Francis Grose - A Burlesque Translation of Homer

He spoke; and sighing rubs his eyes,
When Menelaus thus replies:
Thy tears, my hero, prithee keep,
Lest they should make our soldiers weep:
'Tis but, at worst, a harmless scratch;
I'll put upon't a lady's patch:
Or, if you think 'twill mend you faster,
I'll send for Borton's 8 8 Borton, an honest chymist in Piccadilly. sticking-plaster.
But if a surgeon's help is meet,
Dispatch a messenger to th' Fleet;
There is a man, who well can do
For scratches, burns, and poxes too.

The brother king, with gracious look,
Once more resum'd the thread, and spoke

May all the gods thy life defend,
And all thy wounds and scratches mend!
Talthybius, fly, Machaon bid
Run faster than he ever did;
Let him await us in our tents,
And bring his box of instruments;
My brother's wounded with a dart,
For aught I know, in mortal part

With such a haste Talthybius run,
He knock'd two common troopers down;
Then search'd through every file and rank,
And found the surgeon in the flank.

The king, Machaon, wants your help;
You must not march, but run, you whelp;
And, with your box of instruments,
Attend the brothers in their tents:
Make speed, the best leg foremost put;
One brother's wounded in the gut;
And for the other, 'tis not clear
But he has burst his guts for fear.

The surgeon was a soldier good,
And in his regimentals stood.
Soon as he heard of what had pass'd,
No surgeon ever ran so fast.
Talthybius, who his speed did view,
Swears to this day he thought he flew.
Away he hied, with double speed,
To help the king in time of need
(A double motive surgeons brings,
When they attend the wounds of kings;
It happens oft, as I have heard,
Besides their pay, they get preferr'd).
Away puff'd Chiron on full drive,
In hopes to see the king alive.
Standing he found the man he sought,
And cleaner than at first was thought.
His comrades look'd a little blue,
And so perhaps might I or you.
He pluck'd the arrow with such speed,
Close to the head he broke the reed;
On which he for the buckles felt,
And loos'd at once both head and belt:
When kneeling down upon the ground,
Like Edward's queen he suck'd the wound;
Then to the place, to give it ease,
Apply'd a salve of pitch and grease.

But, while the surgeon was employ'd,
The Grecians sorely were annoy'd
By Trojan boys that flew about,
Resolv'd just then to box it out;
Roaring they came like drunken sailors,
Or idle combination tailors.
The king durst hardly go or stay;
But yet he scorn'd to run away:
Though peace might make his head appear
A little thick, in war 'twas clear.
Though his own coach was by his side,
Yet, like a man, he scorn'd to ride,
Lest they should think him touch'd with pride,
But ran on foot through all the host,
As nimbly as a penny post:

And cries, Attend, each mother's son!
This battle must be lost or won.
Remember now your ancient glory,
What broken heads there are in story
Related of your fathers stout;
And you yourselves are talk'd about:
A Trojan fighting one of you,
Has odds against him three to two:
The rascals rotten are as melons,
And full of guilt as Newgate felons.
We'll have 'em all in chains and cuffs,
But till that time let's work their buffs.
This speech was made for men of mettle;
He next the cowards strives to settle:

O shame to all your former trades,
The ridicule of oyster jades!
Do you intend to stand and see
Your lighters flaming in the sea?
A special time to stare and quake,
When more than all ye have's at stake!
Like stags, who, whilst they stand at bay,
Dare neither fight nor run away;
Perhaps you think it worth the while
For Jove to fight, and save you toil:
But you will find, without a jest,
He safest stands who boxes best.

This said, like Brentford's mighty king
He march'd, and strutted round the ring.
Th' old Cretan gave him great content,
To see him head his regiment;
And to observe how void of fear
The bold Merion form'd the rear.
The serjeant-majors, in their places,
Advanc'd, with grim determin'd faces.
The king, elated much with joy,
Clasp'd in his arms the fine old boy:
O Idomen! what thanks we owe
To men of such-like mould as you!
Thy worth by far exceeds belief:
When Jove from war shall give relief,
Be thine the foremost cut o' th' beef:
And when our pots of ale we quaff,
Mix'd with small beer the better half,
Thy share, depend, shall never fail
To be a double pot, all ale.

The Cretan had not learn'd to dance;
Had ne'er from Dover skipp'd to France:
For though 'tis plain he meant no evil,
You'll say his answer was not civil:

There needs no words to raise my courage
So save your wind to cool your porridge:
I'll venture boldly though to say,
I'll act what you command this day:
Let but the trumpets sound to battle,
I'll make the Trojans' doublets rattle.

The king was rather pleas'd than vex'd,
So travell'd onward to the next.
Ajax he found among his blues;
Ajax, says he, my boy, what news?
Now this he said, because 'twas hard
To have for all a speech prepar'd:
But yet he gladly feasts his eyes
With his new mode of exercise:
He found 'twas Prussian every inch;
Of mighty service at a pinch;
He saw him close his files, then double
(A trick, new learn'd, the foe to bubble);
Next wheel'd to right and left about,
And made 'em face both in and out;
Then turn upon the centre quick,
As easy as a juggler's trick;
Whence soon they form'd into a square;
Then back again just as they were.
By this parade, Atrides knew
That phalanx might be trusted to.
Now, all this while his plotting head
Had conn'd a speech, and thus he said:

To say I'm pleas'd, O gallant knight!
Is barely doing what is right:
Thy soldiers well may heroes be,
When they such bright examples see.

Would Jove but to the rest impart
A piece of thy undaunted heart,
Trojans would helter-skelter run,
And their old walls come tumbling down.

The next he found was ancient Nestor,
Who, spite of age, was still a jester:
For military art renown'd,
As Bland's his knowledge was profound
Besides, when he thought fit, could speak
In any language – best in Greek.
The king espy'd his men in ranks,
And flew to give th' old firelock thanks;
Observ'd how just he plac'd his forces,
His footmen and his line of horses.
The foot 9 9 I imagine the author has placed the troops as he thinks they should be, not as they were. The author knows the Grecians had no horses but what they used to their chariots: but, as he talks like an apothecary, he gives himself what liberty he pleases. were wisely rang'd in front,
That they the first might bear the brunt.

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: