THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD.
ARGUMENT.
The Grecian curl'd and knotty pates
Are driv'n behind their shabby gates.
Hector comes on in furious haste,
Their mangey sides and ribs to baste;
But on a sudden as he goes,
Finds a small ditch across his nose;
On which Polydamas roars out,
Though carts and horses cannot do't,
On foot we'll quickly rumble through't;
For though what horses we have got
Can leap, we're sure the carts cannot.
This counsel, though it did not cost
A single tester, was not lost;
Both cut and long-tail, black and grey,
With all their carts they sent away;
Then fell by th' ears, when to their view
Appear'd a long-legg'd heron-sue
That sh— an eel: at this dread sight
Polydamas, in woeful fright,
Comes to his brother Hector puffing,
And begg'd him to give over cuffing.
Hector, resolv'd to make 'em feel,
Damn'd both the heron-sue and eel;
And since he's got so far, he swears
He'll pull their wall about their ears.
Sarpedon too made dismal rout,
And threw their hedging-stakes about;
Pulling them from the wall so fast,
He made a swingeing gap at last.
Then Hector takes him up a stone,
Such as our miles are mark'd upon,
Or rather less: with this he batters
Their gates, and breaks them all to shatters;
Then rushing forward dusts their coats,
And drives them all on board their boats.
HOMER'S ILIAD.
BOOK XII.
Now whilst Patroclus play'd the quack,
The mob each other's bones did thwack,
Gave and receiv'd confounded raps
With many a dowsing slap o' th' chaps.
On Childermas, a luckless day,
Their shabby wall of mud, they say,
Was rais'd, which made it soon give way.
But Homer had a better reason,
Why it would hardly last a season:
They hurried so to get it up,
They did not kill a single tup,
Or bull, or cow, to give their pack
Of wooden gods a little snack:
This made their hungry parsons grumble,
And swear by G-d the wall would tumble;
And such a case, I'm pretty clear,
Would make a Christian parson swear—
When people cease their gods to serve,
The jolly priests of course must starve.
For far less crimes the bulls of Rome
Have kick'd and scar'd all Christendom;
To every age and every station
Roaring perdition and damnation;
And had not one Sir Luther Martin
Found that their roaring was but farting,
To this good day our empty skulls
Had been humbugg'd by Peter's bulls.
They say, if God don't build the house,
Your labour is not worth a louse;
But if he builds, we surely then
Should keep and pay his journeymen.
His journeymen! Pray who are they,
That we must keep as well as pay?
Why, reverend priests, you head of cod!
They are the journeymen of God:
And rare good journeymen they make,
All kinds of work they undertake;
For, be it spoken to their praise,
They'll do their duty twenty ways;
And, rather than they'll live in strife,
Will do your duty for your wife:
In short, a well-taught priest will try
To finger ev'ry mutton-pie.
Howe'er, in spite of all their swearings,
This wail, till they were dead as herrings,
Stood on its legs, though thump'd about,
And liv'd to see both parties out.
But when the Trojan bones were rotten,
And all the Grecian rogues forgotten,
The neighb'ring streams did all they could
To undermine these walls of mud:
Their names were Rhesus and Scamander,
On which swam many a goose and gander;
Æsepus and Heptaporus,
With Simois and Grenicus;
Caresus full of guts and blood,
And Rhesus black with kennel-mud:
They say, Apollo muster'd all
These streams to tumble down this wall;
And lest their labour should be vain,
Jove sent a thund'ring shower of rain;
Then Neptune seiz'd the time to work,
And play'd the devil with his fork,
Threw all the dirt about and sticks,
Old broken pots, and ends of bricks;
And, like our bumkins spreading dung,
The mud and stones about he flung
So dext'rously, he laid the shore
As level as it was before;
(Which made th' next generation swear,
The de'il a wall had e'er been there;
But Homer knew there was, and I
Am sure th' old fellow scorn'd to lie).
And now the rivers fac'd about
To find their ancient currents out;
Some to cross vales and drain out bogs,
Others to wash the sties of hogs.
But this would be some other term,
As yet it stood secure and firm;
Nor had the Trojans done it hurt,
Though they kept pelting stones and dirt;
And half the Greeks in woeful fright
Durst not so much as tarry by't:
For, thinking Hector very soon
Would knock their crazy bulwarks down,
And, not content to overturn 'em,
Go stave their rotten boats, or burn 'em,
The better half of these bold fighters
Ran like bewitch'd to launch their lighters.
For an excuse the cowards all
Swore Jove had had so great a call
For courage all that week, his store
Could not produce a spoonful more
To help the luckless Greeks this bout,
And their own brandy-cask was out.
Pale Fear, when brandy did not back 'em,
Was always ready to attack 'em;
Which now she did in Hector's shape,
And made the varlets run and gape;
For, just as schoolboys kick a ball,
This furious Trojan kick'd 'em all:
Like a mad ox[[1]] from Smithfield driven
By butchers' scoundrels, John and Stephen,
That gores and tosses in the air
The blind and lame that can't get clear.
Thus ev'ry Greek that wanted cunning,
Or heels to save himself by running,
Hector belabour'd with his switch,
Or kick'd him quite across the ditch:
But when the Trojans reach'd the side
Of this great ditch, full three feet wide,
It made a shift to stop their courses;
Ditches won't do for carts and horses.
The wise Polydamas soon saw
The cart-tits could no further go,
So cock'd his mouth, and cry'd Halloo,
Hip, brother Hector, hark, a word!
This ditch will stop us, by the Lord!
