THE SEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD.

ARGUMENT.

When Hector got upon the plain,
They fell to loggerheads again;
Pallas, afraid Greece would not stand,
Prepar'd to lend a helping hand:
Apollo saw her tie her garters,
And straight resolv'd to watch her waters;
On which he popp'd his body down,
And met her pretty near the town.
After a spell of small-talk prattle,
They both agree to cease the battle
For the remainder of that day,
But farther Homer doth not say.
Then Hector came and puff'd his cheeks,
And sorely frighten'd all the Greeks,
Told 'em he'd box that afternoon
Their boldest cock, for half a crown.
Which scar'd 'em so confoundedly,
That every mother's son let fly;
Though nine at least their names put in,
After they'd wip'd their breeches clean.
Nestor, who knew at any rate
Nothing but Ajax' knotty pate
Could stand his blows, contriv'd it so
That he should draw the longest straw;
On which these thick-skull'd champions fight
Till parted by one Mrs. Night.
Next, in a council, Troy's old pack
Of statesmen vote to send Nell back;
But Paris by his bullying cool'd 'em,
Or else by brib'ry over-rul'd 'em;
Then d——d his eyes if he would spare
Of all her stock one single hair
From any place that was about her,
But he would give the Greeks without her
All the hard cash she brought to Dover,
And double it five or six times over.
Priam a bellman sent to offer
The Greeks this advantageous proffer,
And beg a truce, to look about
And see who'd got their brains knock'd out.
The Greeks, though they were every bit
As poor as our great patriot P——,
When he began at first to slaver,
And stun the house with his palaver,
Yet, for a truth depend on't, I know
They all refus'd the ready rhino;
But readily agreed, they say,
To cease all fratching for a day.
After both sides their arms had grounded,
And gather'd up their sick and wounded,
Old Nestor did their bricklayers call up,
And made 'em build a good strong wall up;
At which old Neptune fell a-grumbling,
Till Jove, to stop his guts from rumbling,
Promis'd the wall should soon come tumbling.

HOMER'S ILIAD

BOOK VII.

