It is not oft we put you to't.

  This speech produc'd a mighty shout,
  Whilst Diom. push'd the mug about:
  They drank; then, rolling on the floor,
  Began like aldermen to snore.

  [1] Thrasymede.

  [2] This Grimstone is a preaching shoemaker, and as fine a fellow as
either of the other two brimstone-merchants; but less known, because he
is confined to a small circle in the country.

  [3] Pope.

  [4] Orpheus.

  [5] Handel, to make as much noise as possible, introduced cannon into a
concert.

  [6] Through the Devil's Gap was the way to the Duke of Newcastle's.

  THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD.

  ARGUMENT.

  Finding that no Achilles comes,
  Poor Agamemnon bites his thumbs;
  And though his heavy eyes kept winking,
  He could not steal a nod for thinking
  How he from this unlucky scrape
  Might with his ragged rogues escape:
  For as says he, our woeful pickle
  Requires that ev'ry man should stickle,
  Why should our Grecian lazy dogs
  Keep snoring like distillers' hogs,
  Whilst I for gen'ral good am watching,
  And flaying all my rump with scratching?
  So up he gets, sans more ado,
  And sends the cuckold Menelau
  To bring their comrades all together,
  That they might club their noddles, whether
  They ought, in this great strait, to stay,
  Or take good start and ran away.
  A council call'd, they send from thence
  Two spies, to steal intelligence;
  And steal they did for, by their prize,
  You'd swear he sent two Yorkshire spies,
  For, after stealing sev'ral purses,
  They stole a special pair of horses.

  HOMER'S ILIAD.

  BOOK X.

  The Greeks, though sorely drubb'd all day,
  Asleep before their scullers lay--
  All but poor Agamemnon, who
  Could only nod a spell or so.
  Distracted with a thousand fears
  How to get off and save his ears,
  His fears did such a rumbling keep
  Within his guts, he could not sleep.
  As when a barrel of small-beer,
  No matter whether foul or clear,
  Begins to leak, drop follows drop
  As fast as wanton schoolboys hop:
  So quick this valiant Greek kept sighing.
  At last he fairly fell a-crying;
  Then, with a face of rueful length,
  Peep'd up to spy the Trojans' strength;
  When, to his wondrous great amaze,
  He saw a thousand bonfires blaze,
  And heard so plain the Trojans f--t,
  It vex'd him to the guts and heart
  To think the rogues were got so near,
  That he their very ----s could hear;
  Which sound he hated full as much
  As Britons do the belching Dutch.
  Whilst he was grunting in dispute
  To hang himself or fight it out,
  He almost lugg'd, at one smart pull
  A pound of carrots from his skull;
  But finding that did little good,
  He fell to praying as he stood.
  Just as his second prayer begun,
  Thinks he, By G-d, we're all undone,
  If Nestor can't the Trojans nick
  By some old square-toe'd slipp'ry trick!
  On which he wrapp'd his calf's-hide in
  A jacket made of lion's skin,
  And then put on a pair of shoes,
  Such as St. Giles's statesmen use,
  With scarce a sole to keep out weather,
  And forty holes i' th' upper leather.

  His brother likewise found his tripes
  Most sorely twisted with the gripes,
  Because the very Greeks that came
  To fetch away his light-heel'd dame
  Were drawn into so bad a lay
  They could not fetch themselves away
  To think they'd got in such a trap,
  Disturb'd the honest Spartan's nap:
  So out of bed in haste he got,
  And quickly found the chamber-pot,
  And whilst he made a little water,
  Took time to think about the matter;
  For his schoolmaster, Peter Ashley,
  Had taught him to do nothing rashly.
  When this important job was done,
  He put his greasy breeches on;
  Next button'd, underneath his chin,
  A very fierce-look'd leopard-skin;
  Then took a broomstick in his hand,
  And trudg'd away along the strand
  To call his elder brother up;
  When, lo! he found the squabbling tup
  Rear'd up against his lighter's side
  Twisting a string, with which he tied
  A rusty hanger to his side.

  To him the Spartan thus began:
  What makes you put your dudgeon on?
  D' you think of sending out some spy
  This dark and dismal night, to try
  Whether the Trojans watch are keeping,
  Or pay great idle whelps for sleeping?
  But who the pox d'ye think will mote
  This dismal night? Not I, by Jove!
  The hardiest rogue in Fielding's gang,
  At such a task an a--e would hang.

  The king replies: O Menelaus,
  I fear these Trojan rogues will pay us
  Both scot and lot for all our tricks,
  And baste us with their crabtree sticks.
  When cases, like our case, are bad,
  The best of counsel must be had:
  Therefore, besides both ---- and M--n,
  Above all things secure us N----n:
  Unless he's for us, d--n my blood
  If Beelzebub can do us good:
  For if on t'other side you place him,
  You know the devil cannot face him:
  And Jove, you see, denies us help,
  But lends it to that Trojan whelp.
  Would ever man believe that one
  Could smoke us all as he has done?
  But yesterday that blust'ring scrub,
  What heaps of serjeants did he drub!
  The Sun, before his link went out,
  Saw how he kick'd us all about;
  And yet, like yours and mine, the bitch
  His dam was never thought a witch;
  Nor is his dad, that queer old cur,
  A wizard, or a conjurer:
  Yet unborn Greeks, before they're gotten,
  Shall wish the rascal dead and rotten,
  Because his laming all our nation
  Will make a limping generation.
  Don't stand a moment to consider,
  But send me bully Ajax hither;
  Next hasten to Idomeneus,
  And hurry him away to see us:
  To Nestor I will go before ye;
  He's telling some long trimtram story,
  Such as at any time he'll make
  To keep the drunken watchmen wake;
  For that's his task to-night, and there
  I'm sure th' old cock will show his care;
  But more especially that entry
  Where Merion and his son stand sentry.

  Thus spoke the king; and Menelau
  Replies: Pray, brother, when I go,
  And all your orders safely carry,
  Must I return, or must I tarry?

  Tarry, be sure, replies the brother,
  We else shall miss of one another;
  The night is rather thick than clear,
  And candles are excessive dear;
  The very last half-pound we bought
  You fetch'd yourself, and paid a groat.
  Resides, our lantherns were, you know,
  All broke to shatters long ago;
  But we must shift without 'em. Now,
  What I would recommend to you
  Is, all our ragged rogues to cheer,
  Tell 'em what whelps their fathers were:
  For us, since things so bad are got,
  We e'en must work, or go to pot;
  Jove has decreed that man must labour,
  And kings by chance must help their neighbour:
  In former days 'twas often done,
  But now as often let alone:
  Necessity has driv'n me to't,
  Or I'd as soon be hang'd as do't.

  Away then Agamemnon goes:
  But first he clapp'd within his jaws
  A plug of Hobson's best tobacco,
  Then found old Nestor in a cracko;
  Stretch'd in his hammock snug he found him,
  With clubs, oak-sticks, and broomstaves round him;
  Like an old coachman, who, unable
  To drive, yet loves the smell o' th' stable,
  Th' old firelock on his guard did keep,
  A sprite, called Fear, prevented sleep;
  He lean'd his head upon his hand.
  And call'd aloud, Plague on you, stand!
  Say, who the pox are you that keep
  Strolling about whilst folks should sleep?
  Perhaps you're some poor hungry thief,
  Whose nose has smelt my leg of beef:
  If so, you've nos'd it mighty soon,
  'Twas only bak'd this afternoon.
  Or do you hunt some other prey,
  Or seek some sentry run away?
  Be who you will, it will undo ye
  If I should make the moon shine through ye.

  Then Agamemnon thus replies:
  I'll tell thee all without disguise;
  And thou, in whom our nation glories
  For telling Canterbury stories,
  Shalt hear a tale as lamentable
  As any thou thyself art able
  To find in all thy endless budget;
  With patience listen then, and judge it:
  For curs'd ill fortune now astride is
  Across the back of poor Atrides;
  And Jove resolves, though e'er so stout.
  With rubs and cuffs to wear him out;
  On my tir'd knees my body rocks,
  My heart against my liver knocks;
  On fifty things I poring keep,
  But cannot get a wink of sleep,
  And find myself so plaguy queer,
  I'm neither easy here nor there,
  But dying with the mullygrubs
  Because the Greeks have met such rubs.
  Now, if thy cunning nob should teem
  With any pretty likely scheme,
  How to repair this last day's scrubbing,
  And save us such another drubbing,
  Give us your good advice with speed--
  A friend in need's a friend indeed--
  And then, old buff, we'll go together
  To hearten those who're watching whether
  These damn'd infernal Trojan tartars
  May not by night beat up our quarters.

  Th' old cock replies, I've often said it,
  You must give Jove a little credit;
  He's sometimes cross, but, all together,
  He best can rule both wind and weather:
  This Hector, though he hector now,
  God help his soul! what will he do
  When bold Achilles comes to fight him?
  I'll answer for't, he'll soon b-sh-te him.
  Be that as't may, just here I stand
  Your humble servant at command;
  But let us summon for this bout
  Some other bucks to help us out;
  That canting lying rogue Ulysses,
  At such a woeful pinch as this is,
  Will help us greatly with his cunning;
  Then bold Oileus, fam'd for running;
  There's Meges too, a strong-back'd whelp,
  With Diomede, will lend us help.
  But let some other spark, d'ye see,
  With nimbler heels than you or me,
  Run to the other end o' th' fleet,
  And call the constable of Crete,
  With bully Ajax, or some other:
  I'll rouse that drowsy whelp your brother,
  And hear what lame excuse he'll make
  For snoring when he should awake.
  Now, as these broils were of his brewing,
  He ought to do what you are doing,
  Should keep himself upon the peep,
  And share in work as well as sleep;
  For, at this dreadful pinch of pinches,
  We all are lost if one man flinches.

  To whom the king: Without dispute
  You're often right, but now you're out;
  My brother is, to speak the truth,
  A very modest, harmless youth,
  And ne'er presumes to take the lead,
  Because he knows that I'm the head:
  But when his leader shows the way,
  He's always ready to obey.
  You blame him oft, which you are right in,
  For loving whoring more than fighting,
  Although 'tis what we all delight in.
  But yesterday's confounded scramble
  So made his great and small guts wamble
  He could not lie in bed, not he,
  So up he got, and call'd on me;
  Then posted forward, with intention
  To rouse the very whelps you mention;
  And whilst we idly here are prating,
  I'll hold a tester they are waiting
  At th' alehouse underneath the wall,
  Where I a council bade them call,
  And speak some hot-pots for us all.
  There they may sit secure and snug,
  The watchmen for a single mug
  Will look so sharp, you need not fear 'em,
  They'll let no Trojan rogues come near 'em.

  Hot-pots! says Nestor. By Apollo,
  If that's the case, we'll quickly follow:
  I'll in a twinkling put my coat on:
  These jobs, the moment they are thought on,
  Should be perform'd as soon as told,
  Or else the hot-pots may grow cold.

  With that his gummy eyes he washes,
  And cas'd his legs in spatterdashes,
  Then on his arms began to pull
  An old red waistcoat lin'd with wool;
  And ere he left the tent he took
  A sapling of the toughest oak.
  Then through the drowsy crowd he pass'd,
  And call'd Ulysses out in haste;
  Ulysses starting heard his voice,
  And ran to see who made such noise.

  Old dad, says Ithacus, I'm sorry
  To find your beard in such a hurry;
  You must be in a woeful fright
  To wander out so late at night;
  Those scoundrel rogues of reformation,
  The pest of ours and ev'ry nation,
  Durst hardly, though so vile a crew,
  Disturb so grave a man as you.

  When Nestor answers: Our bad station
  Requires indeed a reformation:
  But though thy cunning pate, Ulysses,
  To trace out knowledge seldom misses,
  In whatsoever shape she dwells,
  As folks guess eggs by seeing shells;
  Yet now you're plaguy wide o' th' mark:
  For, let me tell you, ev'ry spark
  Of rogu'ry in your crafty nob
  We want to mend this last day's job;
  All the calves' brains that Jove e'er gave us,
  Must be employ'd this night to save us.
  We must, 'fore George! before 'tis day,
  Resolve to fight, or run away:
  And if it should be found, upon
  A consultation, we should run,
  As I am fearful we must mog off,
  The sooner then, my friends, we jog off
  The better; for when folks depart
  Incog. they always choose good start.

  The moment that Ulysses heard
  This speech from honest grizzle-beard,
  He turn'd upon his heel, and went
  To fetch his pot-lid from his tent,
  Made of a curious old coach-pannel,
  Painted without, and lin'd with flannel;
  Then join'd the noble captains twain,
  And trotted with them o'er the plain.
  Quickly bold Diomede they found
  Close by his tent, upon the ground,
  With all his bloods and bucks around:
  But that no man would trust him much,
  The figure of his crew was such,
  You'd think the chief had got a pack
  Of bailiff's followers at his back.
  In spite of fear they slept secure,
  A mile, at least, you'd hear 'em snore;
  Around the circle stood a row
  Of broomstaves, stuck upright for show.
  The honest Grecian, void of pride,
  Lay snug upon an old cow-hide,
  And for a pillow roll'd a piece
  Of linsey-woolsey brought from Greece;
  Old goody Nestor with his foot
  Gave him a d---d hard kick o' th' gut
  To wake him, but could hardly do't;
  Then halloos to the snoring tup:
  For God's sake fall a-getting up!
  How can you lie, you sleepy dog,
  Snoring like Farmer Blake's fat hog?
  Whilst all your comrades, though they're drunk so,
  Can't get a wink of sleep they funk so
  Because Troy's rogues on yonder hill
  Can lug your ears just when they will.

  Tydides, in a mighty pother,
  Pull'd one eye open, then the other;
  Then to old grey-beard 'gan to swear,
  D--n your old soul! what brought you here?
  If 'tis resolv'd no man shall sleep,
  But ev'ry buck on guard must keep,
  Send younger puppies to awake 'em,
  Your gouty legs can't undertake 'em;
  They sleep so sound that you must kick 'em,
  Or take a corking pin to prick 'em.

  Nestor replies; My friend, d'ye see,
  I thank you for your care of me:
  I might, I know, have got my son
  To do what I've at present done,
  Or, if no better could be had,
  They offer'd me the butcher's lad;
  But matters now so bad are grown,
  That we no noddles but our own
  Can trust; affairs are out of joint,
  We stand upon a needle's point,
  And therefore each in this disaster
  Must show himself a balance-master,
  Like Prussia's king; for in this jumble
  If we don't stand we're sure to tumble.
  Yet, as you think I'm grown too old
  To trudge about in nights so cold,
  So soon as you have don'd your brogues
  Jog off, and rouse the other rogues:
  Thy nimbler heels may useful be;
  Serving the state, is serving me.
  By different roads men serve the state,
  Some ply their heels, and some their pate:
  When jobs are doing for the court,
  And statesmen fear that ayes run short,
  Some loon's employ'd t' amuse the house
  With a fine speech not worth a louse,
  Asks if the king bestow'd that post on
  A proper man, to make the most on
  The pious canting knaves at Boston;
  Or if the India Company
  This year must pay another fee;
  Whilst S--l--n's nimble heels begin
  To fetch the ayes by dozens in,
  Searches all holes, you need not fear him,
  And ev'ry bawdy-house that's near him,
  Takes no excuse, but makes them limp in,
  And leave all bus'ness, though they're pimping.

  [Illustration: Book X, page 232.
  Away to Meges' tent he steers,
  And laid fast hold on both his ears,
  Gave his cod's-head a hearty shake,
  Then kick'd the lesser Ajax 'wake.]

  He said; when lo! the valiant knight
  Jump'd from his cow-skin bolt upright;
  Then with a wooden skewer did pin
  Across his back a shaggy skin,
  Which he had plunder'd in great wrath
  From an old lion starv'd to death;
  Then grasp'd a cudgel in his hand,
  And scour'd full speed along the strand.
  Away to Meges' tent he steers,
  And laid fast hold on both his ears,
  Gave his cod's head a hearty shake,
  Then kick'd the lesser Ajax' wake,
  Help'd 'em to fumble on their shoes,
  Then hied to the place of rendezvous,
  A penny pot-house, known by all,
  And by 'em call'd the Hole i' th' Wall.

  And now the chiefs approach'd the gate
  Where twenty ragged sentries sat,
  A sharp look-out the knaves did keep,
  Fear would not let them fall asleep.
  Thus have I seen, if right I judge it,
  A cur-dog guard a tinker's budget;
  The thief to steal the budget tries,
  Yet cannot gain the weighty prize:
  Turn as he may, do what he will,
  The mongrel guards the budget still:
  Just so these loons at ev'ry sound
  Would whip their eyes and ears around;
  Though the least noise did so affright 'em,
  It made the better half besh--e 'em.
  Old Nestor joy'd to find 'em wake,
  And each man by the hand did shake;
  Though, had his nose been worth the keeping,
  He soon had smelt what barr'd their sleeping:
  However, at his usual rate
  The good old soul began to prate:

  My boys, says he, if thus you watch,
  These Trojan rogues will meet their match:
  But if you slack your hands a jot,
  I'll venture to be hang'd or shot
  if ev'ry soul don't go to pot!

  Just as he spoke, this queer old bitch
  Gave a great jump across the ditch;
  His comrades follow'd on a heap,
  Some straddled o'er, but most did leap--
  All but great Ajax, slow and stout,
  He tumbled in, then rumbled out:
  Last Merion came in mighty fuss,
  Join'd with that whelp Antilochus.
  A place they found, which all that day
  Had shar'd but little cudgel-play,
  The very spot, as we conjecture,
  Where Mistress Night stopp'd bully Hector;
  And had he not been so o'ertaken,
  Nought could have say'd the Grecians' bacon
  Nor would he, since he'd got his hand in,
  Have left a single Grecian standing:
  No other spot on all the plains
  Was free from blood, and mud, and brains.
  Here they sat down, when Nestor's tongue
  Its usual kind of larum rung.

  Is there, says he, a heart of oak
  'Mongst us, is there a bully rock
  Dares steal into the Trojan camp,
  Without the aid of link or lamp,
  To seize some straggler in the dark,
  Or listen, and their counsel mark,
  Whether they think we've got enough,
  Or still design to work our buff?
  This could he learn, and tell our peers,
  And safe return with both his ears,
  What an amazing share of glory
  Would fall to him in future story,
  When good old wives shall tell the tale
  O'er roasted eggs and butter'd ale!
  Beside, his country would bestow
  A quarter guinea, if not two;
  And he should always have th' first cut on
  Our Sunday's leg of rotten mutton.

  He spoke; when lo! the goddess Fear
  Bid with so pale a face appear,
  It made 'em look confounded queer,
  All but the bold Tydides, who
  Brawls out, By Jupiter I'll go,
  In spite of your pale phiz, and try
  What weighty matters I can spy:
  Within my breast a spirit lies,
  That tells me I shall steal some prize
  Not such a spright as moves the quaker
  To preach to sister Ruth, then take her
  Into some private place and shake her--
  Mine is a knowing honest spright,
  As true as Highland second-sight.
  But though I'm not afraid, yet mind me,
  A trusty comrade you must find me,
  Because, by ev'ry fool 'tis known,
  Two heads are twice as good as one:
  When one stands forward, one abaft,
  They spy all matters, fore and aft:
  What's right ahead I need but mind,
  My friend looks sharp to all behind.
  Then if we fall into a scrape,
  We help each other to escape;
  When one poor thief goes out alone,
  I've known him like a devil run,
  And burst himself, before he feels
  There's nought but conscience at his heels:
  But when there's two, we know for certain
  A scoundrel can a scoundrel hearten.
  If that's the case with thieves, pray then,
  What won't it do for honest men?

  The moment this harangue was done,
  Up jump'd the captains ev'ry one:
  For, as one man was only wanted,
  That each would 'scape they took for granted.
  I'll go, says bully Ajax, d--n me!
  And I, says little Ajax, slam me!
  Cries Merion, with a furious nod,
  I'll venture my calf-skin, by G-d!
  Then roar'd out chatt'ring Nestor's son,
  Sowse my old pluck but I'll make one!
  At which the cuckold Menelau
  Shrugg'd up his breeks, and swore he'd go.
  That crafty dog, Ulysses, knowing
  Great odds would be against his going.
  Puts on his fighting face, and cries,
  I'll take my chance, boys, smite my eyes!
  When thus great Agamemnon bellows,
  Now, by my soul, you're clever fellows!
  But the bold Diomede himself
  Must point us out what sturdy elf
  Will likeliest be to stand the test,
  And back his knotty pate the best.
  Therefore, sans favour and affection,
  Take thou, my boy, thy own election;
  'Twixt man and man, pay thou no def'rence,
  Nor give to any lord the pref'rence,
  Unless it suit thy own accord,
  But not because he is a lord;
  For you, as well as I, can scan
  Ribands and stars can't make a man;
  A lord will never prove your friend.
  Unless you can yourself defend;
  If you're in want of help, he's sure
  To bid his porter shut the door.
  The gen'ral thus his fears did smother,
  Lest he should choose his loving brother.

  Then thus says Diomede the steady,
  My lord, I've made my choice already;
  Nor think my judgement much amiss is,
  When I declare I choose Ulysses.
  They tell me I have spunk enough,
  But he can plot as well as cuff,
  Which makes the Trojans more afraid
  Of his queer noddle than his blade.
  Guarded by such a bold defender
  I'll face Old Nick, or, if he'll send her,
  Get twins upon the witch of Endor.

  Ulysses cries, My friend, hush! hush!
  You'll make a modest fellow blush;
  None but a courtier, or his Grace,
  Can bear such praising to his face.
  But whilst we chatter thus and prate,
  We never dream it grows so late;
  White streaks the blueish sky do wrinkle,
  And the north star begins to twinkle;
  If any thing we think of doing,
  'Tis time, by Jove, we should be going.

  No sooner was it said than done:
  They whipp'd their greasy buff-coats on;
  When Thrasymede, a man of note,
  A potlid and a broomstick brought,
  Which he the varlet Diom. lent;
  Then for an old church-bucket sent,
  With dirt and mouldy grease o'erspread;
  This serv'd to case his leather head.
  Ulysses next was fitted out
  With a tough broomshaft for this bout;
  When Merion, that he nought might lack,
  Hung him a bow upon his back;
  And then, to guard his paper skull,
  Lent him a cap well lin'd with wool,
  A cap made wondrous fine before,
  With two grim tushes of a boar--
  This skull-cap, though not worth a louse,
  Was stole by one Autolycus
  From rich Amyntor, and the knave
  The prize to Amphidamus gave;
  To Molus, Amphidamus lent it,
  And he to valiant Merion sent it;
  By Merion it was given now
  To guard this sly old soaker's brow.

  Away they went, though half bepist,
  And trotted through a thick Scotch mist;
  When, from the middle of a bush,
  With noise and flutter, out did rush
  A bird, so large and fierce, it made
  This pair of bully Greeks afraid:

  [Illustration: Book X. page 242.
  When, from the middle of a bush,
  With noise and flutter, out did rush
  A bird, so large and fierce, it made
  This pair of bully Greeks afraid.]

  Though 'twas so dark they could not 'spy
  What bird it was by th' naked eye,
  Yet quickly, by the voice they heard,
  'Twas a Scotch nightingale that scar'd
  Their valiant hearts so much, that they
  Had turn'd about to run away;
  When sly Ulysses, vex'd to th' soul
  To be so frighten'd by an owl,
  Like a queer rogue did quickly start up
  A special scheme to keep his heart up,
  Swore it would be a lucky night,
  Because she took a turn to the right--
  Had she to the left hand made a ring,
  He still had sworn the self-same thing.
  But here we do not find he stopp'd,
  For on his kneppers down he dropp'd;
  Then, like a canting knave in town,
  Cock'd one eye up and t'other down.

  Daughter, says he, of thund'ring Jove,
  Who holds you all in awe above
  (For, did he not the scales keep even,
  You'd out o' th' windows throw all heaven),
  Thou who hast aided my escape
  From many a bitter bang and scrape,
  Assist us, whilst this night we roam
  To steal and carry something home!
  That Trojans yet unborn may rue
  The loss of goods they never knew.

  Then Diomede began to pray,
  But spoke just as a man may say:
  Daughter of Jove, began he too,
  Why may'nt I say my prayers to you,
  As well as this queer dog Ulysses?
  Who, I've a notion, never misses
  To pray for aught that he may want,
  Because you seldom fail to grant;
  And therefore, as he leads the way,
  I'll try a spell how I can pray,
  Though, being us'd so little to't,
  I shall be damn'd hard switch'd to do't;
  And would much rather, you are sure,
  Box a whole week than pray an hour.--
  But stop--ahem, I have it now:
  Daughter of thund'ring Jove, as you
  Did often help my little dad,
  I hope you won't forsake his lad;
  For when to Thebes he took a walk
  With their chief constable to talk--
  He went ambassador from Greece
  To make, or else to patch, a peace;
  For in those days, our records show,
  Peace might be patch'd as well as now;
  But though he spoke in peaceful fashion,
  They quickly put him in a passion,
  On which he drubb'd those foes to Greece,
  And gave them two black eyes a-piece--
  Now, as thou didst my father help,
  Pr'ythee assist his hopeful whelp,
  And, by my soul, as I'm a sinner,
  I'll ask you to a handsome dinner;
  I'll kill a cow both fat and good,
  And you shall have the guts and blood!

  Thus Diomede, though hard put to't,
  A middling prayer at last made out;
  And Pallas, be it plain appears,
  Listen'd to both with her ears.
  Then, like two hungry half-starv'd cats,
  Who long to be amongst the rats,
  They crept, as if they trod on eggs,
  Through heaps of mangled arms and legs.

  Now Hector, from the close of day,
  Was looking sharp as well as they,
  And would sleep none, you need not doubt him,
  And call'd his bloods and bucks about him;
  When thus the mighty Trojan Broughton
  Began a speech they little thought on:
  My lads, says he, I would not wrong ye,
  But, I'm afraid, there's not among ye
  A brave bold-hearted buck that's willing
  To risque his ears, and earn a shilling
  By looking sharp among these fighters,
  And learn what's doing in their lighters;
  Spy if a proper watch they keep,
  Or like good city watchmen sleep;
  What resolution is begun,
  Whether the rogues will stand or run?
  By him that rolls the rumbling thunder!
  I'll give him choice of all the plunder:
  Himself shall choose from all the rest
  The cart that suits his fancy best.

  Just as he spoke, their eyes were all on
  A simple youngster fix'd, called Dolon,
  Who was, they say, the only lad
  The usurer Eumedes had;
  But he had five fine girls beside,
  As any man would wish to ride.--
  The boy had carts and horses store,
  And yet the bastard wanted more:
  Though he was not so handsome quite
  As Molly ----'s catamite,
  Yet he had got (I scorn to wrong 'em)
  The longest pair of legs among 'em.

  Hector, says he, and puff'd his cheeks,
  I'll go among these sweaty Greeks:
  But hold your broomstaff in your hand,
  And swear to grant me my demand;
  For you must know, good Sir, my will is
  To have the horses of Achilles,
  And his fine cart with painted rails,
  All stuck with spanking great brass nails:
  Say but the word they shall be mine,
  I'll quickly smoke out their design;
  I'll steal, by such temptations led,
  Under their gen'ral's truckle-bed.

  His broomstaff then above his head
  Great Hector flourish'd, whilst he said:
  Be witness thou, whose rumbling thunder
  Makes wicked reprobates knock under,
  Drives the vile scoundrels, helter skelter,
  To ale and cyder vaults for shelter,
  I promise, ere the Greeks we fall on,
  To give these nags to honest Dolon.

  Thus Hector swore: but Jove, they say,
  Was looking then another way;
  Whether some bullock's guts were burning,
  And he that way his head was turning;
  Or saw some ruddy country lass
  That took his eye so much, he was
  Contriving how to get a grope-a,
  Or bull her, as he did Europa--
  Be that as't may, his chuckle head
  Heard not a word that Hector said.

  Howe'er, the lad prepar'd to pack,
  So slung his bow across his back,
  Then o'er his narrow shoulders tied,
  To keep him warm, a grey wolf's hide:
  A brown fur cap, well lin'd within
  With rabbit or else weazle's skin,
  Serv'd his misshapen pate to grace,
  And cover'd half his weazle face:
  With an oak stick he grop'd the track,
  And went--but never yet came back.

  A mile he walk'd not, nor three quarters,
  Before he met this pair of tartars:
  Ulysses, that sly lurching dog,
  Heard first, and gave a gentle jog
  To Diomede; then whisp'ring cries,
  Flux me! but both my ears tell lies,
  If I don't hear a pair of feet
  Come paddling this way to the fleet;
  Some peeping whelp, like us, a-going
  To see what t'other side are doing,
  Or pilf'ring rogue stole out of bed
  To pick the pockets of the dead.
  Be what he will, we'll here lie snug,
  Let him but pass, we have him rug;
  Tor when we've got the heedless whelp
  So far, he can't roar out for help:
  If he should run, do you but follow,
  I'll answer for't you'll beat him hollow:
  But if he slips you in the track,
  I'll stay and catch him coming back.
  At this they stepp'd among the grass,
  And stoop'd to let poor Dolon pass;
  Go where he would, these sharpers mind him,
  And follow pretty close behind him;
  There was not, could the eye have seen 'em,
  Above a rood of land between 'em.
  Now Dolon heard a sort of humming,
  But thought some messenger was coming
  To fetch him back: but soon the lout
  Began to smell the rascals out--
  Smell 'em, I say, because they tell us
  The Greeks were dev'lish sweaty fellows,
  Therefore no wonder he so well
  Could nose 'em by their frowsy smell--
  On which a strong desire he feels
  To trust his good old friends, his heels.
  Away the long-legg'd varlet flew,
  Whilst they, like staunch old hounds, pursue;
  Cut short the ground he scamper'd over,
  And met him as he made to cover;
  And thus, in spite of all his heels,
  They drove him 'mongst the Grecian keels.
  When Pallas came to Diomede--
  Says she, You run a hellish speed:
  But this same spark, if I speak true, can
  Run half as fast again as you can,
  And, if a race you longer hazard,
  Split me but he will burst your mazzard!
  Then, when you've almost run him down,
  Some other Greek will crack his crown.

  At this he roars with threat'ning hand:
  You cursed dog, if you don't stand,
  The moment that your long legs fail ye,
  Blast my old slippers but I'll nail ye!
  His trusty broomstaff then he threw,
  Which over Dolon's shoulder flew,
  But whizz'd so as it pass'd his ear,
  It stak'd him to the ground with fear.
  Trembling he stood a dev'lish odd piece,
  Whilst his teeth chatter'd in his c--piece;
  The bullies, almost burst with trying
  T' outrun him, came and seiz'd him crying.

  Blubb'ring, he roars, You see I wont
  Run any more; so pray ye don't
  Hurt a poor hopeful harmless lad,
  And, I can tell you, my old dad
  Will give you each a half-peck hopper
  Brimful of excellent good copper--
  None of your Birmingham affairs,
  Nor any such-like shabrag wares,
  But good new halfpence from the mint,
  With honest George's face in print.
  My daddy all the copper handles
  That we receive for soap and candles,
  Picks out the good ones from the pack.
  And turns the Birminghams all back;
  Or, if by chance a few are taken,
  He pops 'em off for cheese and bacon.

  Uly, whose ears would bear no stopper
  When money chink'd, although but copper,
  At present makes this queer reply:
  Be bold, my cock, don't fear to die:
  But tell us why, instead of sleeping,
  You choose to spend your time in peeping.
  Did Hector's bribes set you a-going
  To find what business we were doing?
  Or by yourself, whilst all are snoring,
  You're got upon some scheme of whoring?
  Or are you some poor lousy soul,
  Sprung up from Hockley in the Hole,
  Come to steal waistcoats from the dead,
  To pawn for porter, cheese, and bread?
  Tell us, my boy, and tell us true,
  And then you'll see what we shall do.

  Whilst Dolon took some time to pause,
  His grinders rattling in his jaws,
  With doleful phiz at last he speaks:
  I'll tell you all, thrice worthy Greeks!
  'Twas Hector, curse his pimpled face!
  That sent me to this luckless place;
  He promis'd me, confound his brags!
  That pair of flaming pye-bald nags
  Achilles bought of Farmer Saul:
  He promis'd me the cart and all.
  Those damn'd brass lacquer'd nails that shine,
  And made his cart so flaming fine,
  Tempted my loggerhead to come
  And leave a good warm bed at home,
  Only to find if Madam Fear
  Had made you run, or kept you here;
  Or if there was a chance of snapping
  A proper time to catch you napping.

  Body o' me! Ulysses cries,
  You ask'd the devil of a prize;
  How could'st thou be so strangely flamm'd?
  Thou drive his horses? thou be d--d!
  Did you not know, you stupid elf,
  No man alive, except himself,
  Can either drive his tits, or catch 'em?
  Bever himself could never match 'em.
  But he can stop 'em with a twitch,
  'Cause got upon a water-witch;
  Had he been mortal man, I know,
  They'd broke his neck some years ago.
  But, if you'd have me your protector,
  Say where the great kill-devil Hector
  Goes ev'ry night to drink a pot;
  How many geldings has he got?
  For, whilst the drunken ostlers nod,
  We'll steal 'em if we can, by G-d!
  Where do the other captains sleep?
  How many watchmen do they keep?
  But tell us truly, whilst you're doing,
  What kind of mischief they are brewing;
  Whether they'll stay to cut our throats,
  And burn our crazy rotten boats,
  Or think 'tis better to employ
  Their strength to guard their whore's-nest Troy.

  Thus spake Ulysses; and this Dolon,
  Whom these two rogues design'd to fall on,
  Cries, like a coward son of whore,
  I'll tell you all the truth, and more:
  Upon a grave-stone near yon farm,
  Kicking their heels to keep them warm,
  I left the captains all with Hector,
  Clubbing their pates, as I conjecture,
  How they may rid the Trojan shores
  Of all you Grecian sons of whores:
  As to the watchmen, a small share
  Are thinly scatter'd here and there,
  And e'en those few that watch should keep,
  Like city watchmen, soundly sleep,
  The Trojans guard the sentry boxes,
  For fear the Greeks should trim their doxies;
  But all the foreigners, who're come
  To help us, left their wives at home;
  For, as one woman caus'd the rout
  That all this mischief is about,
  Should we our wenches bring, think they,
  The devil then will be to pay;
  For mischief's never in perfection,
  Unless when under their direction:
  Therefore in leaving them, we find,
  They left their greatest plagues behind,
  And now they sleep as free from care
  As if your Greekships were not near.

  Then, says Ulysses, tell, I pray,
  Where do these sleeping fellows lay;
  Amongst the Trojans do they snore,
  Or by themselves along the shore?

  I'll tell you all, replies the spy,
  And how their raggamuffins lie:
  The Peons first, who shoot their arrows
  So true, they hit tom-tits or sparrows;
  The Carians, sharp as wolves or falcons
  At beef and pudding; then the Caucons
  With the Pelasgians, hardy mortals
  At drinking punch, and eating turtles--
  A task that they perform so well,
  All corporations they excel;
  By them great **** would be beat in
  Both guzzling punch, and turtle-eating.
  As for the Leleges, they lie
  Along the shore; and pretty nigh,
  A little higher, snores the Lycian,
  With the Mæonian, and the Mycian.
  Quite snug, near Thymbra's old mud wall,
  The Phrygian horse are there; and all
  The Thracians pig in by themselves,
  A set of roaring, sturdy elves,
  That came last night, led on by Rhesus,
  A fellow twice as rich as Crœsus:
  In your born days you never saw
  Such milk-white tits, they beat the snow;
  With silver all his cart is grac'd,
  And his buff jacket double-lac'd.
  Now you have heard my mournful ditty,
  I hope you'll spare a little pity;
  Keep me in limbo till you try
  If I don't scorn to tell a lie.
  When bully Diomede replies:
  May Hector knock out both my eyes
  If I've a grain of pity now
  For such a sneaking rogue as you!
  Should you escape us both to-night
  Such rogues as you will never fight,
  But sure as eggs, whilst folks are sleeping,
  We both again should catch thee peeping.

  The moment that these words he said,
  He from his shoulders whipp'd his head,
  Which at that time for grace was seeking,
  So as it fell continued speaking,
  And even on the ground lay mutt'ring,
  And for a minute good kept sputt'ring;
  But chang'd its tone, and with an oath
  Bid the great devil fetch them both.

  Quickly these champions made a snap
  At both the grey wolf's skin and cap:
  Whilst Diom. seiz'd his bow and stick,
  Ulysses did his pocket pick,
  In which he found a silver penny,
  But, 'stead of owning he found any,
  He set his roguish plotting head
  To work, to cheat poor Diomede.

  Tydides, says this face of gallows,
  One day as I held chat with Pallas,
  She told me, maugre all her care
  Her goat-skin coat was worn threadbare,
  She therefore would be much my debtor
  If I another coat could get her.
  As for her part, she does not care
  Whether I get it in Rag-Fair,
  Or Monmouth-Street, or any where,
  So it comes cheap, for times are now
  As hard above stairs, as below;
  Not one of all the royal pages
  But wants six quarters of his wages,
  Occasion'd by a thriving band,
  That keep the money in their hand.
  Now, since the goddess is hard set
  A coat of any kind to get,
  What better can she have than these?
  Which we'll present her, if you please.

  Then, without waiting a reply,
  He pray'd, and upward cock'd his eye:
  Broughtonian queen! receive these goods,
  And do not leave us in the suds,
  But help us now to mind our hits,
  And boldly steal these Thracian tits,
  Nor suffer any Trojan scrub
  Thy true and trusty 'squires to drub.
  If they should come before we've done
  The bus'ness we are now upon,
  Do you but keep the whelps in play,
  And we'll take care to run away.
  'Twill only be a grateful deed
  To help us in this time of need,
  Because of all the sky-bred crew
  We say our prayers the first to you.

  With sapient face, so saying, he
  Hung the wolf's hide upon a tree,
  Though not so high but he could reach it--
  Pallas, he knew, would never fetch it;
  Then scatter'd reeds along the track,
  To help to guide their rogueships back.

  Now o'er the field they skulk away,
  Like bailiffs hunting for their prey:
  They found the Thracians in a trench,
  Snoring like judges on the bench;
  A broomstaff lay at each man's side,
  And to their carts their nags were tied.
  The luckless Rhesus soon they spy
  Amongst his raggamuffins lie;
  His two brave geldings, fit to start
  For thousands, stood behind his cart.
  Ulysses, ever quick of sight,
  Was first to see th' unlucky wight;
  Then, pointing to his comrogue, cries,
  See there, my boy, a tempting prize!
  Rhesus, the cart and horses too,
  Are planted fair within your view:
  Besides the jerkin lac'd with gold,
  Of which we were by Dolon told,
  I'm pretty sure, before we part,
  That one of us may steal the cart:
  If you don't feel your courage lags,
  Kill you the loons, I'll steal the nags.

  He said; and Pallas, never slack
  At mischief, clapp'd the whelp o' th' back;
  On which the rascal fell to kicking,
  Slashing, and cutting throats, and sticking,
  With a long Dutchman's knife, that he
  Had bought to play at snickersnee:
  Where'er the varlet walk'd or stood,
  He made the ground all wet with blood.
  Just so the cat that guards the house,
  Leaps from the dresser on a mouse,
  Pots, pans, and kettles, all give way,
  Till puss has seiz'd the trembling prey;
  Just so this dog pursu'd his luck,
  Till he'd a dozen Thracians stuck.
  Ulysses, as his friend did stick 'em,
  Behind a cock of hay did kick 'em,
  For fear, he said, the horses might
  At dead men's bodies take a fright;
  But the true reason was, the elf
  Could pick their pockets by himself
  And that he did; but, by the by,
  'Tis only known to you and I.
  Now, having murder'd twelve, at last
  They found poor Rhesus snoring fast;
  Pallas had sent an ugly dream,
  Wherein a Dutch-built thief did seem
  To shake a snickersneeing knife,
  And swear he'd have his purse and life:
  All this he dream'd, old Homer knew,
  But never wak'd to find it true.

  Ulysses quickly seiz'd the bits,
  And bridled both the flaming tits;
  Leading them out, to make 'em go
  He smack'd their buttocks with his bow:
  Though the whip hung where he might reach it,
  He durst as well be hang'd as fetch it,
  But tipp'd the sign to Diomede
  To come away with all his speed.

  Now he was standing to consider,
  And think about the matter, whether
  To stick more men, which he could do,
  Or steal the cart and jacket too.
  Pallas, who saw him thus dispute
  Within himself, in haste roars out,
  Pray what the pox are you about?
  Enough in conscience have you done,
  And split me but 'tis time to run!
  In jobs like these the man that lingers
  Is sure at last to burn his fingers.

  When Diom. heard Minerva say
  That she would have him run away,
  He knew she scorn'd her friends to banter,
  So mounts, and pops into a canter;
  For wise men oft exert their might in
  Running away as well as fighting.
  Ulysses with his bow-string flogging
  Took care to keep these cart-tits jogging.

  Apollo, who was Hector's friend,
  Had seen this jade from heav'n descend,
  And guess'd it was for no good end;
  He saw the bitch, by mischief led,
  Help this damn'd rogue, this Diomede,
  To murder honest folks in bed;
  Which vex'd him so, he whipp'd him down,
  And wak'd the trusty Hippocoon,
  Who came on Rhesus to attend,
  And was his coz. as well as friend.
  The moment that this loving cousin
  Awak'd, he saw a baker's dozen
  Of Thracians kill'd, and, what much worse is,
  The rogues had carried off the horses.
  At this poor Hip. began to cry,
  And wring his hands most bitterly;
  For all he sobb'd, but Rhesus long
  Remain'd the burden of his song:
  Had the damn'd dogs that came to fleece us,
  Says he, but spar'd my cousin Rhesus,
  I'd not have lent 'em twenty curses
  For stealing half a hundred horses;
  But since they have my cousin struck,
  May all their schemes have damn'd bad luck!
  And to spin out their life in pain,
  Pray G-d they ne'er may sh-te again!

  Whilst Hippy mumbles out this prayer,
  The Trojans flock about and stare,
  Wond'ring what rascals had been there.
  In the mean while these Yorkshire dealers,
  By London juries call'd horse-stealers,
  Kept flogging both their tits away,
  To reach the place where Dolon lay:
  Ulysses stopp'd, and begg'd Tydide
  Would 'light, and fetch the grey wolf's hide,
  With arrows, bow, and staff, and all
  They had from long egg'd Dolon stole.
  This done, their nags away they spang,
  Like thieves pursu'd by Fielding's gang.
  Old Nestor was in woeful doubt,
  And therefore kept a sharp look-out;
  So, when the thieving rogues drew near 'em,
  No wonder he was first to hear 'em:
  And hear 'em Square-toes did for sure,
  For thus th' old buff began to roar:

  Lay but your ears upon the ground,
  And, if you do not hear the sound
  Of horses galloping this road,
  Call me a stupid queer old toad!
  Some geldings they perhaps have stole,
  (I wish they may with all my soul!)
  And now perhaps are rattling come
  In triumph with their booty home;
  Though 'faith I can't help looking blue;
  Pray Jove my fears don't prove too true!
  But I'm afraid they may be watch'd,
  And by that means be overmatch'd;
  And then my fine-laid scheme's abolish'd,
  And both their knotty pates demolish'd.