Unless with one consent we 'light,
And boldly march on foot to fight;
Therefore do you, and ev'ry friend
That came a helping hand to lend,
To this my good advice attend:
Our tits can do no more, I think,
Than bring us to the very brink
Where now we stand; but if we make 'em
Attempt to leap, 'tis odds we stake 'em
Upon a plaguy ugly row
Of bakers' billets there below:
Besides, betwixt the ditch and wall
There is not room for carts and all.
Though the great thund'rer Jove this bout
Has help'd the Trojans rarely out,
And made the Grecians fight so tardy,
Don't let it make our nobs fool-hardy.
If he these varlets will demolish,
And all their sweaty race abolish,
The only wish that I can lend 'em
Is, that he'll let the devil mend 'em:
But should they see us in this job
Crowded just like an English mob,
Where we can neither fight nor run,
They'd smash us ev'ry mother's son;
Nor would the rogues one Trojan spare
To tell the world what fools we were.
Then gape with great attention, pray,
And swallow ev'ry word I say.
We must, to make these rascals mind us,
Send all our nags and carts behind us:
When Hector leads us on a-foot,
The odds are six to one we do't:
This is the only way to get 'em,
And this good day, please God, we'll sweat 'em.
Hector was pleas'd within his heart
With this advice; so left his cart,
Jump'd on the ground with such a bang,
It made his metal buttons twang;
Which when the other bloods did see,
They all jump'd down as well as he,
And bid their drunken carters file off,
And wait i' th' rear about a mile off;
Then into five good sturdy packs
Divided all their bully backs.
The first, a race of bucks to stand by,
Were headed by the Trojan Granby,
Call'd Hector in the Greek; he was
Assisted by Polydamas,
And bold Cebriones, a wight
Could drive a cart as well as fight.
The second, and a sturdy band,
The whoring Paris did command:
Alcathous lent this varlet help,
And bold Agenor join'd the whelp.
The third obey'd two sons of Priam,
Fellows almost as tall as I am;
Deiphobus, a mighty Sir,
And Helenus, a conjurer;
To whom was added Asius,
A fiery buck from Hyrtacus;
His geldings were a yellow dun,
But better cart-tits never run.
Antenor's sons the fourth obey'd,
Join'd with that presbyterian blade
Pious Æneas*, who, they say,
Could stoutly box as well as pray;
Which none will wonder at, that hears
He serv'd Old Noll in all his wars,
Whose rogues, unlike our modern dull dogs,
Could pray like saints, and fight like bull-dogs.
The last tough band was drove with speed on
By a bold fellow call'd Sarpedon,
A Lycian country 'squire, whose hounds
Had almost eaten up his grounds,
Which made him venture in this fray,
Like some of our militia,
To box for honour and for pay.
Glaucus did help to guide this crew,
And bold Asteropæus too—
Two bucks as bold as bold could be,
But he was boldest of the three.
Each hardy Trojan, as he goes,
Holds up his pot-lid o'er his nose,
For fear he might in this tough bout
Get one or both his eyes knock'd out.
Thus they proceed through mud and mire,
Spurr'd onward with a keen desire
To set the Grecian boats on fire;
Certain their hopes will now be crown'd
To see the scoundrels burnt or drown'd.
Whilst thus the Trojans, sans delay,
Their leader's good advice obey,
The huff-bluff Asius kept his dray,
And drove his tits along the plain,
But never brought 'em back again.
No more this giddy headstrong boy
Je-up'd his yellow duns to Troy;
But, when he reach'd the other side,
Idomeneus drubb'd his hide.
Now to the left he smok'd along,
Amidst a motley Grecian throng
Of rogues, that made confounded skips
To reach their rotten boats and ships:
None look behind to help their mates,
But dart like lightning through the gates.
As rabbits pop into their holes
When dogs disturb 'em, so in shoals
The Greeks forsook each brake and thicket,
And popp'd their noddles through the wicket:
When they were there, the better half
Could hardly think they yet were safe.
Thither this hair-brain'd hero flew
With his mad, roaring, ranting crew,
In wondrous hopes the Greeks to souse,
Hopes that turn'd out not worth a louse.
Two bloods sprang up to guard the gates,
With brawny backs, and bomb-proof pates.
Since to relate their names it meet is,
I'll do't: The first was Polypœtes;
Pirithous us'd to trim his mother,
And got him; but who got the other
I can't assert, or when or where:
That he was got is pretty clear,
And christen'd too, because his dad
Call'd him Leontius when a lad:
Both from the Lapith race did spring,
Bold rogues as ever stretch'd a string.
Like two thick posts of oak or fir,
That neither carts nor drays can stir
(Though drunken draymen drive their dray
Against them forty times a day),
So firmly stood before the gates
This pair of bloods with wooden pates,
Nor car'd a straw what Asius' crew
Of roaring, noisy whelps could do;
Though in his front Orestes was
Join'd with a buck call'd Acamas;
And Onomaus did appear
With serjeant Thoon in the rear.
But all the airs that they could put on
Did hardly signify a button.
They made a dreadful hubble bubble,
But got their labour for their trouble.
The besom-shafts that hit the gates,
And those that hit these fellows' pates,
Bounc'd with the very self-same sound,
From gates and pates upon the ground;
Which proves that both were sure enough
Made of the self-same kind of stuff.
But still these Lapiths fight and bawl,
And on the Grecian blackguards call:
Yet though they saw the rascals run,
As English guards by chance have done,
They ventur'd by themselves to stay,
Nor would they stir an inch, not they.
Now whilst the Greeks possession keep
O' th' walls, they box it ancle-deep,
To save their rotten boats and lighters—
The Devil never saw such fighters.