Francis Grose - A Burlesque Translation of Homer

Paris, says he, you're but a cheat,
And only dare the wenches meet;
But though a man you dare not face,
Yet, when the fight becomes a chase,
You'd beat a thousand in the race.
I wish, ere Nelly thou hadst felt,
Thou'dst broke thy neck, or hadst been gelt:
Better by half than thus to bully,
Then run away from such a cully.
The Greeks all swear thou art besh-t,
And their fat sides with laughing split.
Thou look a soldier! thou be d – d!
The Grecians cannot be so flamm'd.
When thy fine long-boats went to Greece
To steal away this precious piece;
Say, did'st thou, in thy first attack
On Helen's freehold, thus give back?
Joy to thy foes, shame to thy race,
Thy father's grief, and Troy's disgrace,
Recover thy lost credit soon,
And stoutly stand by what you've done;
Or else all Troy, as well as me,
Thy buxom wench will plainly see
Belongs a better man than thee.
Take heed, Troy may awake at last,
And make thee pay for all that's past.
Here Paris blush'd – a sign of grace;
Nor durst he look in Hector's face:

Then answers, By my soul, you're right
But who like you can preach and fight?
I know you're made of best of steel,
And box as if you could not feel.
You have your gifts, and I have mine:
Where each may in his province shine.
Smite you the men; I smite the wenches,
And seldom fail to storm their trenches.
Don't you despise the lover's charms:
They're Venus' gift, her powerful arms.
A good strong back, and proper measure
Of love, to give the fair ones pleasure,
Are blessings, which the gods bestow
Only to favourites below.
Yet, if it please thee, I will stand
This cuckold's combat hand to hand:
His mutton-fist bold Paris scorns,
He only fears his branching horns;
Should he receive from these a wound,
Our quack can never make him sound.
But go, explain the matter fully,
And I will box this Spartan bully.
My pretty Nelly shall be set
For him that doth the conquest get:
Her swelling breasts and matchless eyes
Shall be the lucky conqu'ror's prize:
Then Troy and Greece, in any weather,
May smoke a sober pipe together.
This challenge pleas'd, and Hector quick
Stopp'd all the Trojans with his stick;
Next to the foe, with Spanish pace,
Advanc'd, to let them know the case.

The Greeks, like coward sons of whores,
Threw bricks and cobble-stones in show'rs.

Atrides soon the tumult spies:
Give o'er, ye silly dogs! he cries;
'Tis Hector comes, if I am right,
To talk a little, not to fight:
I know him by his breadth of chest,
I know his skull-cap's always drest
With goose quills of the very best:
Then be not in such woeful splutter,
But hear what Hector has to utter.
At this rebuke they threw no more:
The tumult ceas'd; the fray was o'er:
His eyes the bully Trojan roll'd,
And briefly thus his story told:

Hear, all ye warriors, fam'd for toils,
In civil feuds and drunken broils:
Paris demands you now forbear
To kick and cuff, and curse and swear;
But on the ground your cudgels throw,
And stick your broomstaves on a row:
Let Troy and Greece but sit 'em down,
Paris will fight this Spartan loon;
The charming Helen shall be set,
For him that shall the conquest get;
Her snowy breasts and matchless eyes
Shall be the lucky conqu'ror's prize:
Then Troy and Greece, in any weather,
May smoke a sober pipe together.

He spoke; and for six minutes good,
With mouths half-cock'd, both armies stood:

When Menelaus thus began:
Bold Hector offers like a man,
And I the challenge will accept;
As freely as I ever slept.
Hector, perhaps, may think I won't,
But singe my whiskers if I don't!
I know, my lads, you fight for me,
And in my quarrel cross'd the sea.
I thank you, friends, for what you've done;
But now the battle's all my own:
Who falls, it matters not a fig,
If one survives to dance a jig
With that bewitching female Helen,
And stump it tightly when he's well in.
So, Trojans, if you mean no flams,
Go buy directly two grass-lambs;
One for the Earth, as black as crow,
One for the Sun, as white as snow:
For surly Jove, you need not fear,
We'll get one, be they cheap or dear;
For well we know he'll make us feel,
If e'er we cheat him of a meal.
But let King Priam on the place
Appear; we rev'rence his old face.
His sons are hect'ring roaring fellows,
And fifty thousand lies may tell us;
Old age is not so quick in motion,
But sees with care, and moves with caution.
Experience makes old folks discerning;
At blunders past they oft take warning.

Both parties hear, and hope, at last
Their broils and broken pates are past;
Nor staid they to be bidden twice,
But stripp'd their jackets in a trice:
Their cudgels, all the circle round
As quick as thought threw on the ground.
Two beadles Hector sent to town,
In haste to fetch his daddy down;
And bid 'em tell old limberhams,
Not to forget to bring two lambs.
The running footman of the fleet
(Talthybius call'd, with nimble feet)
With all his speed his stumps did stir
To fetch a lamb for Jupiter.
I' th' int'rim, fond of mischief-telling,
The rainbow goddess flies to Helen:
(Most modern farts, I ever knew,
When set on fire, burn only blue,
Or simple red; but when behind
This nimble goddess lets out wind,
It leaves a track along the skies
Compos'd of fifty different dyes.)
She seem'd like old Antenor's daughter,
That Helen might not know she sought her.
The housewife at her task she found,
With all her wenches seated round:
For, as she work'd in Priam's hall,
She chose to have them within call:
Where, like a brazen, saucy jade,
She wrought her tale in light and shade:
How, for her sake, the Greeks employ
Their utmost force to pull down Troy;
And wove the story in her loom,
Of horns, her former husband's doom:
Adding withal, to keep her going,
What for nine years they had been doing:
The necessary names wrote under,
Lest lookers-on should make a blunder;
Lest they should make a wrong conjecture:
This is brisk Paris – that is Hector;
This is Ulysses – that the beast
Thersites – so of all the rest.
Helen, says Iris, pray come out
And see what work they're all about.
Their clubs thrown down; their staves they prick
Fast in the ground, and there they stick.
They fight no more; for this good day
Paris and Menelaus say
They'll have one bout at cudgel play.
These happy rogues appear in view
To box their very best for you;
And which soever of 'em win,
With kissing he will soon begin.
This put the light-heel'd dame in mind
Of people she had left behind
In her own country: not these two
(She'd try'd the best that they could do);
But she had left behind some dozens
Of uncles, aunts, and loving cousins.
She gulp'd, and swallow'd down her spittle,
But yet was seen to weep a little;
Then left her work, and on her wait
Two wenches to the Scean gate,
Where some old square-toes, grave and try'd,
Were chatting close to Priam's side:
I think they were in number seven;
It matters not, or odd or even.
The name of each I would rehearse,
But it would edge your teeth in verse.
Like grasshoppers they sat i' th' sun,
Telling strange tales of ancient fun;
And, in a feeble hollow tone,
Repeated what great feats they'd done;
How they had thrum'd the maids of Troy,
When Adam was a little boy:
At Helen's shapes they shook their wings;
What could they more? they had no stings.