  These words old buff had hardly said,
  But up the varlet Diomede
  Came puffing, like the trainband guard
  After a march of fifty yards;
  Ulysses follow'd; off they jump
  Upon the ground with such a bump,
  They made it rattle with the thump.
  Their comrogues shook them by the hand,
  With, Well, and how do matters stand?
  We funk'd a little, 'faith and troth,
  Lest we should lose you one or both,
  And 'gan to look confounded blue,
  Both for ourselves, as well as you.

  But silence call'd, the queer old Greek,
  Who always claim'd first turn to speak,
  Began this speech: Ye sons of thunder,
  Pray tell us, in the name of wonder,
  Where you purloin'd these nags, which I
  Suspect ar'n't come at honestly?
  As sure as Helen is a punk,
  You've found some whoring god dead-drunk,
  Or fast asleep, so stole these nags,
  Which beat Apollo's all to rags.
  I'll take upon my oath to swear
  He never yet had such a pair,
  Though he's obliged, or lose his pay,
  To run his hackneys ev'ry day;
  And therefore, in discretion, ought
  To have the best that can be bought.
  Though I am old, yet, strike me stiff,
  And dry me for a mummy, if
  In all the lands I've travell'd o'er
  I ever saw such nags before!
  But speak the truth, if on the road
  You did not fudge 'em from some god,
  As we all know, when once you're set
  On thieving, nothing 'scapes your net,
  And Jove himself, and Pallas too,
  Have help'd your roguish tricks ere now.

  When Ithacus begins to chatter:
  Old dad, says he, 'tis no such matter.
  God gives us grace, and that of course is
  Much better for our souls than horses:
  But these grey nags were born in Thrace;
  Their master to a better place,
  Or worse, is gone, I can't say whether:
  But bold Tydides sent him thither:
  And with him a round dozen went
  Of scrubs, that for his guard were meant;
  And they have prov'd so very civil,
  As guard their master to the devil.
  But at our lucky setting out,
  I should have told, we seiz'd a scout,
  So judg'd it would be for the best,
  To hell to send this prying guest,
  To 'speak warm places for the rest,
  Which we design'd should quickly follow,
  Unless prevented by Apollo.
  So Diomede the scoundrel led off,
  And in a moment whipp'd his head off.

  This said, he took him up a switch,
  And spank'd the horses o'er the ditch.
  The rabble follow'd all the way,
  Roaring Huzza! huzza! huzza!
  And ne'er could get their wide mouths shut
  Until they reach'd the gen'ral's hut.
  There his old tits, not worth a guinea,
  Welcom'd the strangers with a whinney;
  Then, for a handsome sort of treat,
  As oats were scarce, they gave 'em wheat.

  This done, Ulysses takes a trip
  With Dolon's hide on board a ship,
  Where on the stern-post did he stretch it,
  Then bade Minerva come and fetch it.
  By this rogue's trick, 'tis pretty clear,
  He cheated Diom. of his share.

  Now in the sea, to keep 'em sweet,
  They wash'd their dirty, sweaty feet,
  And, to refresh them from their toil,
  Their noses rubb'd with salad-oil;
  And then, to give their stomachs ease,
  Each cut a slice of bread and cheese:
  But, as on Pallas first they think,
  To her they fill th' first mug of drink,
  Which gently on the ground they pour,
  And bid her lick it off the floor.
  But how she did, to me's a doubt
  Which I could never yet make out.
  And now these jovial lucky fellows
  Chaunted Old Rose, and burn the Bellows;
  Having great reason to believe,
  The next time they went out to thieve,
  This scratching brim, without dispute,
  Would stand their friend, and help 'em out.
  Joyful they dance, and sing, and roar,
  Till they can sing and dance no more;
  Then smoke their pipes, and drink, and funk,
  Till every soul got bloody drunk!

  THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD.

  ARGUMENT.

  The Grecian chief his jacket put on,
  Though there was not a single button,
  Either of horn, or metal cast,
  Remain'd upon't, to make it fast.
  Yet, as they could not do without him,
  He tied it with a cord about him;
  Not a grand swashy green or red cord,
  But an old rotten piece of bed-cord;
  Then don'd a pair of piss-burnt brogues on,
  And went to lead his ragged rogues on;--
  Whilst Hector, ever bold and steady,
  Soon got his trusty Trojans ready.
  For signal, two celestial strumpets
  Employ their tongues instead of trumpets.
  Jove thunder'd too, but all the sound
  In their superior noise was drown'd;
  For such a din they made at starting,
  His thunder sounded just like farting.
  And now, whilst Agamemnon mauls 'em,
  And with his crab-tree cudgel galls 'em,
  Jove call'd for Iris, to direct her
  To go and caution bully Hector
  To let this Grecian bruiser roam,
  Till some chance knock should send him home.
  Then Hector makes a woeful rout.
  And kicks the Grecians all about;
  Whome'er he hit, he surely dropp'd him,
  Till Diom. and Ulysses stopp'd him;
  Stopp'd for a while, but 'twas not much,
  For Diomede soon got a touch,
  Which made the bully limp away,
  And leave Ulysses in the fray,
  Who got, unless the poet lies,
  A broken rib and two black eyes;
  When Menelau, and Ajax stout,
  Came apropos to help him out.
  Hector for Ajax went to seek,
  But found his nob too hard to break.
  Whilst thus each other's bones they whack
  Paris--had almost lam'd their quack;
  Nestor at this, without delay,
  Drives both himself and quack away.
  Achilles, who was looking out
  To see what work they were about,
  Sends his companion to inquire
  What made old grizzle-beard retire.
  The threshold he had scarce set foot on,
  When Nestor seiz'd him by the button;
  In that condition did he hold him,
  Till he had two long stories told him,
  How cocks and bulls, when he was young,
  Would fight like devils all day long.
  But still the aim of this old whelp
  Was but to gain Achilles' help,
  Or, if he would not come to blows,
  To lend Patroclus his thick clothes.
  Patroclus then his best legs put on,
  Glad he'd so well releas'd his button,
  And met Euryp'lus as he went
  Limping along to reach his tent;
  Though he just then was running faster
  Than penny-postman, this disaster
  Stay'd him till he had spread a plaster.

  HOMER'S ILIAD.

  BOOK XI.

  And now the Morn, with yellow locks,
  From Tithon's hammock stuff'd with flocks,
  Arose, to show both gods and men
  That day was coming once again,
  To glad the hearts of those with light
  Whose conscience could not bear the night;
  Lawyers, attorneys, bawds, and pimps,
  Born to replenish hell with imps,
  A race whose own reflection frets 'em,
  And damns 'em ere the devil gets 'em;
  When Jove, the constable of heav'n,
  Willing to keep things pretty even,
  A scolding quean, one Eris, seeks,
  And sends her down to help the Greeks;
  Her tongue he knew there was no holding,
  She storms and tempests rais'd with scolding.
  Away then flies the noisy witch,
  With a long roll well soak'd in pitch,
  The torch of discord call'd by Jove,
  And all the people else above;
  But if to me you'll yield belief,
  'Twas nothing but a lawyer's brief,
  Drawn for the plaintiff, and at th' end on't
  Was tied another for th' defendant.
  This stuff the goddess Discord thinks
  The best materials for her links;
  So, long ago, has ceas'd to spin,
  And buys her gear at Lincoln's-Inn.
  One of these torches Eris drew
  Along the sky as down she flew,
  Which forty thousand sparkles shed,
  And mark'd the road she came all red;
  Then fix'd upon Ulysses' boat,
  And there began to tune her throat,
  Bawling a song to suit the case,
  To which her bum play'd thorough-bass,
  But made such thund'ring as she trump'd,
  Both Ajax and Achilles jump'd,
  Though their two boats could not be under
  Three miles at least, or four, asunder.
  Then through the fleet she inspires each chief,
  And strews the ashes of the brief.
  Such rancour now the varlets fills,
  They all look'd fierce as Bobadils;
  The rogues that readiest stood to run
  As soon as slaps o' th' chaps begun,
  Now d--n their eyes, and make a rout,
  And strut, and kick their hats about.
  Great Agamemnon first did start out,
  And roar'd as if he'd roar his heart out;
  Then set th' example, and begun
  To put his fighting doublet on.
  His legs he thought there were some doubts on,
  So whipp'd a pair of large jack-boots on,
  Borrow'd that morning by his surgeon,
  Of Foote's bold-hearted Major Sturgeon;
  Then went and fetch'd his basket-hilt,
  And o'er his bosom hung a quilt,
  A lousy quilt, although the thing
  Was giv'n him by a brother-king;
  Though from a king, says Doctor Swift,
  A man may get a lousy gift;
  But being stuff'd with rags and flocks,
  It kept his stomach free from knocks.
  On it was painted such a dragon
  As few sign-painters e'er could brag on;
  St. George's dragon on the sign
  At Stamford, where they sell good wine,
  Would, I am sure, compar'd to that,
  Appear a common tabby cat.
  O'er all he tied a belt of buff-skin,
  Or doe, or tup, or some such tough skin,
  Such as our northern carriers fold
  About their loins to keep out cold.
  A potlid hung upon his arm,
  To guard his ribs from taking harm.

  [Illustration: Book XI, page 287.
  And all around, in various places,
  Were grinning chaps and wry-mouth'd faces;
  But in the middle part, to make
  The Trojans run, he plac'd a snake.]

  With brazen hoops and brazen centre,
  That points of broomsticks might not enter;
  On which a frightful head did grin,
  Almost as ugly as Miss ----,
  And all around, in various places,
  Were grinning chaps and wry-mouth'd faces;
  But in the middle part, to make
  The Trojans run, he plac'd a snake
  Gaping as wide as if he'd swallow
  An ox, with horns, and guts, and tallow;
  Which made the folks, when he did meet 'em,
  Scamper for fear the snake should eat 'em,
  Whilst he pursu'd, and thought they fled
  For fear of his great chuckle head.
  His leathern skull-cap, worn thread-bare,
  He furbish'd up with horse's hair;
  Then in his hand two broomstaves shook,
  And look'd as fierce as he could look.
  Thus arm'd complete, he march'd to fright 'em,
  In hopes to make 'em all be---te 'em.
  That instant, to increase the strife,
  Jove's daughter and his scolding wife
  A cannon-ball began to roll
  In Jupiter's great mustard-bowl.
  Whilst the machine they both were holding,
  To mend the noise they fell to scolding;
  This cleft the welkin quite asunder,
  And made the Greeks believe 'twas thunder,
  Which fill'd 'em with such fighting rage,
  They push'd like Britons to engage.
  The foot first hasten'd to the battle,
  And after them the carts did rattle;
  With such a roaring they begun,
  Before his time they wak'd the Sun,
  Who, hearing such a dreadful clatter,
  Jump'd up and cried, Zoons! what's the matter?
  But both his eyes being clos'd with gum,
  From whence this roaring noise did come
  He could not spy, till fasting spittle
  Had op'd his gummy eyes a little.
  Jove thunder'd too, for he was mad
  To see the dogs so bitter bad;
  And mix'd a shower of rain with rud,
  To make 'em think it rain'd sheer blood;
  Nor would he longer tarry near 'em,
  But fairly left Old Nick to steer 'em.

  Near Ilus' grave, upon the hill,
  Was Hector drinking bumpers still;
  The grave-stone serv'd 'em for a table,
  And there they drank till they weren't able
  To stand, or, as our bard supposes,
  To see each other's copper noses.
  Polydamas partook the feast,
  With a sly Presbyterian priest,
  Æneas call'd--a rogue whose lights
  Would show you nothing but the whites,
  Whene'er he wanted to deceive you,
  And helpless in the suds to leave you;
  This he'd perform with such a grace,
  You'd ne'er suspect his pious face.
  Agenor, with his second-sight,
  And Polybus, a simple knight,
  Two brothers of Antenor's race,
  Around the bottle took their place:
  With Acamas, a boy that had
  As few bad tricks as any lad
  In all the town, although 'tis true
  He was a Presbyterian Jew.--
  Pray what religion's that? say you.
  I'll tell you, my good friend, anon:
  A Presbyterian Jew is one
  That likes engagements with the wenches,
  But hates both gunpowder and trenches.
  Hector a pretty girl was thrumming
  When first he heard the Grecians coming,
  And though twelve bumpers he had sipp'd up,
  He soon his shield and broomstick whipp'd up,
  Then quickly 'mongst the Trojans goes out
  To make 'em turn their sweaty toes out,
  And square their elbows: here and there
  He frisk'd about, and ev'ry where,
  Whilst streaming sparkles, as he pass'd,
  From his broad metal buttons flash'd.
  On Sundays view our Farmer Gooding
  When he attacks a suet-pudding,
  Slice after slice you'll see him cut,
  And stuff within his gundy gut;
  Whilst on the other side his man
  Slices as fast as e'er he can;
  With eager haste they slice and eat,
  Till both their knives i' th' centre meet:
  Thus Greeks and Trojans on a sudden
  Tumble like slices of the pudding,
  Give and receive most hearty thwacks,
  Yet never think to turn their backs,
  But scratch, and bite, and tear, and kick,
  Like two boar-cats hung 'cross a stick.

  Discord, the wrangling lawyer's friend,
  Did on this dreadful broil attend;
  But all the rest above the moon,
  Though they were willing, durst as soon
  Run to Old Nick as venture down:
  But though confin'd to keep their places,
  They made abominable faces,
  Whilst all the time their guts were grumbling
  At Jove, for keeping Troy from tumbling.
  Now he, good soul, was set alone
  On his old cricket, call'd a throne,
  Where, spite of all his wife could say,
  He gave Miss Destiny her way;
  Though now and then he squinted down
  In great amaze, to see how soon
  The varlets crack'd each others crown.

  Now, whilst the Sun was working still
  To flog his hackneys up the hill,
  Both parties fought with equal luck,
  And furious blows on each side struck:
  But at the time when sea-coal heavers,
  With taylors' prentices and weavers,
  Quit looms and boards, and leave their work
  In search of scalded peas and pork--
  Just at that time the Greeks begun
  To make some straggling Trojans run.
  Atrides seiz'd that crisis too,
  To let 'em see what he could do.
  Quickly he crack'd Bianor's crown,
  A smart attorney of the town,
  Then knock'd his clerk Oileus down,
  Who, when he saw his loving master
  Get hurt, was coming with a plaster.
  Atrides, whilst his hands were full,
  Like a brave fellow, crack'd his skull;
  Then of their jackets he bereft 'em,
  And naked to the weather left 'em;
  For which, depend, these sons of faction
  At proper time will bring an action.
  Now, whilst his hand was in, he runs
  And meets with two of Priam's sons:
  One was a bastard, got upon
  The daughter of his ploughman John:
  But, as we are inform'd, the other
  Was got upon an honest mother,
  Who would not let her maidenhead
  Be touch'd till Christian grace was said;
  But when that's done, e'en touch and touch,
  No honest man can do too much.
  These loving brothers, loth to part,
  Had hir'd a Norfolk farmer's cart,
  Where with great skill they did contrive
  That one should fight, the other drive.
  In former days they us'd to keep
  On Sussex downs a flock of sheep.
  Achilles, who, as you must note,
  Commanded once a smuggling-boat,
  To steal some sheep one night had landed;
  And being then but slender-handed,
  He went his thieving crew to call off,
  And bid them bring the boys and all off;
  Then made his dad for their release
  Remit him three half-crowns a-piece--
  Money ill war'd, since they so soon
  Were knock'd by Agamemnon down!
  On the pert bastard first he press'd,
  And lent him such a punch o' th' breast,
  It made him in a twinkling kick up
  His heels, and belch, and f--t, and hiccup;
  Instant bestow'd he such a pat
  Upon the brother's gold-lac'd hat,
  That down he tumbled with a plump,
  And bruis'd his thigh, and split his rump:
  Then, flat as on the ground they lay,
  He stole their hats and coats away.
  With aching hearts the Trojans spy him,
  But dare not for their guts come nigh him;
  Thus shoplifts see their brothers taken,
  But dare not stir to save their bacon.
  Still furious on the foe he runs,
  And mauls Antimachus' two sons--
  A sneaking rascal, who had sold
  His vote in parliament for gold;
  From whoring Paris taking pay,
  He made a speech for Nell to stay,
  And humbugg'd all the senate so,
  They bawl out Aye, instead of No.
  Now these two lads Atrides caught,
  And drubb'd 'em for the father's fault.
  They got a hard-mouth'd resty horse,
  They could not stop with all their force,
  But he would run, aye, that he would,
  Just where this lighting Grecian stood;
  The lads had pull'd the resty tup
  Till both were tir'd, so gave it up;
  On which the Greek their noddles peppers,
  Till down they dropp'd upon their kneppers,
  And, in a dismal doleful ditty,
  Begg'd for an ounce or two of pity:
  Good Mr. Agamemnon, spare
  Two harmless lads, and hear their pray'r,
  For which Antimachus will make
  Such presents you'll be glad to take.
  You need but send him a short note
  You've stow'd us safe in your old boat,
  And if he doth not think it proper
  To send a stone of brass and copper,
  We then will give you leave to beat us,
  Or, if you please, to hash and eat us.

  Now, though the younkers made no noise,
  But talk'd like very hopeful boys,
  This harden'd rogue, before they'd done,
  In a great passion thus begun:
  If you're Antimachus's blood,
  I'll drub your hides, by all that's good!
  That scurvy mangey rascal would
  Have kill'd my brother if he could,
  With sly Ulysses, when from Greece
  They came to fetch that precious piece,
  That Madam Helen, whose affair
  Has cost more lives than she has hair
  Upon her head, or any where.
  No prayers that you can coin shall speed
  With me, to save such scoundrel breed.
  On this he with a crab-tree stump
  Gave poor Philander such a thump,
  It made him tumble from the cart out,
  And spew his very guts and heart out.
  The brother finding him so tart,
  He leap'd head foremost from the cart:
  There, as he lay upon the sands,
  The whelp disabled both his hands;
  Then boldly seiz'd him by the snout,
  And almost twined his neck about.
  Whilst he continu'd these mad freaks,
  He double-distanc'd all the Greeks:
  Still he kept cuffing on, and swearing,
  Whilst they kept wondering and staring.
  So when the mighty bowl doth sally
  From th' corner of a nine-pin alley,
  Pin after pin by him is thrown,
  Till the whole nine are tumbled down;
  Just so Atrides in his passion
  Tumbled 'em down in nine-pin fashion,
  And drove about with such a rumble,
  Whole squadrons either run or tumble;
  Many a Trojan made he smart,
  And emptied many a higler's cart.
  The cart-tits, when without a guide,
  Ran like bewitch'd from side to side,
  Farted, and kick'd, and jump'd about--
  In short, they made such dreadful rout,
  They hurt their Trojan friends much more
  Than they had done 'em good before.

  Whilst the fierce Greek, where'er he flew,
  Beat the poor devils black and blue,
  Had Hector met this Grecian cock,
  Depend upon't he'd got a knock;
  But Jove took care he should not meet him,
  Lest in his passion he should eat him,
  But kept the Trojan's coat from stains
  Of blood, and guts, and scatter'd brains.
  Now Jove took all this care, I ween,
  'Cause Hector's coat was very clean,
  Whilst ev'ry Greek in all the clan
  Look'd like a butcher's journeyman.

  And now this furious fighting knave
  Drove 'em like smoke by Ilus' grave
  Amongst some fig-trees, where for shelter
  They ran like wild-fire helter-skelter--
  Not with design to turn and rally,
  But there they knew a dark blind alley
  That led directly to the town,
  Through which they ran like devils down.
  Atrides ran as fast as they,
  Roaring and bawling all the way,
  Till he had made himself as hot
  As Fore-street Doll's pease-porridge pot:
  When, coming near the Scean gate,
  He thought it would be best to wait
  For further help; so held his stick up,
  And stopp'd to take his wind and hiccup.

  In the mean time the Trojans ply
  Their clay-burnt heels most lustily.
  As when the constable and watchmen
  Are on a party sent to catch men
  Who have the day before been dealing
  In what the justices call stealing;
  Their phiz the thieves no sooner spy,
  But all to reach the window try;
  Their haste occasions such a jumble,
  Head over heels the scoundrels tumble,
  And wedge themselves so very fast,
  The hobbling watchmen seize the last;
  So did Atrides bounce and fick,
  And always lent the last a kick:
  Thus did he play the de'il and all,
  Until he reach'd the Trojan wall,
  Which his great fury did design
  To tumble down or undermine;
  When Jove sent such a shower of rain
  As won't be quickly seen again,
  And would have added thunder to it,
  But could not get his lightning through it.

  At this he bawls, Come hither, Iris!
  You see in rain so drench'd my fire is,
  It cannot go as I design'd it,
  To make yond' roaring scoundrels mind it;
  And as for thunder, though they fear it,
  They make such noise they cannot hear it.
  Therefore, my girl, do you descend
  And tell my honest Trojan friend,
  Whilst Agamemnon thus keeps puffing,
  I would not have him think of cuffing;
  Let other people stop his flouncing,
  Bold Hector need not mind his bouncing:
  Small captains may his waters watch;
  For Hector he's no more a match
  Than penny bleeders to a surgeon,
  Or Jerry Sneak to Major Sturgeon.
  Tell him, although he makes such rout.
  And kicks the Trojans all about,
  In half an hour, I'll lay a groat,
  He gets his teeth knock'd down his throat;
  Then shall my bully Hector thwack 'em,
  And I will lend a hand to whack 'em,
  Till he has made them take long strides
  On board their boats to save their hides--
  Drub 'em he shall from place to place,
  Till Night pops up her blackguard face.

  At this the jade gave such a jump,
  That some foul air within her rump
  Came puffing with a thund'ring trump:
  But letting fly too soon, we find
  She drove so much unsav'ry wind
  Up Jove's broad nose, he look'd d---d gruff,
  And sneez'd as if he'd ta'en Scotch snuff.
  These thund'ring puffs, let out so nigh
  The sun, take fire as down they fly;
  From whence 'tis evident that plain bow,
  Which silly mortals call the rain-bow,
  Is known by folks that view it nigher
  To be a chain of farts on fire.

  [Illustration: Book XI, page 306.
  Hector, says she, perhaps you'll stare,
  To hear I come from Jupiter;
  But so it is, believe it true,
  He sends his compliments to you.]

  Hector she found amidst the fray,
  Mounted upon a brewer's dray:
  Hector, says she, perhaps you'll stare,
  To hear I come from Jupiter;
  But so it is, believe it true,
  He sends his compliments to you,
  And says, while Atreus' son keeps puffing,
  He would not have you think of cuffing;
  Let other people stop his flouncing,
  You need not mind his brags and bouncing;
  Small captains may his waters watch;
  For you the whelp's no more a match
  Than penny bleeders to a surgeon,
  Or Jerry Sneak to Major Sturgeon:
  And adds, that though he makes such rout,
  And kicks the Trojans all about,
  In half an hour, he'll lay a groat,
  He gets his teeth knock'd down his throat.
  Then Hector shall the Grecians whack,
  And I will clap him on the back,
  Till he has made each Grecian fighter
  Scamper on board his rotten lighter:
  Nor shall he cease the rogues to fright,
  Till they're reliev'd by Mrs. Night.
  Then, in a cloud as black as pitch,
  She vanish'd like a Lapland witch.

  Hector no sooner heard this speech,
  But up he started off his breech,
  Leap'd from the dray in haste, and then
  Gave two-pence to the brewer's men
  To get a pint of stale, or strong,
  Because they let him ride so long;
  Then, with a broomstick in each hand,
  He bid the scamp'ring Trojans stand;
  Tells them, if now they box, they may
  Run when they please another day,
  And he'll run too as well as they.
  When they heard this, the Trojans stout,
  With one consent all fac'd about,
  And seem'd resolv'd to box it out:
  The Greeks, who hop'd they'd all been gone,
  Stared when they found 'em coming on,
  Cock'd their wide jaws in great surprise,
  And fain would disbelieve their eyes.
  Both sides begin to fight it o'er,
  As if they'd never fought before;
  Whilst in his passion, Atreus' son
  Kept driving like a devil on,
  And gave the Trojan sons of whores
  Black eyes and broken pates by scores.

  Hopkins and Sternhold, lend me aid
  To tell what work this whore's-bird made;
  You, who king David's psalms were able
  To write in verse so lamentable,
  As made the fornicating king
  Cry, when you meant to make him sing;
  Where he repents, indeed, most ably
  You made him do it lamentably!
  Help me to some of your rare pickings,
  That I may sing Atrides' kickings,
  That in re-mem-ber-ance I may
  Remain for ever and for aye:
  Come on, bold boys, and make it known
  What shoals of scrubs he tumbled down,
  And whether 'twas a peer or groom
  That tasted first his stick of broom.

  Iphidamas it prov'd, a swain-o
  Got by Antenor on Theano,
  Whose pasture being stock'd before
  So hard that it would bear no more,
  He thought it best to send the lad;
  To Clifeus, the mother's dad,
  Who farm'd on lease a little place
  Upon a bleak hill-side in Thrace,
  For which he paid the landlord clear
  Three, or perhaps four, pounds a year.
  For twenty years the good old rock
  There fed him like a fighting-cock;
  And then to use him to the Strife
  Man's born to bear, he for a wife
  Gave him his daughter: but the boy,
  Hearing of boxing-bouts at Troy,
  Was seiz'd with such desire to fight,
  He listed on his wedding-night,
  And left his wife, though thought a beauty,
  Before he'd done an inch of duty;
  By shipping to Percope went,
  From thence by land to Troy was sent.
  Thinking the time was now or never
  For him to show off something clever,
  From out the foremost ranks he jumps,
  Resolv'd to fight this king of trumps.
  Atrides, who full well did know
  That in the first good hearty blow
  Lay often more than half the battle,
  Let fly his broomstick with a rattle:
  The Trojan stoop'd, and whiz it went,
  But miss'd his nob, where it was meant.
  The youth then with great fury puts
  His cudgel 'cross the Grecian's guts,
  Which stroke he had severely felt
  But for his greasy currier's belt,
  Though he so much of it did feel,
  'Spite of his belt, it made him reel;
  But when recover'd from the shock,
  He lent him such a rare hard knock
  Upon his crag, the luckless chap
  Fell down and took an endless nap.
  His wife, that such a fortune brought,
  Two cows, six sheep, and one ram goat,
  Thought hers a mighty grievous lot,
  When she a maidenhead had got,
  Neatly dish'd up as hands could make it,
  Ready for him to come and take it;
  But he, poor soul, was lying flat,
  Whilst the Greek stole his coat and hat.

  Coon his bro. was pretty near,
  And vex'd to th' heart, a man may swear;
  It fill'd his liver with such sadness,
  He roar'd and cried for very madness:
  But though he wept full sore, we find
  He did not weep himself quite blind;
  But when the Grecian did not 'spy him,
  He edg'd till he got pretty nigh him,
  Then at the bully aim'd a knock,
  Which gave his elbow such a shock,
  It made his metal buttons jingle,
  And both his wrist and fingers tingle.
  The Greek was stunn'd, though not with fear,
  But knew not, or to cry or swear;
  Then whilst poor Coon guards his brother,
  And covers this side, then the other,
  Damning the Grecian for a whelp,
  And roaring like a man for help,
  The wary Greek upon his crown
  'Spy'd a soft spot, so knock'd him down--
  Down with a bang he tumbled plump,
  And lay across his brother's rump.

  Atrides, now more furious grown,
  Drives like a madman up and down,
  Using all weapons clubs, or sticks,
  Old broken piss-pots, stones, and bricks--
  In this condition on he blunder'd,
  And lam'd or frighten'd half a-hundred.
  Whilst he perform'd these pranks, his arm
  Continued tolerably warm;
  But when the blood began to settle,
  And he was partly off his mettle,
  The elbow stiffen'd with such pain
  As made the bully grin again;
  Knaves that are whipp'd for thieving cases
  Could never coin such ugly faces.
  With mighty pain and anguish fretting,
  A dung-cart he was forc'd to get in:
  But lest the foe should think he had cause,
  He put a good face on a bad cause,
  And bawls, O Grecian raggamuffins!
  Stick stoutly to your kicks and cuffings!
  I'll get a dram to ease my pain,
  And in a twink be back again;
  Jove will no longer let me fight,
  But slam me if 'tis aught but spite!

