Ovid in Masquerade Being A Burlesque upon the xiiith Book of His Metamorphoses, containing the Celebrated Speeches of Ajax and Ulysses. Designed for the Entertainment of those who had rather Laugh and be Merry, than be Merry and Wise. By Mr. Joseph Gay [i.e. J. D. Breval] |
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 | Ovid in Masquerade |  |
Omne Super vacuum pleno de'pectore manat,
Hor.
Hor.
All Whims, and quaint Conundrums drain,
From Maggots crawling in the Brain.
From Maggots crawling in the Brain.
OVID IN Masquerade.
The Argument.
In
Ancient Times the Leacher Paris
Aboard his rotten Trojan Wherries,
With Knights and Captains some Seventeen-a
Skull'd o're directly for Mycæna,
And there (to make my Story short)
Was Nobly entertain'd at Court;
Aboard his rotten Trojan Wherries,
With Knights and Captains some Seventeen-a
Skull'd o're directly for Mycæna,
And there (to make my Story short)
Was Nobly entertain'd at Court;
But like a Villain proud and shameless,
He play'd a trick that shall be Nameless,
By basely taking an Occasion
To slip into the Conversation,
Of th'Oldest, Wither'd Punk i'th' Nation.
He play'd a trick that shall be Nameless,
By basely taking an Occasion
To slip into the Conversation,
Of th'Oldest, Wither'd Punk i'th' Nation.
What then does th'ugly Toothless Gypsie,
But into Trojan Lighters Whips ye,
And did both Sails and Oars Employ,
To reach the Sandy Coasts of Troy.
Her Cuckold Rants, and Roves, and Mutters,
And Swears, and Stares, and Raves, and Sputters,
And from Coasts distant Jove knows whither,
Call's all his Horned Mates together;
To her each comes Rowing in his Skull-
-Er to Fight Trojans for the Trull!
Which Paris with a Pox had married,
When her from Grecian Coasts he carried.
A thousand well built Boats and Gallies,
In the Capacious Port of Aulis,
Conspir'd to Trap the Fornicator,
Alive or Dead by Land or Water.
But into Trojan Lighters Whips ye,
And did both Sails and Oars Employ,
To reach the Sandy Coasts of Troy.
Her Cuckold Rants, and Roves, and Mutters,
And Swears, and Stares, and Raves, and Sputters,
And from Coasts distant Jove knows whither,
Call's all his Horned Mates together;
-Er to Fight Trojans for the Trull!
Which Paris with a Pox had married,
When her from Grecian Coasts he carried.
A thousand well built Boats and Gallies,
In the Capacious Port of Aulis,
Conspir'd to Trap the Fornicator,
Alive or Dead by Land or Water.
Thus Europe and all Asia Strove
To fetch the Cuckold Home his Love,
The Ceptaurs kick'd down Stools, and Benches
And broke their Shins to save their Wenches,
The Romans ventur'd thus their Lives,
And box'd their Fathers for their Wives.
To fetch the Cuckold Home his Love,
The Ceptaurs kick'd down Stools, and Benches
And broke their Shins to save their Wenches,
The Romans ventur'd thus their Lives,
And box'd their Fathers for their Wives.
The Greeks did Ten long Years employ,
To gain a Country Town call'd Troy;
And many a Lad, and many a Lass,
By turns endur'd a Fatal Pass,
Whilst others, rather than fall Martyrs,
Most Stoutly shew'd their hinder Quarters,
And so procur'd Immortal Glory,
Like Tobit's Hound, in Sacred Story.
To gain a Country Town call'd Troy;
And many a Lad, and many a Lass,
By turns endur'd a Fatal Pass,
Whilst others, rather than fall Martyrs,
Most Stoutly shew'd their hinder Quarters,
And so procur'd Immortal Glory,
Like Tobit's Hound, in Sacred Story.
'Mongst whom the Lathback'd Loon Achilles,
(As ancient Grecian Stories tell us)
Was by his Foes Slic'd all to Fritters,
In middle of his Amorous Twitters.
(As ancient Grecian Stories tell us)
Was by his Foes Slic'd all to Fritters,
In middle of his Amorous Twitters.
But left his Spurs, and Boots, and Breeches,
To be the Subject of these Speeches.
To be the Subject of these Speeches.
1
THE SPEECHES OF AJAX and ULYSSES.
The roaring Dons of Greece sat down
Like Cross-leg'd Taylors on the Ground,
Whilst paultry Ragamuffians stand,
With Bodies bow'd, and Caps in Hand:
Ajax, mean-while, in Fight well skill'd,
When aided with old Basket-hilt,
Like a great Tun, came tumbling thither,
See'ng Folks engag'd by th'Ears together;
And rolling round his glaring Saucers,
'Twixt Hawk and Buzzard, bellows, Oh Sirs!
Like Cross-leg'd Taylors on the Ground,
Whilst paultry Ragamuffians stand,
With Bodies bow'd, and Caps in Hand:
Ajax, mean-while, in Fight well skill'd,
When aided with old Basket-hilt,
Like a great Tun, came tumbling thither,
See'ng Folks engag'd by th'Ears together;
And rolling round his glaring Saucers,
'Twixt Hawk and Buzzard, bellows, Oh Sirs!
There lye the Cock-boats, Skulls and Lighters,
That sail'd from Aulis fill'd wi' Fighters;
Then holding up his gouty Paws,
To Jove, he cries, I urge my Cause—
And shall that cow'rdly Rogue Ulysses,
Whose skill in Battles not worth this is,
And with the Fright himself be-pisses;
Shall such a Scoundrel Wretch as he,
In feats of Arms be nam'd wi' me?
Who durst not step to stem the Tide,
When Hector bang'd us back and side:
And had I not stood up to hinder,
H'had burnt these Boats of ours to Tinder.
But there's less Danger, he supposes,
In breaking Jests, than bleeding Noses;
Or he would ne'er pretend to budge else,
At sight of Quarter-staves or Cudgels.
But tho' I be renown'd in Fight,
Whose Name's enough to make him Sh***e;
His flatt'ring Speeches oft prevail,
And make me silently turn Tail.
But there's no need, my merry Greeks,
To tell long Stories of my Freaks;
Nox, that black Gypsie, could not screen 'em,
But each Man here full oft has seen 'em,
Or else I'll swear the Devil's in 'em.
Now let Ulysses make a Speech
(And after take't to wipe his Breech)
Of creeping through the Grecian Trenches,
And picking up the Trojan Wenches,
Till by his oft repeated Knocks,
Unhinging Doors, and picking Locks,
My Spark was pepper'd with a Pox.
I must confess, great Gifts I sought,
But who (the Devil) would have thought,
That such a Scandal to the Donor,
Should be my Rival in this Honour?
If he succeeds, he'll strut like Bustard,
And feed on Cheesecakes, Tarts and Custard,
Regardless of his quondam Cheer,
Of Commons short, and sour small Beer.
Yea, even now he has his Wishes,
(Tho' dull as Ass, and mute as Fish lies.)
When 't shall be said without controul
That He and I walk'd Cheek by Jowl;
And, tho' he be genteelly beat, yet,
To such a Scoundrel 'twill be Credit.
That sail'd from Aulis fill'd wi' Fighters;
2
To Jove, he cries, I urge my Cause—
And shall that cow'rdly Rogue Ulysses,
Whose skill in Battles not worth this is,
And with the Fright himself be-pisses;
Shall such a Scoundrel Wretch as he,
In feats of Arms be nam'd wi' me?
Who durst not step to stem the Tide,
When Hector bang'd us back and side:
And had I not stood up to hinder,
H'had burnt these Boats of ours to Tinder.
But there's less Danger, he supposes,
In breaking Jests, than bleeding Noses;
Or he would ne'er pretend to budge else,
At sight of Quarter-staves or Cudgels.
But tho' I be renown'd in Fight,
Whose Name's enough to make him Sh***e;
His flatt'ring Speeches oft prevail,
And make me silently turn Tail.
But there's no need, my merry Greeks,
To tell long Stories of my Freaks;
3
But each Man here full oft has seen 'em,
Or else I'll swear the Devil's in 'em.
Now let Ulysses make a Speech
(And after take't to wipe his Breech)
Of creeping through the Grecian Trenches,
And picking up the Trojan Wenches,
Till by his oft repeated Knocks,
Unhinging Doors, and picking Locks,
My Spark was pepper'd with a Pox.
I must confess, great Gifts I sought,
But who (the Devil) would have thought,
That such a Scandal to the Donor,
Should be my Rival in this Honour?
If he succeeds, he'll strut like Bustard,
And feed on Cheesecakes, Tarts and Custard,
Regardless of his quondam Cheer,
Of Commons short, and sour small Beer.
Yea, even now he has his Wishes,
(Tho' dull as Ass, and mute as Fish lies.)
When 't shall be said without controul
That He and I walk'd Cheek by Jowl;
And, tho' he be genteelly beat, yet,
To such a Scoundrel 'twill be Credit.
4
Now Sirs, If any here have thought
That, or my birth, or breeding's naught,
Know I am Sprung from the great Telamon,
Who with his double Fist would fell-a-Man:
Who with Alcides Sack'd the Trojans,
A Crew of Cowardly Curmudgeons;
Plunder'd their Cellars, Robb'd their Daries,
And play'd great store of odd Vagaries;
Rub'd out their Milk-Scores, Spoil'd all in doors,
And threw their Houses out at Windows.
Then with stout Jason did he Post
With swelling Sails from Grecian Coast,
Where, by Medæa's Art, the Witches
Did steal away Old Æta's Breeches;
And 'Scaping Dragons, Bulls and Dogs,
They search'd the Linings and the Fobs;
And inside outwards turning Pockets;
Took Watches, Jewels, Rings, and Lockets;
And without e'er a Person Killing,
Got many a Good Queen Bess's Shilling.
That, or my birth, or breeding's naught,
Know I am Sprung from the great Telamon,
Who with his double Fist would fell-a-Man:
Who with Alcides Sack'd the Trojans,
A Crew of Cowardly Curmudgeons;
Plunder'd their Cellars, Robb'd their Daries,
And play'd great store of odd Vagaries;
Rub'd out their Milk-Scores, Spoil'd all in doors,
And threw their Houses out at Windows.
Then with stout Jason did he Post
With swelling Sails from Grecian Coast,
Where, by Medæa's Art, the Witches
Did steal away Old Æta's Breeches;
And 'Scaping Dragons, Bulls and Dogs,
They search'd the Linings and the Fobs;
And inside outwards turning Pockets;
Took Watches, Jewels, Rings, and Lockets;
And without e'er a Person Killing,
Got many a Good Queen Bess's Shilling.
Then boasted (at return to Greece,)
By force they'd gain'd the Golden Fleece.
But all the truth that I could gather;
Th'Young Whore had Rob'd, th'Old Rogue, her Father.
By force they'd gain'd the Golden Fleece.
But all the truth that I could gather;
Th'Young Whore had Rob'd, th'Old Rogue, her Father.
5
Now having made this short Digression,
My former story straight I'll press on.
My Father's Dad was old Æac,
Who makes the Silent Ghosts to quake.
Great Jove was his immortal Sire,
(Or else our Author was a Liar)
And therefore (Grandsires) in one Word,
Your Servant is, from Jove, the Third.
My former story straight I'll press on.
My Father's Dad was old Æac,
Who makes the Silent Ghosts to quake.
Great Jove was his immortal Sire,
(Or else our Author was a Liar)
And therefore (Grandsires) in one Word,
Your Servant is, from Jove, the Third.
Yet ne'ertheless, begging your pardon,
I value not this Race one Farthing,
Had not Achilles been my Brother,
In feats of Arms just such another.
I therefore now request (with Tears)
His Sword, Belt, Boots, and Bandaliers.
But shall a Brat of Sysiph's strain,
That's like his Sire (a Rogue in grain)
Carry these Trinkets of Achilles,
Into a foreign Island? tell us.
I value not this Race one Farthing,
Had not Achilles been my Brother,
In feats of Arms just such another.
I therefore now request (with Tears)
His Sword, Belt, Boots, and Bandaliers.
But shall a Brat of Sysiph's strain,
That's like his Sire (a Rogue in grain)
Carry these Trinkets of Achilles,
Into a foreign Island? tell us.
6
Or 'cause I first abandon'd dwelling,
To seek adventures, none Compelling;
Can they in justice be deny'd me,
And giv'n to e'er a Rogue? beside me.
To seek adventures, none Compelling;
Can they in justice be deny'd me,
And giv'n to e'er a Rogue? beside me.
Shall he who last came here with sadness,
Biting his Thumbs, and feigning Madness,
(Till honest Palamede Constrain'd him,
And with a Muck-fork almost Brain'd him
Dragg'd him along to Troy's Confusion)
Obtain your latest Resolution?
Biting his Thumbs, and feigning Madness,
(Till honest Palamede Constrain'd him,
And with a Muck-fork almost Brain'd him
Dragg'd him along to Troy's Confusion)
Obtain your latest Resolution?
Shall he with Sword, and Buckler Swagger,
With Musket, Bayonet, and Dagger,
Who late his Goad, and Cartwhip wav'ring,
Tag, Rag, and Bobtail was belab'ring,
Sowing his Land with Salt, appear,
Arm'd Cap-a-pee like Granadier?
And would he had been Mad. 'Ods bores!
And ne'er had touch'd the Trojan Shores;
Then had not Pæan's Son behind
To barren Lemnos been Confin'd.
Nor mov'd the most obdurate Hearts,
In wishing th'Rogue his due Deserts.
And sure his Prayers will find relief,
Unless the Devil himself be Deaf;
Bow'd with Diseases, pin'd with Hunger,
He's forc'd a dismal Life to linger,
Whilst with Alcides poison'd Arrows,
He for his sustenance shoots Sparrows.
Those that were doom'd to pelt the Trojans,
Shoot Buzzards, Cuckows, Owls and Widgeons,
Rob'd of his Country's Beef and Bacon,
Of all his dearest Friends forsaken:
Yet does he live, (tho' Goutify'd)
Because Ulysses wa'nt his Guide?
Had Palamede been left, vile Treason
Had ne'er unjustly stopt his Weazon;
Nor had the Rope's remorseless strength
Stretch'd out his Crag to such a length.
But rubbing up his Mind with Sadness,
Of's sowing Salt, and feigning Madness,
And how this stout Eubæan flogger
To make a Hero spoil'd Plow-jogger:
He straight Equips a brace o' Villains.
Sons of the Earth, disgrac'd Postillions,
(Who for their Hire, and Masters thanks,
Would Swear, and Lye thro' Six-Inch Planks.)
These vouch'd that once his Guts being limber,
H'had sold the Greeks for Belly-Timber.
How Bread, and Cheese, and Eggs and Collops,
Were brought to's Tent by dirty Trollops;
How Wings of Geese, and Legs of Capons,
Were close convey'd under their Aprons;
Black Puddings Cramm'd into his Breeches,
So hard as almost Crack'd the Stitches.
And if they went with Spade and Shovel,
And digg'd behind his little Hovel,
In an old Churn they'd find good Cheer,
Hid by this knavish Privateer.
Thus run the Grecian Cheifs to ruin
Whilst he fresh Mischiefs still is brewing,
By Daggers, Ropes, and Drugs Subdueing.
Thus fights the brave renown'd Ulysses,
His strength and Policy like this is.
But tho' his Wit would match Old Nestor,
(With which he makes this deadly pester.)
Can the grave Crump-back'd Don forsaken,
When well he might have sav'd his Bacon,
Be for a badge of Friendship taken:
His Horse being Lam'd with Thumps, and Knocks,
His Master Maim'd with Gout, and Pox,
And Compass'd round, was basely sold
By this his Bosom Friend for Gold.
These Crimes are known to great Tydides,
Whose Fame for Chivalry full wide is,
And how that in the heat of Battle,
He'ad almost broke his Strings that twattle:
Well might he bawl out 'Lysses, 'Lysses,
Was e'er a Coward so swift as this is,
When Lyon's Skin, and Fox's Tail,
That is, both Strength, and Craft do fail;
Then by the lightness of his Crupper,
He baulk'd the Vermin of a Supper.
Thus all in hast away he scours,
Wishing a Pox on his Pursuers;
Until Old Nick (for all his Running)
Was for his trusty Slave too cunning:
Whilst him a sturdy Rogue belabours,
He bauls out, dearest Friends, kind Neighbours,
(Sure never Mortal look'd so silly,)
Head, Arms, and Legs, Back, Breast and Belly,
He swore, were beaten to a Jelly;
I ran forthwith, and saw him quaking,
His very Teeth in's Codpiece shaking,
The Countenance of this same Varlet,
Was Pale as Wall, now Red as Scarlet;
But when the Rogue had brush'd his Jacket,
(And Faith he did genteely thwack it,)
I the blind Harper strait trapanning,
Did save his Hide a second Tanning:
Thus whilst he's cross'd, and toss'd, and tumbl'd,
Till Bones were bruis'd, and Gizzard grumbl'd:
Hid with my Jerkin he's as still,
And full as safe as Thief in Mill;
With that, my Spark I straight uncover,
When Storms were past, and Dangers over,
And then a Recompence to make me,
He fled, and bid the Devil take me.
But lo the roaring Hector comes,
Arm'd with long Mopstaves, Spits, and Brooms,
Attended with his bully Roysters,
That soop up Greeks, as Men eat Oysters,
Which horrid, strange, amazing Sight,
Not only does Ulysses fright,
But stoutest Foes themselves besh***e.
Yet for all's Vapouring, and Brawling
Of's mighty Feats, I laid him sprawling,
And when his Partners strove to mad us,
By hurling Stones, and Brickbats at us,
With a huge Cowturd straight I fell'd him,
At which his Chums with Tears beheld him.
I must confess to th'Gods (my Grecians)
I bid you offer your Petitions,
Which made them turn their Tails, and scamper,
Not daring any more to tamper;
Spurring each other on in hast,
And wishing Devil to take the last.
With Musket, Bayonet, and Dagger,
Who late his Goad, and Cartwhip wav'ring,
Tag, Rag, and Bobtail was belab'ring,
Sowing his Land with Salt, appear,
Arm'd Cap-a-pee like Granadier?
And would he had been Mad. 'Ods bores!
And ne'er had touch'd the Trojan Shores;
Then had not Pæan's Son behind
To barren Lemnos been Confin'd.
7
In wishing th'Rogue his due Deserts.
And sure his Prayers will find relief,
Unless the Devil himself be Deaf;
Bow'd with Diseases, pin'd with Hunger,
He's forc'd a dismal Life to linger,
Whilst with Alcides poison'd Arrows,
He for his sustenance shoots Sparrows.
Those that were doom'd to pelt the Trojans,
Shoot Buzzards, Cuckows, Owls and Widgeons,
Rob'd of his Country's Beef and Bacon,
Of all his dearest Friends forsaken:
Yet does he live, (tho' Goutify'd)
Because Ulysses wa'nt his Guide?
Had Palamede been left, vile Treason
Had ne'er unjustly stopt his Weazon;
Nor had the Rope's remorseless strength
Stretch'd out his Crag to such a length.
But rubbing up his Mind with Sadness,
Of's sowing Salt, and feigning Madness,
And how this stout Eubæan flogger
To make a Hero spoil'd Plow-jogger:
8
Sons of the Earth, disgrac'd Postillions,
(Who for their Hire, and Masters thanks,
Would Swear, and Lye thro' Six-Inch Planks.)
These vouch'd that once his Guts being limber,
H'had sold the Greeks for Belly-Timber.
How Bread, and Cheese, and Eggs and Collops,
Were brought to's Tent by dirty Trollops;
How Wings of Geese, and Legs of Capons,
Were close convey'd under their Aprons;
Black Puddings Cramm'd into his Breeches,
So hard as almost Crack'd the Stitches.
And if they went with Spade and Shovel,
And digg'd behind his little Hovel,
In an old Churn they'd find good Cheer,
Hid by this knavish Privateer.
Thus run the Grecian Cheifs to ruin
Whilst he fresh Mischiefs still is brewing,
By Daggers, Ropes, and Drugs Subdueing.
Thus fights the brave renown'd Ulysses,
His strength and Policy like this is.
But tho' his Wit would match Old Nestor,
(With which he makes this deadly pester.)
Can the grave Crump-back'd Don forsaken,
When well he might have sav'd his Bacon,
Be for a badge of Friendship taken:
9
His Master Maim'd with Gout, and Pox,
And Compass'd round, was basely sold
By this his Bosom Friend for Gold.
These Crimes are known to great Tydides,
Whose Fame for Chivalry full wide is,
And how that in the heat of Battle,
He'ad almost broke his Strings that twattle:
Well might he bawl out 'Lysses, 'Lysses,
Was e'er a Coward so swift as this is,
When Lyon's Skin, and Fox's Tail,
That is, both Strength, and Craft do fail;
Then by the lightness of his Crupper,
He baulk'd the Vermin of a Supper.
Thus all in hast away he scours,
Wishing a Pox on his Pursuers;
Until Old Nick (for all his Running)
Was for his trusty Slave too cunning:
Whilst him a sturdy Rogue belabours,
He bauls out, dearest Friends, kind Neighbours,
(Sure never Mortal look'd so silly,)
Head, Arms, and Legs, Back, Breast and Belly,
He swore, were beaten to a Jelly;
I ran forthwith, and saw him quaking,
His very Teeth in's Codpiece shaking,
10
Was Pale as Wall, now Red as Scarlet;
But when the Rogue had brush'd his Jacket,
(And Faith he did genteely thwack it,)
I the blind Harper strait trapanning,
Did save his Hide a second Tanning:
Thus whilst he's cross'd, and toss'd, and tumbl'd,
Till Bones were bruis'd, and Gizzard grumbl'd:
Hid with my Jerkin he's as still,
And full as safe as Thief in Mill;
With that, my Spark I straight uncover,
When Storms were past, and Dangers over,
And then a Recompence to make me,
He fled, and bid the Devil take me.
But lo the roaring Hector comes,
Arm'd with long Mopstaves, Spits, and Brooms,
Attended with his bully Roysters,
That soop up Greeks, as Men eat Oysters,
Which horrid, strange, amazing Sight,
Not only does Ulysses fright,
But stoutest Foes themselves besh***e.
Yet for all's Vapouring, and Brawling
Of's mighty Feats, I laid him sprawling,
And when his Partners strove to mad us,
By hurling Stones, and Brickbats at us,
11
At which his Chums with Tears beheld him.
I must confess to th'Gods (my Grecians)
I bid you offer your Petitions,
Which made them turn their Tails, and scamper,
Not daring any more to tamper;
Spurring each other on in hast,
And wishing Devil to take the last.
But,
When Paris, Deiphobus, and Troylus
With Fire, and Sword, and Clubs do spoil us:
And with all their Auxiliaries,
Attempt to burn the Grecian Wherries;
The Fool for all his Eloquence, is,
Ready to run out of his Senses.
My valour sav'd your Boats from burning,
The only Hopes of your returning.
And if you my Requests deny,
Burn, Drown or Hang, next time, say I.
But if I may relate the Truth,
In presence of the Grecian Youth,
These sue to Ajax for acceptance,
That by great Thetis Son were kept once:
So Ajax is by Arms desir'd,
Much more than they by him requir'd.
If Rhesus, Helenus and Dol-
On, and the Shrine of Pallas stole,
By creeping thro' the Trojan Gutters,
When ne'er a Foe so much as mutters,
May with these Acts of mine Compare,
Let Bear fight Dog, or Dog fight Bear;
Hereafter I shall take no care.
But there one Circumstance beside is,
Nothing is done without Tydides.
Likewise the fornicating Wight,
Acts all in covert of the Night;
And who that worthless Wretch enriches,
Who ha'n't an Inch of P--- in's Breeches,
His better way's in Parts divide 'em,
And give the biggest to Tydide. Hem!
For why should he these Arms obtain,
Who Foes does Cowardlike trapan?
That very Helm that shines so bright,
Would spoil his secret Tricks by Night,
And shew him plain to Trojan Waiters
As Sheet does modern Fornicators.
They'd suit him best as black as Charcoal
That's always sculking in a dark Hole:
Nor can this limpsy, Lathback'd Swabber,
Under so vast a Burthen labour.
His crazy Head, and feeble Arms,
Can ne'er uphold such massy Arms,
Bevis's Sword, or Guy's of Warwick,
Might well become a Man that's warlike;
But basely suit so mean a Fellow,
As, or Tom-Thumb, or Punchianello,
And their great Splendour, in his Rambles,
Would quite confound his theivish Gambols;
But why, Poor Wretch, would he be seeking
A Prize that will his Body weaken;
If the mistaken zeal of Grecians
Sould chance to jump with his Petitions;
No sooner would a Trojan Souldier
In Battle take him by the Collar;
Than off goes Helmet, down drops Shield,
Away runs Sancho from the Field.
But if he keep, Sword, Shield, and Capon,
For fear a further brush should happen;
His Heels (his chiefest friends) will fail,
And then, nor Arms, nor Arts prevail;
That weight that presses down his Rump,
While up comes Leg, and down goes Stump:
Will make him be by Foes o'retaken,
When all his Jests won't save his Bacon.
Besides his Spear, his Helm, and Shield
Did never yet appear in Field,
Mine have endur'd a thousand blows,
From surly Rogues, and Bloody Foes:
And since, Kicks, Cuffs, and Broken Pates,
Are Heroes Portions from the Fates,
These Arms (with Trojan Blood imbru'd)
Require with fresh, to be renew'd.
With Fire, and Sword, and Clubs do spoil us:
And with all their Auxiliaries,
Attempt to burn the Grecian Wherries;
The Fool for all his Eloquence, is,
Ready to run out of his Senses.
My valour sav'd your Boats from burning,
The only Hopes of your returning.
And if you my Requests deny,
Burn, Drown or Hang, next time, say I.
But if I may relate the Truth,
In presence of the Grecian Youth,
These sue to Ajax for acceptance,
That by great Thetis Son were kept once:
12
Much more than they by him requir'd.
If Rhesus, Helenus and Dol-
On, and the Shrine of Pallas stole,
By creeping thro' the Trojan Gutters,
When ne'er a Foe so much as mutters,
May with these Acts of mine Compare,
Let Bear fight Dog, or Dog fight Bear;
Hereafter I shall take no care.
But there one Circumstance beside is,
Nothing is done without Tydides.
Likewise the fornicating Wight,
Acts all in covert of the Night;
And who that worthless Wretch enriches,
Who ha'n't an Inch of P--- in's Breeches,
His better way's in Parts divide 'em,
And give the biggest to Tydide. Hem!
For why should he these Arms obtain,
Who Foes does Cowardlike trapan?
That very Helm that shines so bright,
Would spoil his secret Tricks by Night,
And shew him plain to Trojan Waiters
As Sheet does modern Fornicators.
13
That's always sculking in a dark Hole:
Nor can this limpsy, Lathback'd Swabber,
Under so vast a Burthen labour.
His crazy Head, and feeble Arms,
Can ne'er uphold such massy Arms,
Bevis's Sword, or Guy's of Warwick,
Might well become a Man that's warlike;
But basely suit so mean a Fellow,
As, or Tom-Thumb, or Punchianello,
And their great Splendour, in his Rambles,
Would quite confound his theivish Gambols;
But why, Poor Wretch, would he be seeking
A Prize that will his Body weaken;
If the mistaken zeal of Grecians
Sould chance to jump with his Petitions;
No sooner would a Trojan Souldier
In Battle take him by the Collar;
Than off goes Helmet, down drops Shield,
Away runs Sancho from the Field.
But if he keep, Sword, Shield, and Capon,
For fear a further brush should happen;
14
And then, nor Arms, nor Arts prevail;
That weight that presses down his Rump,
While up comes Leg, and down goes Stump:
Will make him be by Foes o'retaken,
When all his Jests won't save his Bacon.
Besides his Spear, his Helm, and Shield
Did never yet appear in Field,
Mine have endur'd a thousand blows,
From surly Rogues, and Bloody Foes:
And since, Kicks, Cuffs, and Broken Pates,
Are Heroes Portions from the Fates,
These Arms (with Trojan Blood imbru'd)
Require with fresh, to be renew'd.
Lastly to make an end of Brabbles,
And to prevent all further Squabbles,
Let them be thrown where thickest Foes
And stoutest Troops the Passage Close,
And he that (tho' Troy's Sons environ)
Can cut his way thro' with cold Iron,
His Prize may keep, (no mortal Snubbing)
Who Durst so boldly venture Drubbing.
Thus ended Speech of Grecian Hero,
The valiant Son of old Rogero;
And ne'er a Dog durst wag his Tail,
So much did his last Word prevail:
Until the Bastard of Laertes,
(A Crafty Youth I tell you Certes,)
First lear'd, as if the Ground he ey'd,
(To see if Hose and Shoes were ty'd)
Then wiping snotty Snout on Sleeve,
Begun, (My Masters by your leave,)
Friends, Knights, and Aldermen, d'ye see,
If my Desires with yours agree,
We needed not our Bands to ruffle,
Nor lose our Hats, or Wiggs i'th' Scuffle;
The great Achilles still had liv'd,
His Breeches, Boots, and Spurs surviv'd;
And we in Justice might condole
The hasty Flight of such a Soul,
Tho' like victorious Saladine,
He only left black Shirt behind.
But since remorseless Fate denies,
(Then puts his Fingers in his Neyes)
Who can succeed Achilles better
Than he who 'n spite of Winds and Weather,
Did with a Vengeance force him hither.
Not that he e'er a Farthing matter'd,
Because his Brains were something shatter'd;
Nor does it rob me of my due,
Most mighty Sirs, to profit you,
Since Reason you did ne'er deny
From such a Loggerhead as I;
And sure these Arguments I muster
For my most dear departed Master:
Nay, oftentimes before, for you Sirs,
Did profit ev'n my worst Accusers;
And may Squire Ketch now stop my Weazon,
If Pride or Malice sway'd my Reason.
And to prevent all further Squabbles,
Let them be thrown where thickest Foes
And stoutest Troops the Passage Close,
And he that (tho' Troy's Sons environ)
Can cut his way thro' with cold Iron,
His Prize may keep, (no mortal Snubbing)
Who Durst so boldly venture Drubbing.
Thus ended Speech of Grecian Hero,
The valiant Son of old Rogero;
15
So much did his last Word prevail:
Until the Bastard of Laertes,
(A Crafty Youth I tell you Certes,)
First lear'd, as if the Ground he ey'd,
(To see if Hose and Shoes were ty'd)
Then wiping snotty Snout on Sleeve,
Begun, (My Masters by your leave,)
Friends, Knights, and Aldermen, d'ye see,
If my Desires with yours agree,
We needed not our Bands to ruffle,
Nor lose our Hats, or Wiggs i'th' Scuffle;
The great Achilles still had liv'd,
His Breeches, Boots, and Spurs surviv'd;
And we in Justice might condole
The hasty Flight of such a Soul,
Tho' like victorious Saladine,
He only left black Shirt behind.
But since remorseless Fate denies,
(Then puts his Fingers in his Neyes)
Who can succeed Achilles better
Than he who 'n spite of Winds and Weather,
Did with a Vengeance force him hither.
16
Because his Brains were something shatter'd;
Nor does it rob me of my due,
Most mighty Sirs, to profit you,
Since Reason you did ne'er deny
From such a Loggerhead as I;
And sure these Arguments I muster
For my most dear departed Master:
Nay, oftentimes before, for you Sirs,
Did profit ev'n my worst Accusers;
And may Squire Ketch now stop my Weazon,
If Pride or Malice sway'd my Reason.
My Sire's, or Grandsire's Works well known,
Are what I shall not call my own,
Nor should I ever make a Pother,
Tho' his Forefathers were none other
Than Hardicnute, or Owen Tudor.
But since the Blunderbus has strove
To trace his Stock from whoring Jove,
Know in the very same degree
Joves's Author of our Progeny,
Laert's my Sire, Arcesius his,
And Jove his utmost Courtesies
Did into my Great-Grannam pour,
Like Danae in brazen Tower:
Or else I'll swear in heat of Ire,
That she was Whore, or Fame a Lyar.
And none of these embrac'd his Doom
By a sound jerking of his Bum;
Nor from his Woes requir'd an Easement,
By peeping thro' a hempen Casement.
Besides, by Mother, I assure you,
I am ally'd to great Mercury;
So sure as Ten and Ten make Twenty,
Deus est in utroque Parente.
Yet neither do I make this Pother,
'Cause waggish Hermes kn---d my Mother;
Nor 'cause my grave Old Dad for Gains,
Did ne'er beat out my Uncles Brains;
So let the Prize be given to Merit,
For he that wins a Rope, should wear it.
But Telamon and's Brother Peleus,
(A brace of honest jolly Fellows)
Will ne'er do him, nor none of's Brood,
One single Farthing's-worth of Good:
For he that is with Arms rewarded,
Must be for Kicks and Thumps regarded.
But if by Valour's understood,
Next in proximity of Blood,
This Sire is Peleus, that great Don,
And Pyrrhus is his Natural Son;
So Ajax of this mighty Prize,
May bear away his share in's Eyes.
Teucer's Achilles cousin German;
Besides a numerous Brood of Vermin,
Who would no sooner see them lost,
Than jounce their Tails against a Post;
Not one of them was such a Fool,
As like the wandring Calves of Hull,
T'run nineteen Miles to suck a Bull.
Therefore since Grecian Boys declare
To give 'em the best Cudgel-Player,
I'll marshal up my Acts in order,
Without a Bellman, or Recorder;
Tho' th'Task is ne'er a whit too narrow,
For Newton, Archimede, or Barrow.
Are what I shall not call my own,
Nor should I ever make a Pother,
Tho' his Forefathers were none other
Than Hardicnute, or Owen Tudor.
But since the Blunderbus has strove
To trace his Stock from whoring Jove,
17
Joves's Author of our Progeny,
Laert's my Sire, Arcesius his,
And Jove his utmost Courtesies
Did into my Great-Grannam pour,
Like Danae in brazen Tower:
Or else I'll swear in heat of Ire,
That she was Whore, or Fame a Lyar.
And none of these embrac'd his Doom
By a sound jerking of his Bum;
Nor from his Woes requir'd an Easement,
By peeping thro' a hempen Casement.
Besides, by Mother, I assure you,
I am ally'd to great Mercury;
So sure as Ten and Ten make Twenty,
Deus est in utroque Parente.
Yet neither do I make this Pother,
'Cause waggish Hermes kn---d my Mother;
Nor 'cause my grave Old Dad for Gains,
Did ne'er beat out my Uncles Brains;
So let the Prize be given to Merit,
For he that wins a Rope, should wear it.
But Telamon and's Brother Peleus,
(A brace of honest jolly Fellows)
18
One single Farthing's-worth of Good:
For he that is with Arms rewarded,
Must be for Kicks and Thumps regarded.
But if by Valour's understood,
Next in proximity of Blood,
This Sire is Peleus, that great Don,
And Pyrrhus is his Natural Son;
So Ajax of this mighty Prize,
May bear away his share in's Eyes.
Teucer's Achilles cousin German;
Besides a numerous Brood of Vermin,
Who would no sooner see them lost,
Than jounce their Tails against a Post;
Not one of them was such a Fool,
As like the wandring Calves of Hull,
T'run nineteen Miles to suck a Bull.
Therefore since Grecian Boys declare
To give 'em the best Cudgel-Player,
I'll marshal up my Acts in order,
Without a Bellman, or Recorder;
Tho' th'Task is ne'er a whit too narrow,
For Newton, Archimede, or Barrow.
19
Thetis, the Ocean's utmost Dweller,
A noted Country Fortune-Teller,
Well knowing if her dearest Boy,
Embark'd in Grecian Boats to Troy,
Either by Violence, or Trick,
Would one Day have his Head to seek.
What does she but in Hast dispatch
One that his Waters well might watch,
With Orders (whatsoe'er came on it)
To strip off's Breeches, Shirt, and Bonnet,
Coat, Jerkin, Pantaloons, and Ruff,
And whip on Pinners, Hood and Muff;
And in a trice himself entrench
In Habit of a Kitchin-Wench:
So—with Smock, Petticoat, and Gown-a,
He might deceive all the whole Town-a.
These done, all Female Airs he gain'd,
In acting Woman unconstrain'd,
Only his Jigambob remain'd.
With Lycomede, in sight of Danger,
The Lubber liv'd at Rack and Manger;
Spending his time in Mirth and Laughter,
With the Old Cuckold's Wife and Daughter.
For how should he despair of thriving,
All melancholy Thoughts surviving,
With Drinking, Banquetting, and ------?
I then contriv'd, with utmost Joy,
A Plot to hasten him to Troy:
So with Cap, Plad, and Pack I trudg'd on,
Hoping to catch him like a Gudgeon;
Where he in Cott both mean and dirty,
Was play'ng for Pins at One and Thirty,
Amongst the doudy Drabs his Doxies,
Where Scabs, and Rags, and Lice, and P---x is.
A noted Country Fortune-Teller,
Well knowing if her dearest Boy,
Embark'd in Grecian Boats to Troy,
Either by Violence, or Trick,
Would one Day have his Head to seek.
What does she but in Hast dispatch
One that his Waters well might watch,
With Orders (whatsoe'er came on it)
To strip off's Breeches, Shirt, and Bonnet,
Coat, Jerkin, Pantaloons, and Ruff,
And whip on Pinners, Hood and Muff;
And in a trice himself entrench
In Habit of a Kitchin-Wench:
So—with Smock, Petticoat, and Gown-a,
He might deceive all the whole Town-a.
These done, all Female Airs he gain'd,
In acting Woman unconstrain'd,
Only his Jigambob remain'd.
With Lycomede, in sight of Danger,
The Lubber liv'd at Rack and Manger;
Spending his time in Mirth and Laughter,
With the Old Cuckold's Wife and Daughter.
For how should he despair of thriving,
All melancholy Thoughts surviving,
With Drinking, Banquetting, and ------?
20
A Plot to hasten him to Troy:
So with Cap, Plad, and Pack I trudg'd on,
Hoping to catch him like a Gudgeon;
Where he in Cott both mean and dirty,
Was play'ng for Pins at One and Thirty,
Amongst the doudy Drabs his Doxies,
Where Scabs, and Rags, and Lice, and P---x is.
So shewing Ribbons, and Bone-laces,
To these black Homespun Country Lasses;
With Needles, Thimbles, Points and Bodkins,
And great variety of Odd Things;
Which they by tumbling Arms reveal'd,
In middle of my Pack conceal'd.
When one with form and shape of Goddess,
In Gown and Petticoat and Boddice;
Neglecting Toys, began to swagger,
On handling Basket-hilt, and Dagger,
Which made me strait, the Cheat discerning,
To give the Whoreson this short Warning.
To these black Homespun Country Lasses;
With Needles, Thimbles, Points and Bodkins,
And great variety of Odd Things;
Which they by tumbling Arms reveal'd,
In middle of my Pack conceal'd.
When one with form and shape of Goddess,
In Gown and Petticoat and Boddice;
Neglecting Toys, began to swagger,
On handling Basket-hilt, and Dagger,
Which made me strait, the Cheat discerning,
To give the Whoreson this short Warning.
What Force your Rogue-ship here confines,
(Sprung from an Oyster-Wenches Loyns,)
You are enjoyn'd by Heav'nly Powers,
To pull down Priam's Past-board Towers:
But if you slight their Voice you mar all,
And brew 'twixt Gods and Greeks a Quarrel.
(Sprung from an Oyster-Wenches Loyns,)
You are enjoyn'd by Heav'nly Powers,
To pull down Priam's Past-board Towers:
21
And brew 'twixt Gods and Greeks a Quarrel.
I scarce so many Words had said,
But that my Gentleman obey'd;
Took solemn leave of most that stay'd him,
But bid the Devil take his Madam,
That such a slippery trick had play'd him.
His War-like Acts therefore I'll father,
Since (with a Pox) I brought him hither.
But that my Gentleman obey'd;
Took solemn leave of most that stay'd him,
But bid the Devil take his Madam,
That such a slippery trick had play'd him.
His War-like Acts therefore I'll father,
Since (with a Pox) I brought him hither.
Then to begin;
I cut off Jeffery Goose-crown's Head,
And when he earnestly did plead,
I set it on again in reeking Blood.
Thebes, Lesbos, Tenedos, and Scyron,
Whose Coasts sharp-pointed Rocks environ,
Cylla the City of Apollo,
And Chrys, their hapless Fate did follow.
The Walls of G--- so renown'd,
My Hands laid level with the Ground;
And all the Whores (a mighty Number)
I gave my Mirmidons for Plunder.
But lest I seem to preach a Lecture,
By this my mighty Arm fell Hector;
In Death's cold Chains I made his Neck fast,
Who'ad eat a Dozen Greeks for Breakfast.
The very Arms that Hector maul'd,
Were these wherewith the Rogue I gull'd;
On him, when living, I bestow'd 'em,
A Gift, which for your Sakes, I ow'd him:
Now I require 'em, since as you know,
He's in the sooty Realms of Pluto;
Gone where no mortal Flesh can find him,
But's left his crazy Corps behind him.
And when he earnestly did plead,
I set it on again in reeking Blood.
Thebes, Lesbos, Tenedos, and Scyron,
Whose Coasts sharp-pointed Rocks environ,
Cylla the City of Apollo,
And Chrys, their hapless Fate did follow.
The Walls of G--- so renown'd,
My Hands laid level with the Ground;
And all the Whores (a mighty Number)
I gave my Mirmidons for Plunder.
But lest I seem to preach a Lecture,
By this my mighty Arm fell Hector;
22
Who'ad eat a Dozen Greeks for Breakfast.
The very Arms that Hector maul'd,
Were these wherewith the Rogue I gull'd;
On him, when living, I bestow'd 'em,
A Gift, which for your Sakes, I ow'd him:
Now I require 'em, since as you know,
He's in the sooty Realms of Pluto;
Gone where no mortal Flesh can find him,
But's left his crazy Corps behind him.
When for one base deceiving Whore,
The Kings of Greece began to roar;
And when a Thousand well-built Gallies,
Launch'd with full Sails from-Port of Aulis,
The spiteful Monarch of the Air,
Either no Winds at all would spare,
Or such as he was sure would cross us,
And Wash, and Dash, and soundly toss us.
Th'illnatur'd, scoundrelly Curmudgeon
Was sure enough in League wi' Trojan.
At last, to ease us of our Cares,
When we were almost past our Prayers,
A Conj'rer did forthwith accost us,
As great with Devil as Doctor Faustus.
Quoth he, Alcides must arise,
And offer's Girl in Sacrifice,
For if you don't appease Diana
With Blood of that same Virgin slain-a,
You may, like Fools, turn Home again-a.
The Father storms, and swears, Ods bobs!
And Huffs, and Bounces at the Gods;
A King to loose his only Darling,
Must be sufficient Cause of snarling.
I then some Sugar-Plumbs did reach him,
And a good honest Lecture preach him;
How that with Toil, and Terror mickle,
His Red-coats were in filthy Pickle;
That if he wou'dn't obey the Lot,
Each Whoreson there must go to Pot.
The Kings of Greece began to roar;
And when a Thousand well-built Gallies,
Launch'd with full Sails from-Port of Aulis,
The spiteful Monarch of the Air,
Either no Winds at all would spare,
Or such as he was sure would cross us,
And Wash, and Dash, and soundly toss us.
Th'illnatur'd, scoundrelly Curmudgeon
Was sure enough in League wi' Trojan.
At last, to ease us of our Cares,
When we were almost past our Prayers,
A Conj'rer did forthwith accost us,
As great with Devil as Doctor Faustus.
23
And offer's Girl in Sacrifice,
For if you don't appease Diana
With Blood of that same Virgin slain-a,
You may, like Fools, turn Home again-a.
The Father storms, and swears, Ods bobs!
And Huffs, and Bounces at the Gods;
A King to loose his only Darling,
Must be sufficient Cause of snarling.
I then some Sugar-Plumbs did reach him,
And a good honest Lecture preach him;
How that with Toil, and Terror mickle,
His Red-coats were in filthy Pickle;
That if he wou'dn't obey the Lot,
Each Whoreson there must go to Pot.
Now must I make this plain Confession,
And hope he'll pardon my Transgression.
How hard I was constrain'd to labour
To force so well-belov'd a Babe here,
From an old Fornicating Father.
At last his Cuckold Bro' that lov'd him,
And Countrey's Safety so much mov'd him;
That right or wrong, they there did bind him,
Rather t'appease her that confin'd 'em
Than leave old Punk-rid Nell behind 'em.
Then did I to the Mother trudge it,
With Wiles Good Plenty in my Budget;
For Reason's Rules would never win her,
But plain Deceit, as I'm a Sinner:
And had my boisterous Rival pleaded,
His dull Harangues had ne'er succeeded;
Th'Old Hag had ne'er allow'd the Murther,
Nor had we stir'd a Hair's-breadth further.
I then was sent with a Defiance,
Or t'hector Trojans to Compliance.
Where I beheld the lusty Swabbers,
To exercise all Man-like Labours,
A Pack of stout Two-handed Fellows,
Each wishing Combat with Achilles.
And hope he'll pardon my Transgression.
How hard I was constrain'd to labour
To force so well-belov'd a Babe here,
From an old Fornicating Father.
At last his Cuckold Bro' that lov'd him,
And Countrey's Safety so much mov'd him;
That right or wrong, they there did bind him,
Rather t'appease her that confin'd 'em
Than leave old Punk-rid Nell behind 'em.
24
With Wiles Good Plenty in my Budget;
For Reason's Rules would never win her,
But plain Deceit, as I'm a Sinner:
And had my boisterous Rival pleaded,
His dull Harangues had ne'er succeeded;
Th'Old Hag had ne'er allow'd the Murther,
Nor had we stir'd a Hair's-breadth further.
I then was sent with a Defiance,
Or t'hector Trojans to Compliance.
Where I beheld the lusty Swabbers,
To exercise all Man-like Labours,
A Pack of stout Two-handed Fellows,
Each wishing Combat with Achilles.
With that my Whiskers stroking gently,
Grave Sir, says I, Festina lente;
Our Guts are not so very limber,
To seek thus far for Belly-timber:
'Tis to accuse that thievish Paris,
That sail'd from hence in Trojan Wherries,
And to demand the Beef and Bacon,
Besides the Strumpet he has taken.
Grave Sir, says I, Festina lente;
Our Guts are not so very limber,
To seek thus far for Belly-timber:
'Tis to accuse that thievish Paris,
That sail'd from hence in Trojan Wherries,
And to demand the Beef and Bacon,
Besides the Strumpet he has taken.
25
Then Priam, Paris, and Antenor,
And other Guests that were at Dinner,
Wiping with Cloaths their Greasy Chaps,
Take heed, (say they) of After-Claps.
Then call'd us filthy mangey Lubbers,
And vow'd we came to rob their Cupboards;
And (jearing) said, Sirs, if you please,
Come cram your Boots with Bread and Cheese,
And carry part to your great Leader,
The Whey-fac'd, Lanthorn-jaw'd Louse-breeder;
But at the Tail of your Epistle,
Tell him, for's Whore he may go whistle.
Then did a base ill-natur'd Clown
Crack my Cocks-comb with Basting Spoon,
And that (I speak it void of Anger)
Was the first Moment of my Danger.
And other Guests that were at Dinner,
Wiping with Cloaths their Greasy Chaps,
Take heed, (say they) of After-Claps.
Then call'd us filthy mangey Lubbers,
And vow'd we came to rob their Cupboards;
And (jearing) said, Sirs, if you please,
Come cram your Boots with Bread and Cheese,
And carry part to your great Leader,
The Whey-fac'd, Lanthorn-jaw'd Louse-breeder;
But at the Tail of your Epistle,
Tell him, for's Whore he may go whistle.
Then did a base ill-natur'd Clown
Crack my Cocks-comb with Basting Spoon,
And that (I speak it void of Anger)
Was the first Moment of my Danger.
But lest I borrow Blackmore's stile,
And spin my Story out a Mile;
What Deeds my Arts, and Arms have done,
What Plots descry'd, what Battles won:
How oft I've broke into their Quarters,
How often punish'd Greek Deserters,
Would fill more Room than Fox's Martyrs.
At first the Foe withstood our Fury,
But when we'ad Cudgel'd 'em demurely;
They kept themselves Confin'd in Garrets,
And fed on Cabbage, Beef, and Carrots,
Ne'er daring farther to offend us,
Then throwing Pisspots out at Windows:
And when we came too near (like Fools)
They'd Souse us with their damn'd Close Stools;
Which fragrant Aromatick matter
Would keep it's Scent a fortnight after.
But at the end of Nine full Years,
We fought again like Dogs and Bears,
Lugging each other by the Ears:
Yet during this vast long Vacation,
For brawny Ajax where's occasion,
Only with feigned Foes he'd Whisk it,
And eat Atrides mouldy Bisket.
But what (says he) of you does happen?
Why, Fool I take these Roarers Napping,
Without Shoes, Breeches, Shirt or Cap on
Or keep 'em so Confin'd, that none
Once dares to say his Soul's his own.
I reach my Friends some Sugar Plumbs,
When for mere grief they bite their Thumbs;
And tell 'em that the Toyls of War,
Are what both Great and Small must bear.
I'm Sent to Steal fat Hens, and Geese,
For Knights, and Aldermen of Greece:
To purchase Sword, and Spear, and Shield,
When theirs have Perish'd in the Field.
And then I please the Higher Powers,
By bringing Brace, or Leash of W---s.
But now came Messenger from Jove,
To warn the Cowardly Shirking Oaf,
With well greas'd Lighters, some Seventeen-a,
To Row directly to Mycæna:
For that the Gods were much Mistaken,
If ever Troy was to be taken.
And spin my Story out a Mile;
What Deeds my Arts, and Arms have done,
What Plots descry'd, what Battles won:
How oft I've broke into their Quarters,
How often punish'd Greek Deserters,
Would fill more Room than Fox's Martyrs.
26
But when we'ad Cudgel'd 'em demurely;
They kept themselves Confin'd in Garrets,
And fed on Cabbage, Beef, and Carrots,
Ne'er daring farther to offend us,
Then throwing Pisspots out at Windows:
And when we came too near (like Fools)
They'd Souse us with their damn'd Close Stools;
Which fragrant Aromatick matter
Would keep it's Scent a fortnight after.
But at the end of Nine full Years,
We fought again like Dogs and Bears,
Lugging each other by the Ears:
Yet during this vast long Vacation,
For brawny Ajax where's occasion,
Only with feigned Foes he'd Whisk it,
And eat Atrides mouldy Bisket.
But what (says he) of you does happen?
Why, Fool I take these Roarers Napping,
Without Shoes, Breeches, Shirt or Cap on
Or keep 'em so Confin'd, that none
Once dares to say his Soul's his own.
I reach my Friends some Sugar Plumbs,
When for mere grief they bite their Thumbs;
27
Are what both Great and Small must bear.
I'm Sent to Steal fat Hens, and Geese,
For Knights, and Aldermen of Greece:
To purchase Sword, and Spear, and Shield,
When theirs have Perish'd in the Field.
And then I please the Higher Powers,
By bringing Brace, or Leash of W---s.
But now came Messenger from Jove,
To warn the Cowardly Shirking Oaf,
With well greas'd Lighters, some Seventeen-a,
To Row directly to Mycæna:
For that the Gods were much Mistaken,
If ever Troy was to be taken.
At that stout, wide Mouth'd Ajax bawls,
My self will Scale these Paper Walls,
And Spight of Maids and Matrons Tears
Fire each ones House about their Ears;
And th'Town, like great Drawcansir gaining,
Leave neither Friend, nor Foe remaining.
Well, let the Hair Brain'd Haughty Fool
Try his Impenetrable Skull.
But why, for all his Protestations,
Does he not Stop the Flight of Græcians?
Why don't he Arm and call aloud,
To rally the retiring Crowd?
Why don't so Impudent a Bragger,
With Musket, Sword and Buckler, Swagger?
My self will Scale these Paper Walls,
And Spight of Maids and Matrons Tears
Fire each ones House about their Ears;
And th'Town, like great Drawcansir gaining,
Leave neither Friend, nor Foe remaining.
Well, let the Hair Brain'd Haughty Fool
Try his Impenetrable Skull.
But why, for all his Protestations,
Does he not Stop the Flight of Græcians?
28
To rally the retiring Crowd?
Why don't so Impudent a Bragger,
With Musket, Sword and Buckler, Swagger?
But see, the mighty Champion flying,
His Character (tho' base) belying,
Running reproachfully from Colours.
On Board his Lousie, Rotten Scullars.
His Character (tho' base) belying,
Running reproachfully from Colours.
On Board his Lousie, Rotten Scullars.
So without any farther Dodging,
Grave Sirs, says I, where are you trudging;
What dev'lish, stinging Maggots bite you,
To run as if you would besh---e you?
Why from these Shores would you be raking,
When Troy, I'll swear, 's three quarters taken?
By scamp'ring homewards, thus to Greece,
You may expect Duke Humphry's Mess:
And if this Warning won't prevent you,
You'll every Mothers Son repent you.
Grave Sirs, says I, where are you trudging;
What dev'lish, stinging Maggots bite you,
To run as if you would besh---e you?
Why from these Shores would you be raking,
When Troy, I'll swear, 's three quarters taken?
By scamp'ring homewards, thus to Greece,
You may expect Duke Humphry's Mess:
And if this Warning won't prevent you,
You'll every Mothers Son repent you.
With these and many such like Speeches,
Which thought of Native Country teaches,
I brought the fearful Rogues once more,
When they had almost launch'd from Shore.
Atride and others were partakers,
Whose Troopers every Soul turn'd Quakers.
But Ajax (like a senseless Log)
Had not one Word to throw't a Dog;
When lazy Hatched-fac'd Thersites,
With thundring Language strove to fright us;
Yet did a quick Revenge pursue him,
For with my double Fist I slew him.
Then cheering up my Grenadiers,
I made them prick up Leather-Ears,
Speaking with Hoarseness, like Madge-Howlet,
Or Boy with Dish-clout in his Gullet.
So whatsoever valiant Action,
Was compass'd since this late Distraction,
I justly claim, since from the Wars,
When he (like Coward) turn'd his A****
By force of Reason I confin'd him,
Not to leave's dearest Friend behind him.
Which thought of Native Country teaches,
I brought the fearful Rogues once more,
When they had almost launch'd from Shore.
29
Whose Troopers every Soul turn'd Quakers.
But Ajax (like a senseless Log)
Had not one Word to throw't a Dog;
When lazy Hatched-fac'd Thersites,
With thundring Language strove to fright us;
Yet did a quick Revenge pursue him,
For with my double Fist I slew him.
Then cheering up my Grenadiers,
I made them prick up Leather-Ears,
Speaking with Hoarseness, like Madge-Howlet,
Or Boy with Dish-clout in his Gullet.
So whatsoever valiant Action,
Was compass'd since this late Distraction,
I justly claim, since from the Wars,
When he (like Coward) turn'd his A****
By force of Reason I confin'd him,
Not to leave's dearest Friend behind him.
Lastly, Who 'mongst the Græcian Chieftains,
Does praise, or seek for your Assistance?
But great Tydides, you may see.
Puts Trust and Confidence in me;
And what a Pleasure 'tis you'd wonder,
In Love and Unity to plunder.
Does praise, or seek for your Assistance?
30
Puts Trust and Confidence in me;
And what a Pleasure 'tis you'd wonder,
In Love and Unity to plunder.
Nor Night, nor Trojan Watch affrighting,
I slew great Dolon when a Sh---ng
The weight of my vast Club he feels,
When's Breeches were about his Heels,
But first his Secrets he reveals.
I slew great Dolon when a Sh---ng
The weight of my vast Club he feels,
When's Breeches were about his Heels,
But first his Secrets he reveals.
How that for all our Care and Watching,
Great Plots by Trojans had been hatching:
So now I grop't 'em all (I tell you)
As well as Gadbury, or Lilly.
Thus being flush'd with fresh successes,
I spurr'd forthwith to Tent of Rhesus;
Where my old wonted Strength renewing,
I catch'd the Rogue, and 's Partners Spewing,
As drunk as Lords with Sack and Clarret,
But they, poor Souls, could not forbear it:
Therefore with Sword and Dagger you know,
I sent them all to Sup with Pluto;
And for reward my Paws did fix
Upon the Younker's Coach and Six,
In which I seem'd as spruce a fellow,
(The very naked Truth I tell you,)
As Scanderbeg or Punchianello.
I scarce shall mention huge Sarpedon,
Which my Bucephalus did tread on,
Ceraunes, Iphitad, Alastor,
Besides a num'rous train of Bastards,
Pritanis, Halius, Noemon,
And Charope, who fought like Women:
Likewise a brace of Scores less famous,
Which Ovid has forgot to name us,
Under the Mudwalls of this Burrough,
Drew their last Gasping Breath wi' Sorrow.
Iv'e Bruises, Kicks, and Noble Scars,
Procur'd in Mars, Not Venus, wars,
And tho' I ne'er was us'd to lying,
(Old Nick and all his Wiles defying)
Unveiling Coat and Shirt, and Jacket,
You'll be convinc'd how I've been thwacked,
And if my B---h was but uncover'd,
You'd grieve to see what Nock has Suffer'd.
Great Plots by Trojans had been hatching:
So now I grop't 'em all (I tell you)
As well as Gadbury, or Lilly.
Thus being flush'd with fresh successes,
I spurr'd forthwith to Tent of Rhesus;
Where my old wonted Strength renewing,
I catch'd the Rogue, and 's Partners Spewing,
As drunk as Lords with Sack and Clarret,
But they, poor Souls, could not forbear it:
Therefore with Sword and Dagger you know,
I sent them all to Sup with Pluto;
And for reward my Paws did fix
Upon the Younker's Coach and Six,
31
(The very naked Truth I tell you,)
As Scanderbeg or Punchianello.
I scarce shall mention huge Sarpedon,
Which my Bucephalus did tread on,
Ceraunes, Iphitad, Alastor,
Besides a num'rous train of Bastards,
Pritanis, Halius, Noemon,
And Charope, who fought like Women:
Likewise a brace of Scores less famous,
Which Ovid has forgot to name us,
Under the Mudwalls of this Burrough,
Drew their last Gasping Breath wi' Sorrow.
Iv'e Bruises, Kicks, and Noble Scars,
Procur'd in Mars, Not Venus, wars,
And tho' I ne'er was us'd to lying,
(Old Nick and all his Wiles defying)
Unveiling Coat and Shirt, and Jacket,
You'll be convinc'd how I've been thwacked,
And if my B---h was but uncover'd,
You'd grieve to see what Nock has Suffer'd.
32
But what has the grave Son of Tela-
mon done for e'er a Grecian fellow?
If of his Blood h'as Spent good Store,
'Thas been in quarrels for a Whore,
Only his Frock is something tatter'd,
And Rump for want of Heels is batter'd;
Or else his Carcass is as sound,
As when he Stept on Trojan Ground.
But what avails his tittle tattle,
That he made Foes and Jove to rattle,
To save the Grecian Fleet in Battle?
True merit I shall ever prize,
But th'Rogue has told much bigger Lyes,
For he with two 'r three thousand more,
Repell'd the Trojans from the Shore,
They with long Dog-whips, Clods, and Stones
Were arm'd Compleatly for the nonce;
But dangers Common Souldiers Share,
Whilst Glory's Snatch'd by Brigadeer.
Patroclus in Achillis' Arms,
Thinking to keep his Men from Harms,
(A Youth to Noble acts aspiring)
Did save our Mackrell Boats from firing;
Although they did no more become
Him, than a Truncheon would Tom Thumb.
He look'd as odd embark'd in these,
As Mouse entrench'd in Cheshire Cheese;
Nor made a better Shew within,
Than Æsop's Ass in Lyon's Skin.
mon done for e'er a Grecian fellow?
If of his Blood h'as Spent good Store,
'Thas been in quarrels for a Whore,
Only his Frock is something tatter'd,
And Rump for want of Heels is batter'd;
Or else his Carcass is as sound,
As when he Stept on Trojan Ground.
But what avails his tittle tattle,
That he made Foes and Jove to rattle,
To save the Grecian Fleet in Battle?
True merit I shall ever prize,
But th'Rogue has told much bigger Lyes,
For he with two 'r three thousand more,
Repell'd the Trojans from the Shore,
They with long Dog-whips, Clods, and Stones
Were arm'd Compleatly for the nonce;
But dangers Common Souldiers Share,
Whilst Glory's Snatch'd by Brigadeer.
Patroclus in Achillis' Arms,
Thinking to keep his Men from Harms,
(A Youth to Noble acts aspiring)
Did save our Mackrell Boats from firing;
33
Him, than a Truncheon would Tom Thumb.
He look'd as odd embark'd in these,
As Mouse entrench'd in Cheshire Cheese;
Nor made a better Shew within,
Than Æsop's Ass in Lyon's Skin.
Yet does this Impudent Commander
(Thinking himself an Alexander,)
With Hector venture to Contend,
And all his Countrymen defend;
Forgetting me, and Cousin Sthenelus,
As if we'ad each of us been Penny less.
(Thinking himself an Alexander,)
With Hector venture to Contend,
And all his Countrymen defend;
Forgetting me, and Cousin Sthenelus,
As if we'ad each of us been Penny less.
Thus Ape, in Scarlet-Cloke, or Yellow,
Fancies himself a gallant Fellow:
So for all this brave Champion's trapping,
No mighty Accident did happen.
Hector did all our Troops out-brave,
And hack'd, and slic'd 'em like a Knave;
Then boldly Swaggering and Strutting,
After he had been Collar-cutting,
With Sword in hand he homewards went,
When Greeks were thrash'd to Heart's content.
