Francis Grose - A Burlesque Translation of Homer

Neighbours, can any Grecian say
We ought not all to run away
From this curst place without delay?
Else soon our best and bravest cocks
Will be destroy'd by plague or pox.
We cannot long, though Jove doth back us,
Resist, whilst two such foes attack us.
I think 'tis time to spare the few
Our broils have left; but what think you?
A cunning man perhaps may tell us
The reason why this plague befel us
Or an old woman, that can dream,
May help us out in this extreme;
For dreams, if rightly you attend 'em,
Are true, when Jove thinks fit to send 'em.
Thus may we form some judgment what
This same Apollo would be at;
Whether he mauls each wicked sinner,
Because a mighty pimping dinner
He often had but then he knew
That we had damn'd short commons too.
If 'tis for that he makes such stir,
He's not the man I took him for:
But, as I've reason for my fears,
I vote to pay him all arrears.
Therefore let such a man be found,
Either above or under ground,
To tell us quickly how we may
In proper terms begin to pray,
That he may ease us of these curses,
And stay at home and mind his horses —
Much better bus'ness for the spark
Than shooting Grecians in the dark.

He said, and squatting on his breech,
Calchas rose up, and look'd on each:
With caution he began to speak
A speech compos'd of purest Greek.
He was a wizard, and could cast
A figure to find out things past;
And things to come he could foretel,
Almost as well as Sydrophel.
The diff'rent languages he knew
Of every kind of bird that flew,
Each word could construe that they spoke.
Or screech-owl's scream, or raven's croak,
And, by a science most profound,
Distinguish rotten eggs from sound.
When first the Grecians mann'd their boats
To sail and cut the Trojans' throats,
Safely to steer 'em through the tide,
They chose this wizard for their guide.
As slow as clock-work he arose,
Then with his fingers wip'd his nose:
Dubious to speak or hold his tongue,
His words betwixt his teeth were hung:
But, having shook 'em from his jaws,
As dogs shake weasels from their nose,
Away they came both loud and clear,
And told his mind, as you shall hear:

Thou that art Jove's respected friend,
To what I speak be sure attend,
And in a twinkling shalt thou know,
Why Phœbus smokes the Grecians so,
But promise, should the chief attack me,
That thou my bully-rock wilt back me;
Because I know things must come out,
Will gripe him to the very gut .
These monarchs are so proud and haughty,
Subjects can't tell them when they're faulty,
Because, though now their fury drops,
Somehow or other out it pops.
And this remember whilst you live,
When kings can't punish, they'll forgive.

Achilles thus: Old cock, speak out,
Speak freely without fear or doubt.
Smite my old pot-lid! but, so long
As I draw breath amidst this throng.
The bloodiest cur in all the crew
Sha'n't dare so much as bark at you:
Not e'en the chief, so grum and tall,
Who sits two steps above us all.

These words the doubtful conj'ror cheer,
Who then proceeded without fear:
To th' gods you never play'd the thief,
But paid them well with tripe or beef;
But 'tis our chief provok'd Apollo
With this curst plague our camp to follow
Because his priest was vilely us'd,
His daughter kiss'd, himself abus'd.
The curate's pray's caus'd these disorders:
Gods fight for men in holy orders.
Nor will he from his purpose flinch,
Nor will his godship budge one inch,
But without mercy, great and small,
Will never cease to sweat us all,
If Agamemnon doth not send her,
With cooks and statesmen to attend her.
Then let's in haste the girl restore
Without a ransom; and, what's more,
Let's rams, and goats, and oxen give,
That priests and gods may let us live.

Ready to burst with vengeful ire,
That made his bloodshot eyes strike fire,
Atrides, with an angry scowl,
Replies, The devil fetch your soul!
I've a great mind, you lousy wizard,
To lay my fist across your mazzard.
Son of an ugly squinting bitch,
Pray who the pox made you a witch?
I don't believe, you mongrel dog,
You ken a handsaw from a hog;
Nor know, although you thus dare flounce,
How many f – s will make an ounce;
And yet, an imp, can always see
Some mischief cooking up for me,
And think, because you are a priest,
You safely may with captains jest.
But I forewarn thee, shun the stroke,
Nor dare my mighty rage provoke.
A pretty fellow thou! to teach
Our men to murmur at thy speech,
Tell lies as thick as you can pack 'em,
And bring your wooden gods to back 'em
And all because a girl I keep
For exercise, to make me sleep.
Besides, the wench does all things neatly,
And handles my affairs completely.
She hems, marks linen, and she stitches ,
And mends my doublet, hose, and breeches,
My Clytemnestra well I love,
But not so well as her, by Jove!
Yet, since you say we suffer slaughter
Because I kiss this parson's daughter,
Then go she must; I'll let her go,
Since the cross gods will have it so;
Rather than Phœbus thus shall drive,
And slay the people all alive,
From this dear loving wench I'll part,
The only comfort of my heart.
But, since I must resign for Greece,
I shall expect as good a piece :
'Tis a great loss, and by my soul
All Greece shall join to make me whole!
Don't think that I, of all that fought,
Will take a broken pate for nought.

Achilles, starting from his breech,
Replies, By Jove, a pretty speech!
Think'st thou the troops will in her stead
Send what they got with broken head;
Or that we shall esteem you right in
Purloining what we earn'd by fighting?
You may with bullying face demand,
But who the pox will understand?
If thou for plunder look'st, my boy,
Enough of that there is in Troy:
Her apple-stalls we down may pull,
And then we'll stuff thy belly full.

The chief replies: For you, Achilles,
I care not two-pence; but my will is
Not to submit to be so serv'd,
And thou lie warm whilst I am starv'd.
Though thou in battle mak'st brave work,
Can beat the devil, pope, and Turk,
With Spaniards, Hollanders, and French,
I won't for that give up my wench:
Nor shall I, Mr. Bluff, d'ye see,
Resign my girl to pleasure thee.
Let something be produc'd to view,
Which I may have of her in lieu,
Something that's noble, great and good,
Worthy a prince of royal blood;
Just such another I should wish her,
As sev'n years since was Kitty Fisher;
Or else I will, since you provoke,
At all your prizes have a stroke;
Ulysses' booty will I seize,
Or thine or Ajax', if I please.
The man that's hurt may bawl and roar,
And swear, but he can do no more.
But this some other time may do,
I must go launch a sand-barge now:
Victuals and cooks I must take care,
With oars and pilots, to prepare;
See the ropes tarr'd, the bottom mended,
And the old sails well piec'd and bended
Then put the wench on board the boat,
Attended by some man of note,
By Creta's chief, or, if he misses,
By Ajax, or by sly Ulysses;
Or, if I please, I'll make you skip
Aboard, as captain of the ship.
We make no doubt but you with ease
His angry godship may appease;
Or else your goggle eyes, that fright us,
May scare him so he'll cease to smite us.

You would have sworn this mortal twitch
Had given old Peleus' son the itch,
So hard he scratch'd; at last found vent,
And back to him this answer sent: