Francis Grose - A Burlesque Translation of Homer

Thou wretch, to all true hearts a stain,
Thou damn'd infernal rogue in grain!
Thou greater hypocrite than G-ml-y,
Thou dirtier dog than Jeremy L – y!
Whose deeds, like thine, will ever be
A scandal to nobility;
From this good day I hope no chief
Will fight thy broils, or eat thy beef.
How canst thou hope thy men will stand,
When under such a rogue's command?
What bus'ness I to fight thy battle?
The Trojans never stole my cattle.
My farm, secur'd by rocks and sands,
Was safe from all their thieving bands.
My steeds fed safe, both grey and dapple;
Nor could they steal a single apple
From any orchard did belong
To me, my fences were so strong.
I kept off all such sons of bitches
With quick-set hedges fac'd with ditches.
Our farm can all good things supply,
Our men can box, and so can I.
Hither we came, 'tis shame I'm sure,
To fight, for what? an arrant whore!
A pretty story this to tell.
Instead of being treated well,
As a reward for all our blows,
We're kick'd about by your dog's nose.
And dar'st thou think to seize my plunder,
For which I made the battle thunder,
And men and horses truckle under?
No! since it was the Grecians' gift,
To keep it I shall make a shift.
What wouldst thou have? thou hadst the best
Of every thing; nay, 'tis no jest:
But you take care to leave, I see,
The fighting trade to fools like me.
In this you show the statesman's skill,
To let fools fight whilst you sit still.
First I'm humbugg'd with some poor toy,
Then clapp'd o' th' back, and call'd brave boy.
This shall no more hold water, friend:
My 'prenticeship this day shall end.
When I go, and my men to boots,
I leave thee then a king of clouts.

The general gave him tit for tat,
And answer'd, cocking first his hat:
Go, and be hang'd, you blust'ring whelp,
Pray who the murrain wants your help?
When you are gone, I know there are
Col'nels sufficient for the war,
Militia bucks that know no fears,
Brave fishmongers and auctioneers.
Besides, great Jove will fight for us,
What need we then this mighty fuss?
Thou lov'st to quarrel, fratch, and jangle,
To scold and swear, and fight and wrangle.
Great strength thou hast, and pray what then?
Art thou so stupid, canst not ken,
The gods, that ev'ry thing can see,
Give strength to bears as well as thee?
Of all Jove's sons, a bastard host,
For reasons good, I hate thee most.
Prithee be packing; thou'rt not fit,
Or here to stand, or there to sit:
In your own parish kick your scrubs,
They're taught to bear such kind of rubs;
But, for my part, I scorn the help
Of such a noisy, bullying whelp:
Go therefore, friend, and learn at school,
First to obey, and then to rule.
The gods they say for Chryseis send,
And to restore her I intend;
But look what follows, Mr. Bully!
See if I don't convince thee fully,
That thy bluff wench with sandy hair
The loss I suffer shall repair:
I'll let thee feel what 'tis to be
A rival to a chief like me;
That thou and all these folks may know,
Great men are only subject to
The gods, or right or wrong they do.

Had you but seen Achilles fret it,
I think you never could forget it;
A sight so dreadful ne'er was seen,
He sweat for very rage and spleen:
Long was he balanc'd at both ends;
When reason mounted, rage descends;
The last commanded sword lug out;
The first advis'd him not to do't.
With half-drawn weapon fierce he stood,
Eager to let the general blood;
When Pallas, swift descending down,
Lent him a knock upon the crown;
Then roar'd as loud as she could yelp,
Lugging his ears, 'Tis I, you whelp!
Now Mrs. Juno, 'cause they both
Were fav'rites, was exceeding loth
To have 'em quarrel; so she sent
This wench all mischief to prevent,
And, to obstruct her being seen,
Lent her a cloud to make a screen.

Pelides wonder'd who could be
So bold, and turn'd about to see:
He knew the twinkling of her eyes,
And loud as he could bawl, he cries,
Goddess of Wisdom! pray what weather
Has blown your goatskin doublet hither?
Howe'er, thou com'st quite opportune
To see how basely I'm run down;
Thou com'st most à-propos incog.
To see how I will trim this dog:
For, by this trusty blade, his life
Or mine shall end this furious strife!

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, don't Briseis seek;
For, if you do, depend, each Greek,
The dastard rogue as well as brave,
Will say our king's both fool and knave.
The want of brains is no great shame,
'Cause nature there is most to blame;
But this plain fact by all is known,
If you're a rogue, the fault's your own.
Achilles, don't you play the fool,
And snub the king; for he must rule.
Thou art in fight the first, I grant;
As brave as Mars, or John-a-Gaunt:
But then you must allow one thing,
No man should scold and huff a king.
Matters you know are just this length,
He has got pow'r, and you have strength
Of each let's take a proper sup
To make a useful mixture up.
Do you, Atrides, strive to ease
Your heart; this bully I'll appease.
I'd rather give five hundred pound
Than have Pelides quit the ground.
Bravo! old boy! the king replies,
I swear my vet'ran's wondrous wise:
But that snap-dragon won't submit
To laws, unless he thinks 'em fit;
Because he can the Trojans swinge,
He fancies I to him should cringe:
But I, in spite of all his frumps,
Shall make him know I'm king of trumps.