A Burlesque Translation of Homer

At all your prizes have a stroke;
Ulysses' booty will I seize,
Or thine or Ajax', if I please.
The man that's hurt may bawl and roar,
And swear, but he can do no more.
But this some other time may do,
I must go launch a sand-barge now:
Victuals and cooks I must take care,
With oars and pilots, to prepare;
See the ropes tarr'd, the bottom mended,
And the old sails well piec'd and bended
Then put the wench on board the boat,
Attended by some man of note,
By Creta's chief, or, if he misses,
By Ajax, or by sly Ulysses;
Or, if I please, I'll make you skip
Aboard, as captain of the ship.
We make no doubt but you with ease
His angry godship may appease;
Or else your goggle eyes, that fright us,
May scare him so he'll cease to smite us.

You would have sworn this mortal twitch
Had given old Peleus' son the itch,
So hard he scratch'd; at last found vent,
And back to him this answer sent:

Thou wretch, to all true hearts a stain,
Thou damn'd infernal rogue in grain!
Thou greater hypocrite than G-ml-y,
Thou dirtier dog than Jeremy L – y!
Whose deeds, like thine, will ever be
A scandal to nobility;
From this good day I hope no chief
Will fight thy broils, or eat thy beef.
How canst thou hope thy men will stand,
When under such a rogue's command?
What bus'ness I to fight thy battle?
The Trojans never stole my cattle.
My farm, secur'd by rocks and sands,
Was safe from all their thieving bands.
My steeds fed safe, both grey and dapple;
Nor could they steal a single apple
From any orchard did belong
To me, my fences were so strong.
I kept off all such sons of bitches
With quick-set hedges fac'd with ditches.
Our farm can all good things supply,
Our men can box, and so can I.
Hither we came, 'tis shame I'm sure,
To fight, for what? an arrant whore!
A pretty story this to tell.
Instead of being treated well,
As a reward for all our blows,
We're kick'd about by your dog's nose.
And dar'st thou think to seize my plunder,
For which I made the battle thunder,
And men and horses truckle under?
No! since it was the Grecians' gift,
To keep it I shall make a shift.
What wouldst thou have? thou hadst the best
Of every thing; nay, 'tis no jest:
But you take care to leave, I see,
The fighting trade to fools like me.
In this you show the statesman's skill,
To let fools fight whilst you sit still.
First I'm humbugg'd with some poor toy,
Then clapp'd o' th' back, and call'd brave boy.
This shall no more hold water, friend:
My 'prenticeship this day shall end.
When I go, and my men to boots,
I leave thee then a king of clouts.

The general gave him tit for tat,
And answer'd, cocking first his hat:
Go, and be hang'd, you blust'ring whelp,
Pray who the murrain wants your help?
When you are gone, I know there are
Col'nels sufficient for the war,
Militia bucks that know no fears,
Brave fishmongers and auctioneers.
Besides, great Jove will fight for us,
What need we then this mighty fuss?
Thou lov'st to quarrel, fratch, and jangle,
To scold and swear, and fight and wrangle.
Great strength thou hast, and pray what then?
Art thou so stupid, canst not ken,
The gods, that ev'ry thing can see,
Give strength to bears as well as thee?
Of all Jove's sons, a bastard host,
For reasons good, I hate thee most.
Prithee be packing; thou'rt not fit,
Or here to stand, or there to sit:
In your own parish kick your scrubs,
They're taught to bear such kind of rubs;
But, for my part, I scorn the help
Of such a noisy, bullying whelp:
Go therefore, friend, and learn at school,
First to obey, and then to rule.
The gods they say for Chryseis send,