Thus spake this Trojan heart of oak,
And thunder'd through the gate like smoke;
His brother Paris follow'd close,
Resolv'd to give the Greeks a dose.
As when poor sailors, tir'd with towing,
And all their fingers gall'd with rowing,
Keep growling hard, but when they find
Jove sends a favourable wind,
No more each two-legg'd bruin swears,
But lends the coming breeze three cheers:
Thus welcome are these roaring boys,
Both to the Dardan troops and Troy's;
And they who scarce the field could keep,
Now drive the Grecians, on a heap.
Paris, to help to wipe his stains out,
Soon knock'd Menestheus's brains out;
Areithous, a mousetrap-maker,
Seduc'd a very pretty quaker
To let him one unlucky night
Extinguish all her inward light,
And get this boy; but though he thrash'd hard,
The urchin proved a graceless bastard.
Then with a most confounded whack
Eioneus tumbled on his back;
An inch below his cap of steel,
A thump from Hector made him feel;
Much stronger necks could not resist
Such blows from Hector's mutton fist:
Down tumbled he upon the plain,
But never found his legs again.
Next in the individual locus,
Iphinous was chanc'd by Glaucus:
The broomshaft's point his shoulder tore up
Just as he set his foot i' th' stirrup;
Which chang'd the intended motion soon
From rising up to tumbling down.
Minerva's guts began to grumble,
To see her fav'rite Grecians tumble:
To earth she in a hurry popp'd,
And after her Apollo dropp'd;
Both lit upon the self-same stone,
Like Flockton's puppets, Punch and Joan,
And, ere they did their talk begin,
Stood for a minute chin to chin.
Madam, says Phœbus, I'm your humble
And most obedient cum dumble;
By Vulcan's horns I vow and swear,
I little thought to find you here!
I hope before you took this frolic
You felt no symptoms of your cholic.
I heard, dear Ma'am, with all the knowledge
And wisdom that you lent the College,
A recipe they could not make
To cure your lay'ship's belly-ache:
But had the great-wigg'd varlets thought on
The famous drops of Doctor Stoughton,
That would have done't: they eas'd my tripes
When all on snicksnarls with the gripes;
And you'll experience, if you try,
They cure the gripes both wet and dry.
I therefore for the belly-ache
No other medicine will take,
Not even Ward's tremendous pill,
Nor sage prepar'd by Doctor Hill.
But, Ma'am, may I, without transgression.
Presume to ask a single question?
Did not your ladyship whip down,
Slily to crack some Trojan's crown?
I know the only sight you've fun in
Is when you see the Trojans running;
But hold your fist a spell, and soon
Their huts and barns shall tumble down;
For who can stand against the whims
Of two such d——d revengeful brims?
When thus replies the scratching bitch:
Split me, if you ar'n't grown a witch!
I came for mischief here, and would
Have pummel'd Hector if I could;
But after what you've said, I now
Would part 'em, if you'd tell me how;
But they keep such confounded clatt'ring,
Whilst blood, and guts, and brains they're scatt'ring.
That Stentor with his brazen lungs,
Or Fame with all her hundred tongues,
One word amongst 'em cannot wedge,
Though set with e'er so sharp an edge.
Then how should I? for, without flatt'ring,
You know I ne'er was fam'd for chatt'ring.
To her, when she had done her prate,
Replies the god with carrot pate.
I know a scheme will do the job,
If you'll consent to bear a bob.
That, says the fighting jade, I'll do,
Though it should prove a bob or two.
Then, says the god, do you begin
Directly now to put it in—
Put what, ye hedgehog? says the jade.
Why, put it into Hector's head
To ride amongst the Grecian band
With an old backsword in his hand,
Then with a flourish challenge out
The boldest bruiser to a bout
At quarter-staff or cudgel play,
Or flats or sharps, or any way,
Till Greece, desirous to abase him,
Shall find some thick-skull'd knave to face him.
They then shook hands, their faith to pledge,
Then squatted down behind a hedge.
The moment that they disappear'd,
Helenus, who their chat o'erheard,
The breast of valiant Hector fir'd,
By telling him he was inspir'd.
Hector, says he, I dare defy
The crying prophet, Jeremy,
To tell more gospel truth than I:
That no more rogues to-day may drop,
Go you and all your shabroons stop;
Then challenge, though the Greeks should stare,
Their best backsword or cudgel-player.
Away, and do not stay to grumble,
For be assur'd in this day's rumble
The devil will not let you tumble.
He said, and Hector rais'd his mop's
Long shaft, and all the Trojans stops:
On this the Grecian chief commands
His squabbling knaves to hold their hands.
Apollo and the fighting lass
Chuckled to find their scheme take place;
Like owls in ivy-trees they sat,
To see which broke the other's pate.
The common rogues, as well they might,
Were glad to let their leaders fight:
'Twould please you much to see how soon
The rabble threw their broomstaffs down,
Then, with a clumpish kind of sound,
Bang went their buttocks on the ground.
As when a darkness spreads the streets,
One drunkard with another meets,
They roll, and mighty pother keep,
Till both i' th' kennel fall asleep—
Thus by degrees these sons of Mars's
Settle themselves upon their a—-s,
When Hector, with a thund'ring speech,
Made half the Greeks bedaub their breech.
Ye Grecian bulls, and Trojan bears,
Attend, and prick up all your ears;
Great Jove's resolved, to plague us all,
That broils shall rise, and stocks shall fall,
So orders war to rage anew,
Till you burn us, or we burn you:
Better to end it soon than late,
Or make a peace inadequate:
Therefore with both your ears attend;
'Tis Hector counsels as a friend:
To hinder, ere the day-light closes,
More bloody pates and broken noses,
Find out a Broughton or a Slack,
That dares my knotty pate attack:
If I should fall in this dispute,
Or get my teeth or eyes knock'd out,
Without the least demur or racket,
O' god's name let him have my jacket,
And all my cash; my carcass though
Amongst my friends to Troy must go,
There to be burnt; and whilst 'tis frying
They'll make a concert up of crying:
But if, by Phœbus' aid, my thrust
Shall lay your Buckhurst in the dust,
I'll give his jacket to Apollo
For helping me to beat him hollow;
His batter'd carcass I will save,
For which his friends may dig a grave
On the sea-shore, and o'er his bones
Lay one of Carr's black marble stones,
Which when some honest tar shall see,
As he returns from smuggling tea,
