A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

      To whom reply'd the blue-ey'd Pallas,

      I come to save thee from the gallows:

      Thou'rt surely either mad or drunk,

      To threaten murder for a punk:

      Prithee, now let this passion cool;

      For once be guided by a fool.

      From heav'n I sous'd me down like thunder,

      To keep your boiling passion under;

      For white-arm'd Juno bid me say,

      Let reason now thy passion sway,

      And give it vent some other day;

      Sheathe thy cheese-toaster in its case,

      But call him scoundrel to his face.

      To Juno both alike are dear,

      And both alike to me, I'll swear.

      In a short time the silly whelp

      Will give a guinea for thy help;

      Only just now revenge forbear,

      And be content to scold and swear.

      Achilles thus: With ears and eyes

      I mind thee, goddess bold and wise!

      'Tis hard; but since 'tis your command,

      Depend upon't I'll hold my hand —

      Knowing, if your advice I take,

      Some day a recompense you'll make:

      Besides, of all the heavenly crew,

      I pay the most regard to you.

      This said, he rams into the sheath

      His rusty instrument of death.

      (Pallas then instantly took flight,

      Astride her broom-stick, out of sight;

      And ere you could repeat twice seven,

      Had reach'd the outward gate of heaven.)

      His gizzard still was mighty hot,

      And boil'd like porridge in a pot;

      Atrides he did so randan,

      He call'd him all but gentleman;

      By Jove, says he, thou'rt always drunk,

      And always squabbling for a punk.

      Thou dog in face! thou deer in heart!

      Thou call'd a fighter! thou a f – t!

      When didst thou e'er in ambush lie,

      Unless to seize some mutton pie?

      And there you're safe, because you can

      Run faster than the baker's man.

      When fighting comes you bid us fight,

      And claim the greatest profit by't.

      Great Agamemnon safer goes,

      To rob his friends than plunder foes:

      And he who dares to contradict

      Is sure to have his pockets pick'd:

      Hear then, you pilfering dirty cur,

      Whose thieving makes so great a stir;

      And let the crowd about us hear

      What I by this same truncheon swear,

      Which to the tree whereon it grew

      Will never join, nor I with you,

      The devil fetch me if I do!

      Therefore, I say, by this same stick,

      Expect no more I'll come i' th' nick

      Your luggs to save: let Hector souse ye,

      And with his trusty broomshaft douse ye.

      God help us all, I know thou'lt say,

      Then stare and gape, and run away:

      All this will happen, I conjecture,

      The very next time you see Hector;

      And then thyself thou'lt hang, I trow,

      For using great Achilles so.

      This said, his truncheon, gilded all

      Like ginger-bread upon a stall,

      Around the top and bottom too,

      Slap bang upon the floor he threw.

      His wrath Atrides could not hold,

      But cock'd his mouth again to scold,

      And talk'd away at such a rate,

      He distanc'd hard-mouth'd scolding Kate,

      The orator of Billingsgate.

      Whilst thus they rant and scold and swear

      Old Square-toes rises from his chair;

      With honey words your ears he'd sooth,

      Pomatum was not half so smooth.

      Nestor had fill'd the highest stations

      For almost three whole generations;

      At ev'ry meeting took the chair,

      Had been a dozen times lord-mayor,

      And, what you hardly credit will,

      Remain'd a fine old Grecian still.

      On him with gaping jaws they look,

      Whilst the old coney-catcher spoke:

      To Greece 'twill be a burning shame,

      But to the Trojans special game,

      That our best leaders, men so stout,

      For whores and rogues should thus fall out:

      Young men the old may treat as mules,

      We know full well young men are fools;

      Therefore, to lay the case before ye

      Plain as I can, I'll tell a story:

      I once a set of fellows knew,

      All hearts of oak, and backs of yew:

      To look for such would be in vain,

      I ne'er shall see the like again.

      Though bruis'd from head to foot they fought on,

      Pirithous was himself a Broughton.

      Bold Dryas was as hard as steel,

      His knuckles would make Buckhurst feel;

      And strong-back'd Theseus, though a sailor,

      Would single-handed beat the Nailor.

      Great Polyphemus too I brag on,

      He fought and kick'd like Wantley's dragon;

      And Cineus often would for fun

      Make constables and watchmen run.

      Such were my cronies, rogues in buff,

      Who taught me how to kick and cuff.

      With these the boar stood little chance;

      They made the four-legg'd Centaurs prance.

      Now these brave boys, these hearts of oak,

      Were all attention when I spoke;

      And listen'd to my fine oration

      Like Whitfield's gaping congregation:

      Though I was young, they thought me wise;

      You sure may now with me advise.

      Atrides,

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