A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

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      Jove, or by fame he much bely'd is,

      Sends off a Dream to hum Atrides:

      His conscience telling him it meet is

      To make his promise good to Thetis;

      Gave it commission as it went,

      To tell the cull by whom 'twas sent;

      And bid it fill his head top full,

      Of taking Troy, and cock and bull.

      The Vision goes as it was bid,

      And fairly turns the poor man's head,

      Who eagerly began to stare

      At castles building in the air,

      And fancy'd, as the work went on,

      He heard Troy's walls come tumbling down.

      But ere he starts, he has an eye

      The metal of his rogues to try:

      He tells the chiefs, when he proposes

      That homeward all shall point their noses,

      They must take care, when he had sped,

      To come and knock it all o' th' head.

      The plot succeeds; they're glad to go;

      But sly Ulysses answer'd, No;

      Then drove his broomstick with a thwack

      Upon Thersites' huckle back;

      Check'd other scoundrels with a frown,

      And knock'd the sauciest rascals down;

      Proving, that at improper times

      To speak the truth's the worst of crimes.

      Th' assembly met; old Nestor preaches,

      And all the chiefs, like schoolboys, teaches

      Orders each diff'rent shire to fix

      A rendezvous, nor longer mix,

      But with their own bluff captains stay,

      Whether they fight or run away:

      And whilst thus gather'd in a cluster,

      They nick the time, and make a muster.

      The watch past twelve o'clock were roaring,

      And citizens in bed were snoring,

      And all the gods of each degree

      Were snoring hard for company,

      Whilst Jove, whose mind could get no ease,

      Perplex'd with cares as well as fleas

      (For cares he in his bosom carried,

      As every creature must that's married),

      Was plotting, since he had begun,

      How he might honour Thetis' son;

      And scratch'd, and scratch'd, but yet he could

      Not find a method for his blood

      To keep his word. At last he caught,

      By scratching hard, a lucky thought

      (And 'faith, I think, 'twas no bad scheme);

      To send the Grecian chief a Dream,

      Made of a Cloud, on which he put

      A coat and waistcoat, ready cut

      Out of the self-same kind of stuff,

      But yet it suited well enough

      To give it shape: Now, Mr. Dream,

      Take care you keep the shape you seem,

      Says Jove; then do directly go

      To Agamemnon's tent below:

      Tell him to arm his ragged knaves

      With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,

      Then instantly their time employ

      To rattle down the walls of Troy.

      Tell him, in this, Miss Destiny

      And all the heav'nly crew agree:

      For Juno has made such a riot,

      The gods do aught to keep her quiet.

      Away goes Dream upon the wing,

      And stands before the snoring king:

      Grave Nestor's coat and figure took,

      As old as he, as wise his look,

      Rubs the cull's noddle with his wings,

      And, full of guile, thus small he sings:

      Monarch, how canst thou sleeping lie,

      When thou hast other fish to fry?

      O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,

      Whose father was a skilful farrier,

      Hast thou no thought about decorum,

      Who art the very head o'th' quorum?

      I shame myself to think I'm catching

      Thee fast asleep, instead of watching.

      Is not all Greece pinn'd on thy lap?

      Rise, and for once postpone thy nap,

      Lest by some rogue it should be said,

      The chief of chiefs went drunk to bed:

      For Jove, by whom you are respected,

      Says your affairs sh'an't be neglected;

      So sends you word he now is poring

      On your concerns, whilst you are snoring:

      He bids thee arm thy ragged knaves

      With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,

      Then instantly thy time employ

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