  No sooner had he spoke, but smack
  He heard the carter's whip go crack;
  And crack it might, as these old hacks
  For twice three steps requir'd six cracks;
  Though, by great luck, this Jehu got
  His geldings smack'd into a trot;
  But as they both were touch'd i' th' wind,
  They puff'd out clouds of smoke behind,
  Whilst from their sides a lather run
  Would almost fill a brewer's tun;
  At last, when tir'd, and almost spent,
  They brought him to his ragged tent.

  Hector look'd sharp, and quickly saw
  This huffing, cuffing varlet go;
  Then to his Trojans and allies,
  To raise their mettle, thus he cries:

  Ye roaring blades, that scorn all fear,
  Ye Dardans, and ye Lycians, hear!
  Now is the time, boys, now or never,
  Roar Wilkes and Liberty for ever!
  Yon leader of the Scotch court-cards,
  Call'd the third regiment of guards,
  Has got some mischief in the fray:
  I saw the rascal run away:
  Besides, Dame Iris from above
  Brought me some compliments from Jove:
  Hector, says she, you must not shrink,
  But pay the varlets till they stink;
  Therefore you've nought to do but box,
  I'll warm their jackets with a pox.

  The valiant Hec. with such-like speeches,
  Forth from the bottom of their breeches
  Pluck'd up their hearts as fast as could be,
  And fairly plac'd 'em where they should be:
  So the poor gard'ner cheers his dog
  To seize and sowl his neighbour's hog,
  Claps him o' th' back until he tears off
  The ugly grunting pilf'rer's ears off,
  Boiling with rage, because the brute
  Returns so oft to spoil his fruit:
  Thus Hector bawls, nor that alone,
  But is the first to lead 'em on:
  On the deep file with might doth pour,
  Like a black heavy city-shower,
  Which clears the streets, and into shops
  Drives painted whores and brainless fops,
  With fury from the pantiles rolls,
  Drenches the signs and barbers' poles,
  Washes each dirty stinking street,
  And for an hour the town is sweet.

  O Churchill's Muse! for once assist,
  Whilst humbly I draw out a list
  Of those that fell by Hector's cudgel,
  When Jove, who now and then doth judge ill,
  Without regard to Whig or Tory,
  Bestow'd on him a day of glory.
  To 'scape him there appear'd but small hopes--
  He smash'd Assæus first, then Dolops;
  Assæus was a great book-binder,
  And Dolops was a razor-grinder.
  Just there the noted woollen-draper,
  Autonous, began to vapour,
  But Hector quickly made him caper.
  He next began to grapple with
  Opites, a great silver-smith;
  On his bread-basket such a thump
  He lent him, down he tumbled plump.
  Then flat as e'er you saw a flounder
  He quickly fell'd the great bell-founder
  Hipponous--down he fell,
  His noddle sounded like a bell.
  Ophelthius next, a pastry-cook,
  That made good pigeon-pie of rook,
  Cut venison from Yorkshire hogs[1],
  And made rare mutton-pies of dogs,
  From Hector's crab-tree stick of sticks
  Got a reward for all rogue's tricks
  is hard-bak'd head was finely whack'd,
  The skin all bruis'd, and crust all crack'd.
  Orus, who kept a noted inn
  Full on the road from York to Lynn,
  A chatt'ring whelp, just like an ape,
  Got in a most confounded scrape;
  As Hector rapp'd the saucy dog's head,
  It sounded like an empty hogshead.
  Esymmus, a ship-biscuit baker,
  Got pelted by this noddle-breaker--
  His skull, as Hector's stick did whisk it,
  Rattled just like a hard ship-biscuit.
  Last, the rope-maker, Agelau,
  By a great knock upon his jaw,
  Was sent to see his friends below;
  The Trojan's broomstick, unresisted,
  His slender thread of life untwisted.

  These, you must note, were no riff-raff,
  But officers upon the staff:
  As for your common country cousins,
  He knock'd them down by pecks and dozens,
  And, with a flourish of his stick,
  Laid 'em all on their backs as quick
  As gamblers thump their box and dice,
  Or nitty taylors crack their lice.
  Have you not seen a sort of twirlwind,
  Which country people call a whirlwind,
  Whip up a haycock from the ground,
  And twist it round, and round, and round,
  Whilst with their peepers fix'd in air,
  And gaping mouths, the bumkins stare?
  Thus Hector whipp'd about, and soon
  Kick'd up their heels, or knock'd 'em down.

  And now had Greece been overturn'd,
  And all their keels and scullers burn'd;
  But sly Ulysses ran with speed
  To call his neighbour Diomede:
  Diom. says he, why, what the pox,
  We'd better both be set i' th' stocks
  Than stand and stare whilst Hector keeps
  Smoking the Grecians upon heaps.
  Let's meet this fav'rite of the gods:
  Were two to one, and that's brave odds.

  Says Diomede, You know, Ulysses,
  I'll fight with any man: but this is
  Another case; I've suffer'd evils
  For boxing both with gods and devils;
  Jove helps this Hector from above,
  And souse me if I'll box with Jove!
  What boots it now, my friend, to stand,
  If Jove won't lend a helping hand?
  'Tis striving without spades to dig,
  And whistling to a stone-dead pig.
  Then as he spoke he gave a sigh,
  And whiz he let his broomstick fly;
  It hit a purse-proud fellow's crown,
  A Wapping lawyer of renown,
  Thymbræus call'd, and fetch'd him down.
  Ulysses then, that cunning tartar,
  Up with his club, and fell'd the carter.
  When they had done this job of jobs,
  They durst not stay to pick their fobs,
  Hector was then so near them, they
  Thought it was best to pop away.
  Thus thieves, that wait the time to nick
  When they can best your pockets pick,
  Lurch till some bustle is begun,
  Then run and thieve, and thieve and run.

  Merops' two sons, a hopeful pair,
  Were seated in a one-horse chair:
  Their father carried once a pack
  Of caps and stockings on his back--
  An honest plodding Highland wight,
  And therefore born with second-sight:
  From fighting he had warn'd the lads,
  But younkers seldom mind their dads;
  In spite of him these younkers frisky
  Went out and hir'd a timmy whisky;
  To his advice they paid no heed,
  But drove to meet this Diomede,
  Who, maugre all that they could do,
  Drubb'd 'em, and pick'd their pockets too.

  Ulysses smash'd Hypirochus,
  And the rich Jew Hippodamus,
  And made him rue he e'er did sally
  From that great den of thieves, the Alley,
  Where had he staid, he might have bit
  A thousand honest people yet.
  But Satan always doth forecast
  To lead rogues into scrapes at last.

  Whilst things went on at six and seven,
  Jove smok'd a serious pipe in heaven,
  And let old Gox's scales hang even;
  Nor did he seem a whit to care,
  But let 'em scratch, fight dog fight bear.
  On this the great Tydides strains out,
  And knocks Agastrophus's brains out,
  Who, busy fighting all the while,
  Had left his cart above a mile;
  But when the honest Trojan saw
  This bully Greek, he fled. Yet though
  He ran as if the devil split him,
  This blackguard rascal's broomstick hit him:
  Upon his wooden noddle falling,
  It broke his skull, and laid him sprawling.
  Great Hector saw this fearful rout,
  For he was looking sharp about:
  As he mov'd on he loud did bawl,
  And with him brought the devil and all,
  A gang of downright Teagues, all rare men,
  With bludgeons arm'd like Brentford chairmen.

  Brave Diomede himself, who never
  Was us'd to fear, now felt his liver,
  Spite of his mighty courage, start,
  And give a knock against his heart:
  When thus he speaks--Ulysses, mind,
  A plaguy storm before the wind
  Comes rolling on, and I conjecture
  It can be nought but bully Hector,
  Who throws about his pots and kettles,
  As if his bum was stung with nettles:
  Let us resolve in this here place
  To meet the rascal's ugly face.
  Just as he spoke, to keep his fame up,
  He flung his stick as Hector came up,
  Which lent the Trojan's leather cap
  A most confounded banging rap,
  Bruis'd it, and sliding up, did lop
  A tarnish'd tassel from the top:
  But by the care of sage Apollo
  It happen'd no great harm did follow;
  Though 'twas so sound a knock it stunn'd him
  So much, that Hector rather shunn'd him,
  Mounted his cart, and whipp'd about
  To try his luck another route.
  Tydides shouts Huzza! huzza!
  The hect'ring Hector's run away!
  Well doth Apollo pay that thief
  For all his knuckle-bones of beef;
  If any witch would help a bit,
  By G-d, I'd swinge that rascal yet!
  But since he stoutly runs away for't,
  I'll make his ragged scoundrels pay for't.
  Then, though Agastrophus was dead,
  He lent him t'other knock o' th' head,
  To keep his hand in: now and then,
  Like Falstaff, he could kill dead men.

  Paris, the keeper of the fair,
  Whose piece of brittle china ware
  Had caus'd this rout, that wenching knave,
  Was peeping from the well-known grave
  Of Ilus, an old brown-bread baker,
  Who being what we call a quaker,
  I' th' open fields his friends did leave him,
  Because church-yards would not receive him--
  Hearing this bully, what doth he
  But whips behind a hollow tree,
  And just as Diom. down did squat
  To steal Agastrophus's hat.
  Twang-dang he let his arrow go off,
  And almost knock'd the bully's' toe off.
  The rogue behind the hollow tree
  Laugh'd till he split his sides, to see
  The bully Grecian's odd grimaces,
  He made such cursed ugly faces;
  Then from his ambush leaping out,
  Diom., says he, you seem to pout,
  As if you'd got the pox or gout:
  I've hit, I find, the gouty part,
  But wish Id reach'd your pluck or heart;
  Then would our Trojan bloods be free
  From dread of thy damn'd face and thee
  Who tremble at thy phiz, and run
  Faster than Paddy from a dun.

  Diom. was marching off, but stopping,
  Replies, Ho! ho! Miss Frizzle Topping!
  I thought, when pop-gun arrows flew
  It could be none but such as you;
  Rogues that will boldly face a pox,
  But dare as well be hang'd as box.
  What signifies thy slender touch?
  Our cook-maid Doll could do as much,
  Or more; her nails will reach the marrow
  As soon again as thy poor arrow.
  But this good broomstaff ne'er flies waste,
  As I one day will let thee taste;
  Some Trojan gets, whene'er it goes,
  A broken pate or bloody nose:
  Whilst all their doxies, when they hear
  My name, begin to scold and swear,
  Because I'm sure where'er I come
  To send their husbands limping home.

  Whilst thus he prates, Ulysses, who
  Was much concern'd for his great toe,
  Pulls out the dart, and then doth pour in
  What offer'd first, and that was urine;
  Then laid his patient in a cart,
  And bid 'em drive him pretty smart.
  Now, when this bully-back was gone,
  Ulysses found himself alone:
  Whilst he was busy with the toe,
  He never thought how things might go;
  But when the Trojans up did walk,
  He with himself began some talk:
  I shall be smash'd if here I stay,
  And yet I dare not run away;
  For then they will not let me eat,
  And I shall starve without my meat,
  And soon be nought but skin and bone,
  Like long sir Thomas R----n.
  Why should I longer then stand scrubbing?
  Starving is ten times worse than drubbing,
  Whilst he was weighing thus the matter,
  He heard the Trojan broomsticks clatter;
  Before this talk was done they found him,
  And quickly made a circle round him,
  Though his hard knocks did make 'em own
  They'd better let his pate alone.
  In Piccadilly thus I've seen
  A drunken ragged scolding quean
  By a large circle of the boys
  Pursued with dirt, and mud, and noise:
  Whilst she stands still, and only scolds,
  Each hardy boy his station holds;
  But when or here or there she reels,
  The younkers nimbly trust their heels.
  Just such another matter this is
  Betwixt the Trojans and Ulysses;
  His cudgel first he level'd at
  And laid the bold Deiopis flat,
  A taller fellow and a fatter
  You never saw, except the hatter.
  Next Ennomus, and Thoon too,
  Dealers in stone and powder blue,
  Felt what this sturdy Greek could do.
  Chersidamas, a noted brewer,
  Who in his time had poison'd fewer
  Than any of the brewing trade,
  Next on the clay-cold ground was laid;
  Across the guts Ulysses wip'd him,
  And brew'd him up a stroke that grip'd him.
  Charops, the son of old Hippases,
  Who sold Scotch snuff and farthing laces
  Under St. Dunstan's church, was nigh:
  At him Ulysses soon let fly:
  The broomstick quickly did his job,
  And rung against his hollow nob.
  Soccus, his bro. a noted tanner,
  And bailiff to the lord o' th' manor,
  Was nigh, and saw this lurching whelp
  Slinging his stick--so ran to help
  His brother: but he found him tumbled;
  At which be sure his gizzard grumbled.
  Curse your sly pate, says he, Ulysses!
  You lousy lurching scoundrel, this is
  One of your old damn'd roguish tricks,
  This laming folks by flinging sticks:
  But you shall fairly knock me down,
  Or rot me but I'll crack your crown!
  This said, his crabtree stick he long
  Rattled about his ears ding-dong:
  But the sly Grecian's nob, so thick,
  Bid bold defiance to his stick;
  On which the Trojan chang'd his stroke,
  And with a Highland flourish broke
  Two of his ribs--when Pallas put
  Her hand between, and say'd his gut.

  Ulysses, though with pain it fill'd him,
  Was pretty sure he had not kill'd him;
  So drawing back a step or two,
  Soccus, says he, I think 'tis now
  My turn to have a knock at you;
  And for the stroke you've been so civil
  To give, I'll send you to the devil.
  Whilst he was laying forth the case,
  He grinn'd with such an ugly face,
  That Soccus really thought the elf
  Had been sir Beelzebub himself;
  Which scar'd him so, he durst not stay,
  But whipp'd about and ran away.
  The flying broomstick reach'd his back,
  And fell'd him down with such a whack
  Against a stone, it cut his hat,
  And beat his long sharp nose quite flat.
  Then, as upon the ground they lay,
  Ulysses thus was heard to say:
  My Trojan friends, lie you two there
  Till Christmas next, for aught I care;
  Your mam. will hardly hither pop,
  Nor can your daddy leave his shop
  To come your funeral to grace
  With sable cloak, and crying face,
  But leaves that task to coffin-makers,
  Or rueful long-phizz'd undertakers.
  Now, when I die, I know our vicar
  Will make 'em bind my grave with wicker,
  Where all my friends, if right I think,
  Will drink and sob, and sob and drink.