Thus to himself poor Jack will cry
(Belching a soft Geneva sigh),
Here lies, beneath this stone so polish'd,
A Greek, by Hector's staff demolish'd;
The stone acquaints us with the deed;
I'd tell his name if I could read.
This speech so scar'd the Grecian prigs,
They star'd about 'em like stuck pigs:
When Menelau, of all the throng,
First found his feet and then his tongue;
For, jumping up from off his breech,
He sputter'd out this furious speech:
Ye men of Greece, why all this trimming
Nay hold, I mean ye Grecian women!
What shame! when half the world shall hear
Ye all bepiss'd yourselves for fear,
That Greece had not one bold protector
Durst face this bullying scrub, this Hector!
But I will fight him, you shall see,
Though he's as big again as me;
And by that time ye ev'ry one
May change, perhaps, from wood to stone.
This speech of speeches being done,
He whipp'd his greasy buff-coat on;
Wrath fill'd him with a strong desire
To run his fingers into th' fire.
Had he the fate of battle try'd,
Hector had surely trimm'd his hide;
But all at once both old and young,
As if by wasps or hornets stung,
Start up with one consent to speak,
And stop this Bobadillian Greek;
Resolv'd they'd not indulge the cub in
His great desire to get a drubbing.
Atrides claim'd first turn to speak,
Because he was the leading Greek.
He clench'd his fist, and thus began:
The devil, sure, is in the man;
Burn my old wig! but you're about
A scheme to get your brains knock'd out:
You've no more chance, I'll make't appear,
Than Jackson's mastiff with a bear:
Vex'd though thou art, and ought to be,
Hector's too big a whelp for thee;
Achilles' self, were not his clothes
So thick they keep him safe from blows,
Would think it far the lesser evil
To be oblig'd to box the devil
Stay where you are, or lie in bed,
We'll find a chief with thicker head;
Though pleas'd the stoutest on the lawn
Would be to have the battle drawn,
Should he this bully rock engage
On Broughton's, or on any stage.
He spoke: and honest Menelau
Was glad at heart he need not go,
But kept his cheeks upon the puff,
Till they had lugg'd his doublet off:
When the old cock, with froth and slaver,
Began, as usual, his palaver:
O sons of Greece, pray what's the matter,
That thus I hear your grinders chatter;
And every Greek and Trojan sees
Warm water running down your knees?
Greece shakes her nob to see how soon
One blust'ring Trojan runs you down.
Time was when Peleus heard, with joy,
How well ye drubb'd these rogues of Troy,
And thought he ne'er could hear enough,
How Jack could kick, and Ned could cuff:
But, Lord! how will th' old fellow fret
To find one Trojan makes ye sweat!
What grievous tears will he let fall,
And wish the d—-l had ye all!
O! that the gods, to try my mettle,
Would boil me in Medea's kettle,
Then lend me health and strength in plenty,
Such as I had at five-and-twenty,
When I broke all th' Arcadian spears,
And made the scoundrels hang their ears!
One Ereuthelion, at that place,
Had bought a rusty iron mace.
O' th' mayor of Hedon, who had got
A new one giv'n him for his vote:
This mace Areithous did handle,
Just as I would a farthing candle;
With this he smash'd the boldest foe,
But scorn'd a broomshaft or a bow.
Yet one Lycurgus came, and soon
With his sharp broomstick fetch'd him down;
He met him in a narrow place,
Where he'd no room to swing his mace,
On which, without delay, he puts out
His broomshaft's point, and pricks his guts out.
Down tumbled he in rueful case;
Which the conqu'ror seiz'd his mace:
But growing blind, this fighting tup
Thought it was best to give it up
To Ereuthelion, who would break
Above a hundred pates a week.
This he for several weeks had done,
Which made our trainbands sweat and run;
All ran but me, I scorn'd to flinch;
Though youngest, would not budge an inch.
This man I fought, this son of Mars,
And fetch'd him such a kick o' th' a—
That down he dropp'd; but, when he fell,
I know you'll stare at what I tell,
But I'll make oath 'fore justice Baker,
He fairly cover'd half an acre.
Were I just now but half as strong;
Hector should not stand hect'ring long.
But you that are young men in vigour,
All join to cut a special figure!
If you daren't fight the man, e'en say;
Don't trembling stand, like stags at bay,
But trust your heels and run away,
If you can't keep your breeches dry,
You'd better, as you run, let fly;
Unless you fancy Hector may,
Should you in such condition stay,
First stop his nose, then run away.
This drolling speech o' th' queer old wight
Made 'em all scratch where't did not bite;
So eager now they grew to smite him,
That nine jump'd up at once to fight him.
Great Agamemnon swore' and curs'd,
And damn'd his eyes but he'd be first;
At which bold Diomede was vex'd,
But swore by Pallas he'd be next:
Ajax, who seldom spoke a word,
Roars out, By Jove, I'll be the third!
'Cause Agamemnon swore in passion,
Ajax thought swearing was the fashion.
The bold Oileus too was there,
Who swore by G-d he would not swear,
Ajax, says he, is third, don't part us,
But put my name in locus quartus.
Idomeneus, though not so swift
As brave Oileus, came in fifth.
Then on Euripylus they fix,
And mark his back with number six;
Merion thought it no disgrace
To come and take the seventh place.
Bold Thoas was a man of weight,
So him they put in number eight.
Ulysses saw, by what was done,
He must at all events make one;
Look'd fierce to hide his inward fear,
And boldly came to close the rear.
The motion felt at first for sh——g
Was strangely chang'd to one for fighting.
When Nestor found his speech succeed,
He spoke again: My boys, take heed!
You'd like to've quarrel'd who should run:
And now each wishes he'd begun first:
But, to prevent all future diff'rence
About our giving one the pref'rence,
I'd have you take the good advice
Of Sancho's[[1]] lawyer—box and dice;
And it shall be his lot to go,
That trundles out the highest throw;
Whoe'er he be, the valiant buck
Will think himself in hellish[[2]] luck.
He spoke, and then his case unlocks,
And out he lugs both dice and box.
The bullies then begin to pray,
But, on my soul, 'tis hard to say,
Whether to lose or win the day:
But to the bully Ajax all,
In secret, wish'd the lot might fall.
Nestor their meaning understood,
And tipp'd 'em all the wink it shou'd.

Then Ajax grasps his clumsy fist
And gives the box a devilish twist—
Out pop the dice—cries Nestor; Seven
'S the main; a nick, by Jove, eleven.