A Burlesque Translation of Homer

Take care you keep the shape you seem,
Says Jove; then do directly go
To Agamemnon's tent below:
Tell him to arm his ragged knaves
With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,
Then instantly their time employ
To rattle down the walls of Troy.
Tell him, in this, Miss Destiny
And all the heav'nly crew agree:
For Juno has made such a riot,
The gods do aught to keep her quiet.

Away goes Dream upon the wing,
And stands before the snoring king:
Grave Nestor's coat and figure took,
As old as he, as wise his look,
Rubs the cull's noddle with his wings,
And, full of guile, thus small he sings:

Monarch, how canst thou sleeping lie,
When thou hast other fish to fry?
O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,
Whose father was a skilful farrier,
Hast thou no thought about decorum,
Who art the very head o'th' quorum?
I shame myself to think I'm catching
Thee fast asleep, instead of watching.
Is not all Greece pinn'd on thy lap?
Rise, and for once postpone thy nap,
Lest by some rogue it should be said,
The chief of chiefs went drunk to bed:
For Jove, by whom you are respected,
Says your affairs sh'an't be neglected;
So sends you word he now is poring
On your concerns, whilst you are snoring:
He bids thee arm thy ragged knaves
With cudgels, spits, and quarter-staves,
Then instantly thy time employ
To rattle down the walls of Troy:
To this, he adds, Miss Destiny
And all the heav'nly crew agree:
For Juno has made such a riot,
The gods do aught to keep her quiet.

Then nothing more this Nothing says,
But turn'd about, and went his ways.
Up starts the king, and with his nail
Scratch'd both his head, and back, and tail;
And all the while his fancy's tickl'd,
To think how Troy would soon be pickl'd.
A silly goose! he little knew
What surly Jove resolv'd to do;
What shoals of sturdy knaves must tumble
Before they could the Trojans humble.
Down on an ancient chopping-block
This mighty warrior clapp'd his dock
(The block, worn out with chopping meat,
Now made the chief a rare strong seat):
Then don'd his shirt with Holland cuff,
For, Frenchman-like, he lay in buff;
Next o'er his greasy doublet threw
A thread-bare coat that once was blue,
But dirt and time had chang'd its hue;
Slipp'd on his shoes, but lately cobbled,
And to the board of council hobbled;
But took his sword with brazen hilt,
And wooden sceptre finely gilt.
Now, Madam Morn popp'd up her face,
And told 'em day came on apace;
When Agamemnon's beadles rouse
The Greeks to hear this joyful news.
He long'd, like breeding wife, it seems,
To tell his tickling, pleasing dreams.
I' th' int'rim, trotting to the fleet,
Old Nestor there he chanc'd to meet,
Whose tent he borrows for that morn,
To make a council-chamber on;
And reason good he had, I ween,
It kept his own apartment clean.

Now all-hands met, he takes his time,
And told his case in prose or rhyme:

Friends, neighbours, and confed'rates bold,
Attend, whilst I my tale unfold:
As in my bed I lay last night,
I saw an odd-look'd kind of sprite;
It seem'd, grave Nestor, to my view,
Just such a queer old put as you —
'Tis fact, for all your surly look —
And this short speech distinctly spoke:

How canst thou, monarch, sleeping lie,
When thou hast other fish to fry?
O Atreus' son, thou mighty warrior,
Whose father was a special farrier
(Which, by the by, although 'tis true,
Yet I'd be glad you'd tell me how
This bushy-bearded spirit knew),
Hast thou no thought about decorum,