, or by design or chance;
Has led us all a pretty dance:
'Tis he that makes us thus dispute
And squabble till we all fall out.
As for Achilles, I abus'd him,
Kidnap'd his girl, and vilely us'd him;
And, like two English tars, we swore
And scolded for a little whore;
But hope (unless I am beguil'd)
Ere long we shall be reconcil'd;
And then, my boys, you'll see how soon
This whore's nest, Troy, will tumble down.
But now 'tis time for every sinner
To look out sharp to find a dinner;
And then we'll fight, while fighting's good,
And drench our soleless shoes in blood.
Fit then your potlids on your wrists,
And grasp your broomsticks in your fists;
Your mettled horses bring all out,
Both cut and longtail, for this bout.
Like hungry wolves and bears we'll fight,
And kick and cuff from morn to night:
Who dares his coward head to flinch
The thousandth part of half an inch
Or should a moment's time let slip,
By skulking in his crazy ship,
His scurvy hide, for shunning blows,
Shall be devour'd by carrion crows.
Soon as he spoke, both front and rear
Began to look confounded queer.
But late they thought to kiss their wives,
And lead at home good quiet lives;
Instead of that, they find they must
Have t'other bout at cut and thrust:
So forc'd against their wills to stay,
The grumbling whore's-birds sneak'd away.
Now fires by scores were quickly made,
And cows by dozens knock'd o' th' head.
The victuals for theirselves they took,
But wisely fed their gods with smoke:
For men it would be choking stuff,
But for the gods did well enough.
And whilst the garbage broils, they pray
T'escape a broken pate that day.
But to fill all their bellies full,
The priest had drest a fine young bull;
And then invited ev'ry chief
To come and eat this rare bull beef;
Ask'd Nestor first, because his beard
Was longest by a full half-yard;
Idomen did the next succeed,
And then that varlet Diomed:
Ajax the less, and Ajax great,
With sly Ulysses took their seat;
Lest they should think the cuckold slighted,
He came to dinner uninvited.
Now each man draws his pudding-knife,
And eats as though he ate for life.
But first, Atrides said a grace,
Holding his hat before his face;
Then added, in a canting tone,
A pray'r he'd better left alone.
O mighty Jupiter! that shrouds
Thy dwelling-house with coal-black clouds
Of thy own weaving, great protector,
Grant I may swinge this sad dog, Hector,
Without the help, if so thy will is,
Of that same bullying scrub Achilles.
But Jove, I verily believe,
Just then was laughing in his sleeve;
Nor would he let the foolish elf
Kill one much better than himself:
But though he kick'd the canting pray'r
A thousand fathom in the air,
Yet did he not refuse the treat,
But snuff'd the smoke, and lick'd the meat.
And now, to show they scorn all thieving,
They serve Jove first, then take his leaving;
Upon his altar burnt a piece,
And up his nose sent smoke and grease:
The god they were resolv'd to please,
Or smoke him till they made him sneeze:
For he would think them very hollow
To keep him sharper than Apollo;
Therefore, Burn more and more, they cry'd,
Until he owns he's satisfy'd.
When all had stuff'd their bellies full,
And ate the very hoofs o' th' bull,
Old chatt'ring Nestor 'gan to talk,
And thus to Agamemnon spoke:
Bid the blind fiddlers scrape away,
And all the troops shall march to-day;
And, that no useful man be mist,
Let muster-master bring his list
And call 'em o'er: if then we're right,
Do you lead on, by Jove we'll fight.
At the chief constable's commands
They muster'd all their trusty bands;
Each knew his right and left hand man,
And eke his officer could scan.
As Nestor said, each hang-dog went
To his own ragged regiment.
Minerva too was got among 'em,
Though she of right did not belong 'em;
Her brawny arm a potlid shak'd,
As bright as blacking-balls could make't,
On which there hung an ugly head,
So grim, 'twould strike the train-bands dead:
With this, and other little helps,
She cheers the poor faint-hearted whelps.
For wives they now no longer sob,
But swear to die or do the job.
As when a bonfire, with a noise,
Is kindled by the parish-boys,
It catches first the straw, then rushes.
And seizes on the dry furze-bushes,
Which causes such a dev'lish glaring,
That half the fools i' th' town stand staring:
Just so you spy'd reflected streaks
From greasy doublets of
