A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Thersites from the matter wide is,

      Or something vexes great Atrides;

      But what the murrain it can be,

      The Lord above can only see!

      No man alive can be censorious,

      His reign has been so very glorious:

      Then what has lodg'd the heavy bullet

      Of discontent within his gullet,

      That makes him look as foul as thunder,

      To me's a secret and a wonder:

      He had the best, the Grecians know,

      Of gold, and handsome wenches too.

      Best did I say? Bar Helen's bum,

      He had the best in Christendom,

      And yet's not pleas'd: but tell us what

      Thy mighty kingship would be at?

      Say but, shall Greece and I go speed

      To Troy, and bring thee in thy need

      The race of royal sons of whores,

      By ransom to increase thy stores?

      When we return, prepare to seize

      Whate'er the royal eye shall please:

      This thou mayst do sans dread and fear;

      'Tis mighty safe to plunder here.

      When the fit moves thee for that same,

      Take any captain's favourite dame;

      Our master wills, and 'tis but fit

      Such scrubs as we should all submit.

      Ye women Greeks, a sneaking race,

      Take my advice to quit this place;

      And leave this mighty man of pleasure

      To kiss his doxies at his leisure.

      When Hector comes, we'll then be mist

      When Hector comes, he'll be bepist.

      The man that makes us slaves submit,

      When Hector comes, will be be – t;

      He'll rue the dire unlucky day

      He forc'd Achilles' girl away:

      That buxom wench we all agreed

      To give the bully for his need.

      Achilles, though in discontent,

      Don't think it proper to resent:

      But if the bully's patience ceases,

      He'll kick thee into half-crown pieces.

      Sudden Ulysses with a bound

      Rais'd his backside from off the ground,

      Ready to burst his very gall

      To hear this scurvy rogue so maul

      The constable of Greece – an elf,

      Famous for hard-mouth'd words himself;

      His eyes look'd fierce, like ferrets red;

      Hunchback he scans; and thus he said:

      Moon-calf, give o'er this noisy babbling,

      And don't stand prating thus and squabbling.

      If thy foul tongue again dispute

      The royal sway, I'll cut it out;

      Thou art, and hast been from thy birth,

      As great a rogue as lives on earth.

      What plea canst thou have names to call,

      Who art the vilest dog of all?

      Think'st thou a single Greek will stir

      An inch for such a snarling cur?

      How dar'st thou use Atrides' name,

      And of a constable make game?

      For safe return great Jove we trust:

      'Tis ours to fight, and fight we must

      If to our noble chief a few

      Make presents, pray, what's that to you?

      What mighty gifts have you bestow'd,

      Except your venom? scurvy toad!

      If the bold bucks their plunder gave,

      Thou canst not think' among the brave

      We reckon such a lousy knave.

      May I be doom'd to keep a tin-shop,

      Or smite my soul into a gin-shop,

      There to be drawn by pint or gill,

      For drunken whores to take their fill;

      Or may I find my dear son Telley

      With back and bones all beat to jelly;

      Or in his stead behold another,

      Got by some rascal on his mother;

      If I don't punish the next fault,

      By stripping off thy scarlet coat,

      That shabby, ragged, thread-bare lac'd coat

      Then with a horsewhip dust thy waistcoat;

      I'll lay on so that all the navy

      Shall hear thy curship roar peccavi.

      This said, his broomshaft with a thwack

      He drove against his huckle back.

      It fell with such a dev'lish thump,

      It almost rais'd another hump.

      The poor faint-hearted culprit cries,

      And tears ran down his blood-shot eyes:

      With clout he wip'd his ugly face,

      And sneak'd in silence to his place.

      Then might you hear the mob declare

      Their thoughts on courage, and on fear.

      Up to the stars they cry'd Ulysses,

      A braver fellow never pisses;

      Of insolence he stops the tide,

      Nor gives it time to spread too wide.

      We want but half a score such samples,

      To make all prating knaves examples:

      'Twould teach the mob much better things,

      Than dare to chatter about kings.

      Whilst thus they sing Ulysses' praises,

      The constable his body raises.

      The gen'ral's truncheon of command

      He flourish'd in his dexter hand.

      Pallas in herald's coat stood by,

      And with great noise did silence cry,

      That all the rabble far and near

      This crafty Grecian's speech might hear.

      With staring looks and open jaws

      They catch each syllab as it flows.

      First, with his hand he scratch'd his head,

      To try if wit's alive or dead:

      But, when he found his wit was strong,

      And ready to assist his tongue,

      To clear his throat he hem'd aloud,

      And thus humbugg'd the list'ning crowd:

      Unlucky chief, to be so us'd,

      Deserted first, and then abus'd!

      At Argos, when we came to muster,

      And were all gather'd in a cluster,

      The general voice was heard to say,

      The de'il fetch him that СКАЧАТЬ