A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