look'd sour,And eyed each other o'er and o'er.
Paris puts on a warlike phiz,
And from his hand his staff goes whiz,
Which lent the Grecian targe a thump,
And then upon the ground fell plump.
His broomstaff then, with aim as true,
The cuckold at the Trojan threw;
But ere he spent his ammunition,
He sent to Jove a small petition:
Mayst please my good design to help,
And let me souse this lech'rous whelp;
That men may cease to do amiss,
And not in others' fish-ponds fish!
Thus, like Old Noll, he coin'd a pray'r,
Then sent his broomstick through the air
With such a vengeance did it fall,
Through the tin-plates it bor'd a hole,
And tore his doublet and his shirt;
But to his guts did little hurt;
Because the knave, by bending low,
Escap'd the fury of the blow.
Some think he daub'd his breeks that hit,
But that remains a query yet.
The Greek, who did not often judge ill,
Pursu'd th' advantage with his cudgel,
And laid about at such a rate,
As if he meant to break his pate;
But, as his jobber-noul he rapp'd,
His stick in twenty pieces snapp'd.
Vex'd to the guts, he lifts his eyes,
And mutt'ring to himself, he cries:
This rascal's jacket I had dusted,
If Jupiter could have been trusted;
But honest men he keeps at distance,
And lends to whores and rogues assistance.
Just when I had secur'd my prize,
My lousy stick in pieces flies.
This said, he gave a hasty snap
At the horse-tail upon his cap,
And lugg'd most stoutly at his crown,
In hopes to pull the varlet down:
The more he lugg'd to end the farce,
The more the Trojan hung an arse:
Still he haul'd on with many a bob,
And certainly had done his job,
Because so firmly was his cap
Ty'd with a tinsel'd leather strap,
That though the knave began to cough,
The de'il a bit would it come off:
But watchful Venus came in season,
Before the Greek had stopp'd his weasand;
Her scissars from her side she whipp'd,
And in a twink the stay-band snipp'd.
The Greek, who thought he well had sped,
And pull'd off both his cap and head,
Was vex'd to find, instead of full cap,
He'd only got an empty skull-cap:
In grievous wrath, away he threw it.
Amongst his men, who flock'd to view it,
Admir'd the glitt'ring band, and swore
They'd never seen the like before.
He then, with all his might and main,
Let drive at Paris once again;
With a fresh broomstick thought to smoke him,
But Venus whipp'd him up, and took him
In her smock lap, and very soon
Near his own dwelling set him down;
From thence, with gentle touch, she led
The younker home, and warm'd his bed.
To take away perfumes not good,
She burnt perfumes of spicy wood.
No sooner was he seated well in
His garret, but she look'd for Helen:
Amongst her chamber-maids she found her;
The wenches all were standing round her.
Quickly she chang'd her form, and whipp'd on
The nose and chin of Mother Shipton;
Then on her tip-toes coming near,
She whispers softly in her ear:
My dearest jewel, Paris wants
To ramble in the usual haunts;
Upon a good flock-bed he lies,
And longs to view your wicked eyes:
The whoring rascal, safe and sound,
Prepares to fire a double round.
Helen began to make a din
At this old woman's nose and chin,
But as she star'd her through and through,
Her old acquaintance soon she knew
By her fine alabaster bubbies,
Her eyes of jet, and lips of rubies.
The fright made all her teeth to chatter,
And, 'faith, she scarce could hold her water:
But soon a little courage took,
And to the goddess silence broke
(The reader in her speech will find,
That, woman like, she spoke her mind):
Could I believe that Venus would
For such a rascal turn a bawd?
Don't think that Helen e'er will truckle,
And with a beaten scoundrel buckle.
If to your calling you bewitch her,
For God's sake let a brave man switch her,
Nor think that I can like a scrub
That any lousy rogue can drub.
Now he is worsted in the fight,
I am become another's right:
I know your drift; it sha'n't take place;
To send me homeward with disgrace,
And make my husband quite uncivil:
You a fine goddess! you a devil!
If Paris cannot live without
A tit bit, you yourself may do't;
Be you his loving wench or wife,
I'll go no more, upon my life:
To me it will afford no sport,
I am not in a humour for't;
You're always ready for a bout,
When I'd as lief be hang'd as do't:
But know, that I'll no longer bear
Of every saucy jade the sneer,
Who cry, She's very handsome, sure,
But yet the brim's an errant whore.
Hey-day! quoth Venus, what's all this?
On nettles sure you've been to piss:
Yon will not that, or t'other do:
Pray,