  Whilst he was jabb'ring in this strain,
  His bruise began to give him pain;
  Then lifting up his dirty shirt,
  He found he'd got a plaguy hurt,
  And, the misfortune still to crown,
  The Trojans saw his blood run down;
  Which made 'em press so close, the whelp
  Ran stoutly now, and roar'd for help.
  Thrice did Atrides hear him further
  Than fifty furlongs roar out Murder!
  On which the Spartan bully cried
  To Ajax, who was at his side,
  I'm sure that something much amiss is,
  For murder! murder! roars Ulysses;
  So wide his mouth would hardly gape
  Were he not in some cursed scrape;
  To bring him off we both must run,
  Else, by my soul, we're all undone!
  For though he's strong, yet Ferdinando
  Can do no more than one man can do;
  And if of him we are bereft,
  There is but one good counsel left.
  Though counsellors are understood
  To do more harm, thrice told, than good,
  Yet here the rule don't fully hold,
  For he can box as well as scold:
  But the damn'd knaves in Wranglers'-Hall
  Are good for nothing but to bawl;
  And when you kick 'em for their jaw,
  They take the kicks, and take the law.

  Then where the roaring came from they
  With hasty strides direct their way;
  'Twas lucky they so soon did stickle,
  For he was in a grievous pickle;
  The smell was potent where he stood--
  'Tis an ill wind blows no man good;
  For by its help they nos'd him out,
  Though compass'd by his foes about.
  As younkers at a country school,
  When they've a heap of apples stole,
  One youth, that he may fair divide.
  Across the apples stands astride,
  When lo the master, dreadful case!
  Pops in his unexpected face;
  At his approach they scour away,
  And leave the undivided prey;
  The pedant then asserts his claim,
  And bears the apples to his dame:
  Thus Ajax made 'em all run faster
  Than the boys scamper'd from their master;
  For when the late-exulting foe
  His huge enormous broomstick saw,
  Who should get first away they strove,
  And ran as if the devil drove.
  On this great Menelaus pisses,
  Then went to help his friend Ulysses,
  And part by strength, and part by art,
  Got him shov'd up into a cart;
  Whilst Ajax with his stick pursu'd
  The flying, frighten'd, routed crowd,
  Paid 'em about, but first begun
  With Doryclus, old Priam's son,
  A youth that often walk'd the Park
  To pick up wenches in the dark.
  Pandocus next he struck hap-hazard,
  And laid his stick across his mazzard.
  With so much force, it made his mouth ache,
  And gave him a d--d fit o' th' tooth-ache.
  The pimp at Haddock's bagnio,
  Pyrasas, felt the next great blow;
  Ajax a swingeing broomstick threw,
  That bruis'd his rump all black and blue,
  Which paid the rascal well for pimping,
  And sent him to his brothel limping.
  Lysander next, an Irish broker,
  A mettled fellow and a joker,
  Met with this clumsy Grecian cock,
  And got a most infernal knock,
  Made him so sick, he fell to bokeing,
  And for a twelvemonth spoil'd his joking.
  Palertes last, a freeborn Troyman,
  A noted jeweller and toyman,
  Got tumbled down, whilst all his toys
  Made a confounded clatt'ring noise.
  Thus, when you 'gin to smell a stink,
  You pump away to clear the sink,
  A deluge issues through the grates,
  And drives down rotten shrimps and sprats,
  Tumbles the garbage o'er and o'er,
  Till it has reach'd the common shore:
  Just so before him as he rumbled
  Both carts, and men, and horses tumbled.

  Hector was to the left a mile,
  Pelting the Grecians all the while,
  Kicking the ragged sons of bitches
  By dozens into muddy ditches:
  There Nestor and the Cretan stood,
  And stopp'd his kicking all they could:
  But, spite of them, this furious loon
  Kick'd the poor rogues like nine-pins down.
  Paris, who rode Atrides' boot in,
  Was practising the art of shooting,
  That he might make his aim more certain
  Than Wilkes himself, or even Martin,
  Took opportunity i' th' nick
  To lend the Grecian quack a prick:
  The arrow made his shoulder smack,
  And the Greeks trembled for their quack.
  The Cretan then to Nestor spoke:
  Come here, old weather-beaten rock,
  I've better business far for you
  Than aught you can by boxing do;
  Go take your higler's cart, and lay on
  The wounded doctor, Don Machaon,
  And drive him off; if he is lost,
  We all may feel it to our cost:
  You know it well, nor you alone,
  He cures more kinds of wounds than one;
  And but for his great skill, you know
  You had been rotten long ago.
  Nestor obeys, and sans delay
  Convey'd the wounded quack away.
  And with an almost fire-new thong
  Dusted his raw-bon'd tits along;
  And as his geldings lamely tripp'd,
  He whipp'd and cough'd, and cough'd and whipp'd.

  Now Hector's carter, who could see
  Above as far again as he,
  Looking the Trojan files along,
  Soon saw where things were going wrong;
  Whilst here we fight genteel and civil,
  Quoth he, there's Ajax plays the devil;
  Mind how the bully swears and curses,
  And oversets both carts and horses;
  I know the whelp by one sure sign,
  His fist's as big as three of mine.
  Then let's be jogging to assist
  Our friends to 'scape his mutton fist,
  Else, by our mighty Trojan founders!
  He'll lay 'em all as flat as flounders.
  He said no more, but quickly got
  His geldings smack'd into a trot;
  O'er legs and arms he drove so smart,
  He sprink'd the foot-board of the cart,
  And daub'd it rarely with the stains
  Of blood and mud, and guts and brains,
  Which fill'd the axle-tree so full,
  The horses had a far worse pull
  Than if they'd lugg'd a brewer's dray,
  Or country waggon full of hay.

  The Grecians thought by standing close
  To keep him out: but such a dose
  With his oak stick the Trojan gave 'em,
  They trusted to their heels to save 'em;
  Whilst he their sides so nimbly switch'd,
  They thought the fellow was bewitch'd.
  Then from his cart he ply'd 'em thick,
  With first a broomstick, then a brick,
  And fell'd 'em down with just such knocks
  As bumkins lend their Shrovetide cocks,
  Flinging his sticks at such a rate,
  He always broke a leg or pate.
  By such hard knocks as these he made
  The Greeks so horribly afraid,
  That they employ'd their utmost might in
  Running away, instead of fighting;
  And Ajax felt such queerish twitches,
  His courage jump'd into his breeches:
  He therefore found; when folks begun for't,
  His own thick legs dispos'd to run for't;
  But taking care that none should say
  Great Ajax ran, he walk'd away,
  And, lest they should his rear attack,
  He kept a constant peeping back.
  Thus on an evening have I seen,
  With pious face on Bethnal-Green,
  An inspir'd cobbler mount a tub,
  And preach to ev'ry ragged scrub:
  Though dirt and rotten eggs flew round,
  Yet inspiration kept his ground,
  Nor, till he'd preach'd his sermon out,
  Would stir a step, and then did do't
  With as much gravity as if
  To be inspir'd was to be stiff.
  Thus heavy Ajax bore the cuffings
  Of all the Trojan raggamuffins,
  And walk'd as slow as if he'd been
  The preaching cobbler of the Green:
  In Spanish strides his knees he bent,
  And grumbled all the way he went.
  Thus have I seen a sand-cart ass
  Devour a farmers clover-grass:
  The farmer, with his wife and man,
  To drive him out do all they can;
  But though they pour a heavy tide
  Of rattling hedgestakes on his side,
  The beast, as patient as he's dull,
  Eats till he crams his belly full,
  And then, insensible of pain,
  Deliberately walks off again.
  Whilst Ajax strutted off demurely,
  The Trojans bang'd his potlid purely;
  Sometimes he turn'd about to swear
  He'd break their bones if they came near;
  Then march'd away, but, as he trod,
  Threaten'd them with an angry nod;
  Whilst they, to keep up this queer battle,
  With brickbats made his potlid rattle.

  Euripylus, who saw them skelp him,
  Resolv'd at any rate to help him,
  And did his knotty broomstaff lay on
  The Trojan hosier, Apisaon,
  Whose nob he lent a knock that broke it,
  At which he ran to pick his pocket.
  Paris was ever on the watch
  These low pick-pocket rogues to catch;
  He hated all such dirty jobs,
  As stealing hats, and picking fobs:
  Not but the dog himself, 'twas said,
  Would oft pick up--a maiden-head,
  But then he thought no sin lay there,
  Because 'twas perishable ware;
  In other things he was in truth
  A very good church-going youth,
  Of th' catechize could read some part,
  And say the whole Lord's prayer by heart--
  He saw this pilf'ring Grecian lout
  Turn Apisaon's pockets out;
  On which he let an arrow fly,
  That tore his breeks, and cut his thigh,
  Made the rogue sweat and grin with pain.
  And sent him hobbling back again.
  But yet before he stirr'd one bit,
  He made a speech; and this is it:
  O Greeks, I fear your courage fails ye,
  In God's name, what the devil ails ye?
  I've left poor Ajax in a sweat;
  And if you do not quickly get
  To his assistance, I'll be shot
  But his hard nob must go to pot!
  The Trojans do so sorely pelt,
  That if his potlid and his belt
  Did not secure his rump so gummy,
  His buttocks must be thrash'd to mummy:
  And if you could but see 'em now,
  I'll answer for't they're black and blue!
  For God's sake, neighbours, run and help him,
  You'd wonder how the rascals skelp him.

  Whilst he was speaking, from the rout
  About a dozen fellows stout
  Took heart of grace, and ventured out;
  Some held their leathern potlids o'er him,
  And others clapp'd their staves before him.
  Whilst thus their fainting friend they shroud,
  Ajax struts up and joins the crowd;
  Then on a sudden, growing stout,
  He puff'd his cheeks, and fac'd about.

  Thus things went on, and all the while
  Nestor had jerk'd his tits a mile,
  And with a wondrous deal of flogging
  Made a hard shift to keep them jogging;
  Smoking with sweat, amidst the throng,
  They lugg'd the wounded quack along.
  Just then Achilles, as 'tis said,
  Was sitting at the main-mast head,
  From whence he saw the Greeks all spent,
  And cudgel'd to their hearts' content;
  With joy he saw the Trojans lay on
  The bones of all, except Machaon.
  As for the doctor, 'cause that he
  Once cur'd him of a gonorrhæ,
  Besides a hoarseness and a pthisic,
  And charg'd but eighteen-pence for physic,
  He therefore felt a little touch
  Of pity, though it was not much;
  When casting down his eyes below,
  Patroclus working hard he saw
  Mending an old blue rusty jacket
  So torn he'd much ado to tack it;
  On which he to his chum below
  Roars out, Halloo, my buff, halloo!

  Patroclus then began to lug
  From his left jaw a fine large plug,
  Then clear'd his throat, and spit and cough'd,
  And halloo'd out, Who calls aloft?
  Stop, avast[2] heaving; is it you?
  What have you got for me to do?
  Whate'er you want by sea or land,
  Keel-haul me but I'll lend a hand!

  Achilles thus: Through various rubs
  We two have long been loving scrubs!
  With joy my very heart doth tickle
  To find the Greeks in such a pickle!
  Though their chub-headed chief did flout me,
  I knew they could not do without me;
  Soon they'll be here with sobs and moans,
  And down upon their marrow-bones.
  But I want you, my chum, to go
  To Nestor's oyster-boat, to know
  What made him flog his founder'd cattle
  In such a splutter from the battle,
  And if he did not lug some cock
  Whose pate or ribs had got a knock.
  I fear it is our trusty quack;
  But I could only see his back,
  Nor for my blood and guts could I
  A corner of his face espy,
  (Though I with all my eyes did look)
  The horses did so puff and smoke.

  Patroclus then shook off his fleas,
  And button'd both his breeches-knees,
  Fetch'd his best hat, and then did scour--
  But in a sad unlucky hour,
  In a curs'd minute was he sent,
  For Hector made him soon repent.
  Howe'er that be, through all the throng
  Of boats and huts he popp'd along,
  And soon the queer old Grecian met,
  Just lighted in a reeking sweat.
  Eurymedon with care and art
  Unloos'd his horses from the cart;
  Nestor, who was confounded hot
  With flogging, had a dishclout got,
  Which serv'd to wipe his greasy face:
  And ere he put it in its place,
  Close by the wounded quack he stood,
  And wip'd away both sweat and blood;
  Then gap'd awhile to catch a breeze
  Was coming fresh from off the seas;
  But staid not long before they went
  To seek for shelter in the tent.
  Nestor then order'd Hecomede,
  A red-hair'd wench of royal breed
  (Which Greece to give th' old cock agreed,
  To keep of girls his slender stock up,
  And use when he could wind his clock up),
  Without delay to fetch a cup,
  And make a cooling mixture up.
  But first this handmaid held it meet
  Before they drank to make 'em eat,
  So spread a table with blue feet
  Made of good fir, which he had bought
  In Broker's-alley for a groat;
  Whereon she plac'd a spanking dish,
  Then fill'd it full, but not with fish;
  Of better stuff she pour'd a flood in,
  And that was smoking hasty-pudding;
  With this she mix'd, for this old coney-
  Catcher, an honest pint of honey,
  Then rubb'd a salted garlic head
  Upon a mouldy crust of bread,
  This done, a bowl that formerly
  Belong'd the taylors' company,
  And giv'n th'old Greek for his advice
  'Bout cabbage, cucumbers, and lice,
  Matters of great concern and weight
  To this large body corporate
  Of cross-legg'd thieves, who earn their bread
  By buckram, staytapes, silk, and thread;
  To make it fine the taylors' beadles
  Had stuck it full of ends of needles.
  Now you must know this bowl of wood
  Upon a pair of cross-legs stood;
  About a dozen wooden pegs
  Fasten'd this pair of bandy legs;
  Four handles did the sides adorn,
  Two made of wood and two of horn;
  (Two out of four of horn were made,
  To show the fate of half the trade);
  O' th' top of each of which a pair
  Of heads resembling snipes did stare,
  With beaks so sharp, in many a case
  Of bodkins they supply'd the place.
  Three quarts it held, and yet when full
  Could this old soaker at a pull
  Drink it half off and never sob;
  But few with him could bear a bob.
  This bowl the nymph of high degree,
  As handsome as a cook should be,
  Fill'd with the drink of which I boasted,
  Rare Yorkshire ale with apples roasted.
  This for the quack did she prepare;
  But Nestor got the better share;
  'Twould do you good to see the pull
  Th' old soaker took of this lamb's-wool[3];
  And all his life he did forecast,
  To get the first tip and the last.

