A Burlesque Translation of Homer

A Burlesque Translation of Homer
Francis Grose

Thomas Bridges

active 1759-1775 Thomas Bridges

A Burlesque Translation of Homer

THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD

ARGUMENT

Atrides, as the story goes,
Took parson Chrysis by the nose.
Apollo, as the gods all do,
Of Christian, Pagan, Turk, or Jew,
On that occasion did not fail
To back his parson tooth and nail.
This caus'd a dev'lish quarrel 'tween
Pelides and the king of men;
Which ended to Achilles' cost,
Because a buxom wench he lost.
On which great Jove and's wife fell out,
And made a damn'd confounded rout:
And, had not honest Vulcan seen 'em
Ready for blows, and stepp'd between 'em;
'Tis two to one but their dispute
Had ended in a scratching-bout.
Juno at last was over-aw'd,
Or Jove had been well clapper-claw'd.

SOMETHING BY WAY OF PREFACE

Good people, would you know the reason
I write at this unlucky season,
When all the nation is so poor
That few can keep above one whore,
Except the lawyers – (whose large fees
Maintain as many as they please) —
And Pope, with taste and judgement great,
Has deign'd this author to translate —
The reason's this: – He may not please
The jocund tribe so well as these;
For all capacities can't climb
To comprehend the true sublime.
Another reason I can tell,
Though silence might do full as well;
But being charg'd – discharge I must,
For bladder, if too full, will burst.
The writers of the merry class,
E'er since the time of Hudibras,
In this strange blunder all agree,
To murder short-legg'd poetry.
Words, though design'd to make ye smile,
Why mayn't they run as smooth as oil?
No poetaster can convince
A man of any kind of sense,
That verse can be the greater treasure,
Because it wants both weight and measure
Or can persuade, that false rough metre,
Than true and smooth, by far is sweeter.
This is the wherefore; and the why,
Have patience, you'll see by-and-by.

HOMER'S ILIAD

BOOK I

Come, Mrs. Muse, but, if a maid,
Then come Miss Muse, and lend me aid!
Ten thousand jingling verses bring,
That I Achilles' wrath may sing,
That I may chant in curious fashion
This doughty hero's boiling passion,
Which plagu'd the Greeks; and gave 'em double
A Christian's share of toil and trouble,
And, in a manner quite uncivil,
Sent many a Broughton to the devil;
Leaving their carcasses on rows,
Food for great dogs and carrion crows.
To this sad pass the bully's freaks
Had brought his countryfolks the Greeks!
But who the devil durst say no,
Since surly Jove would have it so?
Come tell us then, dear Miss, from whence
The quarrel rose: who gave th' offence?
Latona's son, with fiery locks,
Amongst them sent both plague and pox.
And prov'd most damnably obdurate,
Because the king had vex'd his curate;
For which offence the god annoy'd 'em,
And by whole waggon-loads destroy'd 'em.

The case was this: These sons of thunder
Took a plump wench amongst their plunder.
A red-nos'd priest came hobbling after,
With presents to redeem his daughter;
Like a poor supplicant did stand,
With an old garland in his hand