A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

      The horse along the flanks he drew,

      To keep 'em ready to pursue.

      The rear made up of mod'rate men,

      Half hearts of cock, half hearts of hen.

      The very riff-raff rogues they venture

      To squeeze together in the centre.

      Thus fix'd, they kept a sharp look-out,

      And ready stood to buckle to't.

      A man with half an eye could see

      A rare old Grecian this must be,

      Who in so small a space could keep

      His knaves from jumbling in a heap;

      Then with a phiz as wise as grave

      The following advice he gave:

      If you in battle chance to fall,

      Don't stay to rise, for that spoils all;

      To rise as some men do, I mean,

      Burn foremost, then your back is seen;

      But jump directly bolt upright,

      Ready prepar'd to run or fight.

      Advice like this our fathers took,

      And drove the world along like smoke.

      Thus spoke the queer old Grecian chief,

      And pleas'd the king beyond belief;

      Who cry'd, 'Tis cursed hard that age

      Should drive such leaders off the stage:

      Whilst other bruisers die forgot,

      Eternal youth should be thy lot.

      When Nestor shook his hoary locks,

      And thus replies: Age, with a pox!

      Will come apace: could I, forsooth,

      Recall the strength I had in youth,

      When Ereuthalion I did thwack,

      Be sure I would that strength call back;

      But dear experience can't be gotten

      Till we're with tricks of youth half rotten:

      The young are fittest for the field,

      But to the old in council yield.

      Though now my fighting bears no price,

      Yet I can give you rare advice.

      Fight you and scuffle whilst you're young,

      My vigour centres in my tongue:

      I would do more to show my love,

      But can no other weapon move.

      With joy great Agamemnon heard

      This doughty knight o' th' grizzle beard,

      He left him then, because he had

      No time to spare, things look'd but bad:

      When, lo! he found Menestheus

      In a most lamentable fuss.

      His potlid he could not explore,

      Because 'twas hid behind the door:

      Searching about his tent all round him,

      The gen'ral left him where he found him.

      Next spy'd Ulysses at his stand;

      Th' old buffs were under his command:

      Idle they lay at distance far,

      Nor knew a word about the war:

      Atrides saw them playing pranks,

      And all disorder'd in their ranks;

      Which made him in a mighty passion

      The poor Ulysses fall slap dash on:

      I thought you, Mr. Slight-of-Hand,

      Had known much better than to stand

      Picking your fingers, whilst the rest

      Are forc'd to box their very best,

      And make a marvellous resistance

      To keep these Trojan whelps at distance:

      In time of peace you're much respected,

      And never at our feasts neglected;

      You're first i' th' list when I invite,

      And therefore should be first in fight.

      The sage Ulysses, with a blush,

      Returns for answer, Hush, hush, hush:

      If you speak loud, the Trojans hear;

      Not that we care, what need we fear?

      But I'm persuaded you'll ere long

      Wish you had kept that noisy tongue

      Betwixt your teeth, nor let it pass

      To tell us all you're half an ass;

      Why, can't you see we're ready booted,

      And I've just got my jacket clouted?

      Without your keeping such a coil.

      Ten minutes fits us for our broil;

      Give you the word, and we'll obey,

      At quarter-staff or cudgel play;

      When we begin, perhaps I'll do

      Such wonders as may frighten you.

      Well said, Ulysses! cries the king

      (A little touch'd though with the sting

      Of this rum speech); I only fear'd

      To catch my warrior off his guard;

      But am rejoic'd to find thee steady,

      For broils and wenching always ready.

      He said, and pass'd to Diomede,

      And caught him fast asleep in bed.

      Zoons! quoth the king, I thought Tydides,

      The man in whom my greatest pride is,

      Might absent been perhaps a-whoring,

      But little dreamt to catch him snoring:

      Dost thou not hear the Trojans rattle?

      Already they've begun the battle.

      Not so thy father – none could doubt him,

      He long ere this had laid about him;

      Had gi'n the Trojans such a drubbing,

      As would have say'd a twelvemonth's scrubbing:

      'Tis known he was a lad of wax,

      Let bellum be the word, aut pax.

      He was, indeed, of stature small,

      But then in valour he was tall.

      I saw him once, 'twas when he stray'd

      To Polynice's house for aid;

      Troopers he begg'd, and straight we gave 'em;

      But Jove sent word he should not have 'em:

      With long-tail'd comets made such rout,

      That we e'en let him go without.

      But after that, I know it fact,

      He fifty blust'ring bullies thwack'd:

      Nay, hold, I fib, 'twas forty-nine;

      For one he sav'd, a friend

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