  Their thirst being partly quench'd, they chatter
  Of this and that, and t'other matter;
  And though Patroclus now drew near,
  They made such din they could not hear
  Nor see him, till he did present
  His proper self before the tent.
  Nestor then starting makes a stir,
  And cries, Your humble servant, sir!
  I'm mighty glad to see you here,
  Please to walk in and take a chair.

  Patroclus thus: I cannot sit,
  But with your leave will stand a bit;
  For I have heard my granny say,
  That whilst you stand, you do not stay.
  Achilles saw your cart go past,
  And therefore sent me out post haste
  To learn what Grecian your old cattle
  Were lugging from the field of battle;
  But to my grief I plainly view,
  Old friend Machaon, it was you.
  I know, although I am no wizard,
  Achilles will be vex'd to th' gizzard,
  To find your nags came puffing with
  Our bold and learned p----  smith:
  This news however I will carry
  With speed, so ask me not to tarry.
  I'll tell him what I see and hear
  But if I stay, you know he'll swear.

  Nestor replies: I fear Achilles
  In a d--d sulky humour still is:
  But if he really asks about us,
  And did not send you here to flout us,
  I'll tell you all, for this misfortune
  Is nought to what's behind the curtain.
  This learned skilful doctor's not
  The only hero that has got
  A broken shin or kick o' th' a--:
  But many a fierce-look'd son of Mars
  As bold as major Sturgeon's fled
  To cure a broken shin or head.
  Nay several bruisers, men of note,
  Have got their teeth knock'd down their throat;
  Ulysses has got such a stroke
  That naif his ribs are almost broke,
  And some damn'd heavy-footed foe
  Has trod upon poor Diom.'s toe;
  Besides, the blood by gallons flows
  From great Eurypylus's nose.
  But whether we are drubb'd or not,
  Achilles doth not mind a jot;
  Nay, should the Trojans burn our fleet,
  I reckon he'll be glad to see't:
  Greek after Greek gets rapp'd o' th' knuckles,
  Whilst he sits still and grins and chuckles.
  The devil fetch old Time, I say,
  For stealing all my strength away!
  O that I was but half as strong
  As when I drove the world along!
  From Elis fetch'd a roaring bull,
  And crack'd their general's thick skull:
  Then drove th' Epeans all like thunder,
  And got the Lord knows what of plunder;
  Their herds of sheep when we did meet 'em,
  We very seldom fail'd to eat 'em;
  Then stole their breeding mares, all big
  With foal, and many a goat and pig.
  These things I did when but a boy,
  And made my daddy jump for joy.
  Elis, thus basted, hung their ears,
  And grumbling paid their old arrears;
  And Pylian knights, so special poor
  They turn'd a farthing three times o'er
  Before it went, now found their breeches'
  Pockets too shallow for their riches.
  When Elis first came out to dare us,
  They thought they easily could scare us,
  Because one Hercules, a bully,
  Had almost done our business fully:
  Twelve lads my father got, and he
  Demolish'd ev'ry soul but me.
  Howe'er, we ventur'd out to kick 'em,
  Resolv'd to lose our lives, or lick 'em;
  Which, 'faith! we did, and made 'em glad
  To give to my old crusty dad
  Three dozen ewes--they ow'd him that
  For cheating him o' th' gold-lac'd hat
  Which he had won at May-day fair
  By proving the best cudgel-player;
  Both his lac'd hat and cudgel too
  The constable detain'd, but now
  We made the rogues severely rue.
  What more we got, myself dealt out
  Amongst our jolly boys so stout.
  But in three days they came again,
  Both horses, carts, and drunken men.
  Old Actor's sons, two bullying roysters,
  Whose mother sells fine Welflit oysters
  Under a bulk in Drury-lane--
  These bastards led this drunken train.
  Thryoessa, a pretty village,
  Not fam'd, as you may think, for tillage,
  Because upon a rock it lay,
  Was the last place we had that way;
  That little town, if you'll inquire,
  Ended the bound of Pylos' shire:
  'Twas there the rascals came to see us,
  And cross'd a dyke they call Alpheus;
  But Pallas came one foggy night,
  Turn out, says she, my boys, and fight.
  On which with speed we left our rock,
  And march'd to give the dogs a knock.
  I first got ready; but my dad,
  Afraid lest they should hurt his lad,
  Lock'd up my boots and jacket too,
  And d--d his eyes if I should go!
  But wilful I resolv'd to do't,
  So tramp'd it all the way on foot.
  By Minyas stream we push'd the bowl,
  Whilst we look'd o'er the muster-roll;
  And long before the day begun
  All got their buff-skin doublets on,
  Except myself, for I had none:
  And all our bucks were cloth'd so bare,
  Not one had got a coat to spare
  Then trudg'd it to the very border
  Of Alpheus' stream, in train-band order.
  Quickly, to set all right above,
  We cook'd a dinner up for Jove,
  Of something very good and hot,
  Though what it was I've quite forgot:
  Minerva had a dinner too,
  The udder of a rare old cow:
  Alpheus came a meal to seek,
  For him we stew'd a fine bull's cheek.
  Neptune, we knew, was stall'd with fish,
  We therefore cook'd him up a dish
  Of lean bull-beef with cabbage fried,
  And a full pot of beer beside:
  Bubble[4], they call this dish, and squeak;
  Our taylors dine on't thrice a week.
  By th' water-side the men all kept,
  And in their buff-skin doublets slept,
  All but poor me; but here I had
  Borrow'd an itchy lousy plaid
  Of a Scotch loon, from whom I bought
  A rare good neckcloth for a groat--
  Those plaids are special things to watch in,
  They keep a man so warm with scratching.
  Th' Epeans, with their loins all bound
  In carriers' belts, our town surround.
  Soon as the red-fac'd fiery Sun
  Had curl'd his whiskers, and begun
  To look about him, we to battle
  March'd out, and made their noddles rattle.
  And now I box'd it in my waistcoat,
  Better than some that had a lac'd coat:
  King Augeas' son I tumbled down,
  And with a thumping knock o' th' crown,
  Gave a confounded broken head
  To this great spouse of Agamede,
  A girl so skilful, that she knew,
  Amongst all kind of herbs that grew,
  None made such bitter drink as rue.
  I seiz'd his cart when he was down,
  And swore I'd keep it for my own.
  My men huzza'd as I led on,
  And made the drunken scoundrels run,
  Just like a whirlwind which in town
  Drives butchers'-stalls and green-shops down.
  I smok'd the rogues, my cudgel maul'd 'em,
  And my sharp-pointed broomshaft gall'd em;
  Full fifty carts that day I took--
  'Tis true, my friends! for all you look
  As much surpris'd as if that I,
  Like statesmen, had a mind to try
  To hum you with a thund'ring lie.
  Now you must know each cart I got
  Contained two bully-backs of note--
  None of your wishy-washy sparks,
  Attorneys' hacks and lawyers' clerks;
  But farmers' sons, rare strong-back'd youths,
  With mutton-fists and flounder-mouths:
  But when we came to a dispute,
  I kick'd the wide-mouth'd scoundrels out
  Two in each cart, you say? Why then
  You must have kick'd a hundred men
  Out of their carts that day--'Tis true, sir,
  I've men alive will vouch it now, sir!
  And Actor's sons, I would, as surely
  As you stand there, have drubb'd 'em purely;
  But Neptune saw the whole, and tried.
  With all his speed to take their side,
  Because the mother of those roysters
  Was a good customer for oysters.
  To save their bacon, what doth he
  But pops a cloud 'twixt them and me,
  So thick, one mouthful did, I'm sure,
  Make me stand coughing half an hour!
  And there you might have seen me stuck up,
  Boaking as if I'd bring my pluck up:
  And would have given any money
  For Doctor Hill's balsamic honey.
  But still I drove the rest in flocks
  As far as the Olinian rocks:
  Then, where Aliseum's waters drop,
  Pallas call'd out, Plague on you! stop.
  When you begin to kick and cuff,
  You know not when you've done enough.
  Yet even there I came i' th' nick
  To lend the last a hearty kick:
  Smite both my eyes! I scorn to puff,
  But here 'twas I that work'd their buff!
  On my strong toe this fray depended,
  Nestor began, and Nestor ended.
  Our parsons then, to crown this job,
  Order'd long prayers to hum the mob
  At Pyle; where the folks, d'ye see,
  Thank'd Madam Pallas first, then me.
  Thus, when a cub, my blood took fire,
  And made me box it for my shire:
  The passion of this chum of yours
  Has kick'd his reason out of doors;
  When they have sent us to the devil,
  Who values then his being civil,
  Unless the bully will agree
  To hang himself for company?
  The day I ever shall remember,
  I think 'twas some time in December,
  And blow'd a mack'rel gale, when we
  To muster soldiers put to sea;
  I and Ulysses landed where
  His father kept the Old Black Bear;
  We found him with his handmaid Nelly,
  Preparing timber for the belly.
  A bull upon a spit he puts,
  And gave to whoring Jove the guts.
  Thy good old dad and thee were turning
  The spit, to keep the fineat from burning
  Achilles help'd to bear a bob,
  For troth it was a warmish job;
  He was the first of all to 'spy us,
  And made a leg as he came nigh us,
  Told us, if we would pick a bit,
  He'd cut a slice from off the spit.
  We neither of us were so nice
  As stay to be entreated twice:
  After twelve pots were fairly out
  We mentioned what we came about.
  Strong beer will oft make men, you know,
  As loving as a Trinculo;
  'Twas so with you two bucks, you kiss'd us,
  And swore by Jove you would assist us:
  Your dads spoke words worth tons of gold;
  Old Peleus said, My son, be bold!
  I've heard a fellow talk an hour
  In Stephen's chapel, yet I'm sure,
  Nay, on occasion I would swear it,
  He did not say so much, or near it.
  Your father's speech was rather longer;
  Quoth he, Though Peleus' son be stronger,
  And for his mother had a witch,
  Yet when upon too high a pitch
  He raves and swears, mind you and cool him,
  And then you easily may rule him.
  Thus spake your dad; but you, I find,
  Have quite forgot, or else don't mind:
  Though, if you will but try, you may
  (A will can always find a way)
  Persuade him to assist us now,
  I  know he'll do a deal for you:
  But if some fortune-telling witch,
  Some long-chinn'd, long-nos'd, ugly bitch
  Of Mother Shipton's breed, has made
  His mighty heart and pluck afraid,
  Tell him, Troy's rogues will change their note,
  If he'll but lend you his great coat.
  Put on his bear-skin coat, and meet 'em,
  If they don't run, by G-- I'll eat 'em;
  Back to their village will they scamper,
  Nor longer thus our Grecians hamper;
  Each man his own dear self will mind most,
  And bid the devil take the hindmost.

  At hearing of this doleful ditty,
  The bold Thessalian, touch'd with pity,
  Like a lamp-lighter, o'er the plain
  Ran back with all his might and main.
  It happen'd, as he cross'd a place
  Where Cox, a justice of the peace,
  Was sending little whores to jail
  For want of pence as well as bail,
  Just where Ulysses' cock-boats lay,
  From whence, a very little way,
  Their jolly parsons us'd to pray,
  Eurypylus he chanc'd to 'spy,
  As the great chief came hopping by,
  With a sad prick upon his thigh,
  Which gave the Greek such grievous pain,
  It made him sweat and smoke again:
  But I would have understood,
  Though he look'd blue, his heart was good.
  Patroclus could not help from crying,
  To see him limp along; when, sighing,
  He thus begins: Now, by my soul,
  You've got into a damn'd bad hole!
  In an ill day ye sure set out,
  To get so drubb'd and kick'd about.
  But say, my friend, how matters stand;
  Doth Hector hold his heavy hand,
  Or still bestir his wooden sabre,
  And all your backs and sides belabour?

  The chief replies, and faintly reels,
  This day shall Greece kick up her heels;
  Greece, like Britannia, ends her glories,
  And loyal whigs give way to tories;
  The hearts of oak that led us on,
  All black and blue on board are gone,
  Where Hector in the shape of Ch-t-am
  Swears by his crutches he'll be at 'em
  Rather than disoblige L--d B--,
  He took an oath last night he'd do't,
  In spite of conscience, pox, or gout.
  But I could wish that you, my friend,
  At this sore pinch a hand would lend
  To find the point of this curs'd arrow!
  But borrow first the butcher's barrow,
  And wheel me to my lodgings, where
  I've got all sorts of quack'ry gear,
  And ev'ry kind of ointment which
  Are good for scabs, or burns, or itch--
  You best know what, because they say
  You serv'd three years to Surgeon Gray,
  And then thought fit to run away.
  Surgeons of note we have but two,
  And one is boxing hard just now;
  The other, by the Trojan rout,
  Has almost got his eyes knock'd out.

  Patroclus thus replies: My friend,
  God knows where this strange work will end,
  For ev'ry drunken rogue can splutter ill
  'Bout Wilkes and Glynn, and Bute and Luttrell.
  I  brought a message to our grandsire,
  And was returning with his answer
  To great Achilles; but although
  He's an impatient whelp, you know,
  Before I'll leave you in the mud,
  I'll let him swear till swearing's good.

  Then, though it made his sinews crack,
  He took the bully on his back.
  His handmaid 'spied him from the boats,
  Riding just like a sack of oats:
  Guessing he'd got a broken head,
  Or some d--d kick o' th' guts, she spread
  An old cow's hide upon his bed.
  Patroclus then, with very narrow
  Inspection, found the point o' th' arrow,
  Which he pull'd out as soon as found,
  And, making water in the wound,
  Wrapp'd an old clout, a little greasy,
  About the thigh, and left him easy.

  [1] In Yorkshire they call fat sheep hogs.

  [2] A sea-term.

  [3] Ale with roasted apples in it is called lamb-wool.

  [4] Fried beef and cabbage is a dish so well known by the name of
bubble-and-squeak in town, that it is only for the sake of my country
readers I insert this note.

  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