Woes me! how Grief my Gutts perplex'd,
How I like any Dog was vex'd!
When first I heard the sad disaster,
Of my poor dear departed Master;
Whom Paris, and the Trojan Louts,
Kill'd basely pulling on his Boots,
Or else their dull unpointed Steel,
Could ne'er have pierc'd his tender Heel.
But neither Grief, nor Wind, nor Weather,
Nor forty Dangers more together,
Scar'd me so much, but that I crep't,
(When all the Watchmen snor'd, and Slep't)
And Stole the Corps of great Achilles,
As Witches, Traytors from the Gallows,
And hoysting him on these broad Shoulders,
In spite of drousie Snoring Souldiers;
The weight of Carcass, Spear and Shield,
Buff-Coat, and Belt, and Boots I wield',
On Brawny Shoulders from the Field.
If Strength cannot sustain this Burthen,
May I be ever deem'd a Lurdane.
And if you still deny your Votes,
May they like Dish-clouts Stop your Throats,
And quite confound your squeaking Notes.
Fancies himself a gallant Fellow:
So for all this brave Champion's trapping,
No mighty Accident did happen.
Hector did all our Troops out-brave,
And hack'd, and slic'd 'em like a Knave;
Then boldly Swaggering and Strutting,
After he had been Collar-cutting,
With Sword in hand he homewards went,
When Greeks were thrash'd to Heart's content.
Woes me! how Grief my Gutts perplex'd,
How I like any Dog was vex'd!
34
Of my poor dear departed Master;
Whom Paris, and the Trojan Louts,
Kill'd basely pulling on his Boots,
Or else their dull unpointed Steel,
Could ne'er have pierc'd his tender Heel.
But neither Grief, nor Wind, nor Weather,
Nor forty Dangers more together,
Scar'd me so much, but that I crep't,
(When all the Watchmen snor'd, and Slep't)
And Stole the Corps of great Achilles,
As Witches, Traytors from the Gallows,
And hoysting him on these broad Shoulders,
In spite of drousie Snoring Souldiers;
The weight of Carcass, Spear and Shield,
Buff-Coat, and Belt, and Boots I wield',
On Brawny Shoulders from the Field.
If Strength cannot sustain this Burthen,
May I be ever deem'd a Lurdane.
And if you still deny your Votes,
May they like Dish-clouts Stop your Throats,
And quite confound your squeaking Notes.
35
The Whey-fac'd Goddess of the Ocean,
Still wish'd her Bastard-Son Promotion,
And Jealous that some brawny Fool
That ha'n't a Louse's brain in's Soul,
Should proudly Strut in Cap and Feather,
And all Accoutrements together;
That Arms by th'Heavenly Blacksmith wrought,
Should be disgrac'd by such a Sott,
And painted by th'unwearied Labour
Of a Celestial Sign Post-dauber.
Still wish'd her Bastard-Son Promotion,
And Jealous that some brawny Fool
That ha'n't a Louse's brain in's Soul,
Should proudly Strut in Cap and Feather,
And all Accoutrements together;
That Arms by th'Heavenly Blacksmith wrought,
Should be disgrac'd by such a Sott,
And painted by th'unwearied Labour
Of a Celestial Sign Post-dauber.
There's Earth and Seas, and Stars i'th' Sky,
All Fish that run, and Beasts that fly,
And Pleiades, and Hyades,
Two wholesale Grocers in the Seas;
Then Arctos quickly follows after,
A freeborn Subject of the Water;
Then divers large well peopl'd Towns,
Like those that stand on Banstead Downs;
And pretty Hamlets in the Main
Like those on Sal'sbury's ample Plain;
The flaming Tilter of Orion
Stung by a Venemous Scorpion;
Besides the Heav'nly Shock that bites,
And Mortal housholders affrights
With Baw-waw-waw in Moon shine Nights.
All Fish that run, and Beasts that fly,
And Pleiades, and Hyades,
Two wholesale Grocers in the Seas;
Then Arctos quickly follows after,
A freeborn Subject of the Water;
Then divers large well peopl'd Towns,
Like those that stand on Banstead Downs;
And pretty Hamlets in the Main
Like those on Sal'sbury's ample Plain;
The flaming Tilter of Orion
Stung by a Venemous Scorpion;
Besides the Heav'nly Shock that bites,
And Mortal housholders affrights
With Baw-waw-waw in Moon shine Nights.
36
All these the Loggerhead demands,
To stain with his polluted Hands,
Whose Characters must monstrous be
To one who knows not A: B: C.
Paintings seems dull, and Gravings vain,
When Heads are destitute of Brain.
Ajax summs up his mighty Deeds,
How he went first to Loggerheads;
And reckons it a plaguy hard Case,
For him to venture thus his Carcass;
And to encrease the solemn Farce,
Swears how Ulysses hung an Arse.
Ne'er once consulting how Achilles,
Was one of these same dronish Fellows.
And if feign'd Frenzie make me faulty,
Know, he as well as I was guilty;
If my delay be judg'd a Crime,
I came to Troy in pudding time.
Th'young Whore Penelope detain'd me,
And straight to sowing Salt constrain'd me.
Whilst 'Chilles made as great a Pother,
Being forc'd to Spin, and this and t'other,
By the Old Wither'd Hag his Mother.
To stain with his polluted Hands,
Whose Characters must monstrous be
To one who knows not A: B: C.
Paintings seems dull, and Gravings vain,
When Heads are destitute of Brain.
Ajax summs up his mighty Deeds,
How he went first to Loggerheads;
And reckons it a plaguy hard Case,
For him to venture thus his Carcass;
And to encrease the solemn Farce,
Swears how Ulysses hung an Arse.
Ne'er once consulting how Achilles,
Was one of these same dronish Fellows.
And if feign'd Frenzie make me faulty,
Know, he as well as I was guilty;
If my delay be judg'd a Crime,
I came to Troy in pudding time.
Th'young Whore Penelope detain'd me,
And straight to sowing Salt constrain'd me.
Whilst 'Chilles made as great a Pother,
Being forc'd to Spin, and this and t'other,
By the Old Wither'd Hag his Mother.
37
I shall not in my Harness tremble,
Nor once my seeming Faults dissemble,
Since with Achilles they're so common,
Who dress'd himself in douds of Woman.
Yet by the S--- I caught this Madam,
When they from Troy long time had stay'd him.
Nor once my seeming Faults dissemble,
Since with Achilles they're so common,
Who dress'd himself in douds of Woman.
Yet by the S--- I caught this Madam,
When they from Troy long time had stay'd him.
But had my Rival posted thither,
When I Yok'd Ox and Ass together,
With Clods, or Stones, I'd lay'd him sprawling,
And spoil'd his future Caterwauling.
I need not value these Reproaches,
Since on your Worships he encroaches,
His Sland'ring Tongue cryes filthy Whoreson,
Without respect to Place or Person.
When I Yok'd Ox and Ass together,
With Clods, or Stones, I'd lay'd him sprawling,
And spoil'd his future Caterwauling.
I need not value these Reproaches,
Since on your Worships he encroaches,
His Sland'ring Tongue cryes filthy Whoreson,
Without respect to Place or Person.
That 't should be an Inhuman deed,
Of my accusing Palamede,
And then your Condemnation just,
Is what my Reason must distrust.
Of my accusing Palamede,
And then your Condemnation just,
Is what my Reason must distrust.
38
But he himself had not the Face,
To plead in such a wretched Case;
Your Lordship's Eyes beheld what Hire
He had to set our Tents on fire,
To run aground, and burn our Wherries,
And send our Men to Stygian Ferries.
To plead in such a wretched Case;
Your Lordship's Eyes beheld what Hire
He had to set our Tents on fire,
To run aground, and burn our Wherries,
And send our Men to Stygian Ferries.
Nor can I well conceive my self
T'be such a stingy cross-grain'd Elf,
To coop up Pæan's Son so famous,
In Lemnos, Negropont, or Samos:
You may this Knotty Case determine,
And crop the Ears of such base Vermin.
T'be such a stingy cross-grain'd Elf,
To coop up Pæan's Son so famous,
In Lemnos, Negropont, or Samos:
You may this Knotty Case determine,
And crop the Ears of such base Vermin.
Since all did absolutely Swear
He ne'er should find a Landing here,
I did perswade him to unravel,
His Mind from Thoughts of War and Travel,
And that with thund'ring Thumps, and good Knocks,
He might get Thrushes, Snipes, and Woodcocks.
And now he lives (or I'm mistaken)
On Cheesecakes, Custards, Veal and Bacon.
Half free'd (to speak the naked truth)
From Gouts, and Clapps attain'd in Youth,
My late Advice has faithful been,
Since now he Sleeps in a whole Skin,
Without a Foe (poor thing!) to trouble it,
And not one Pink-hole in his Doublet.
He ne'er should find a Landing here,
I did perswade him to unravel,
His Mind from Thoughts of War and Travel,
And that with thund'ring Thumps, and good Knocks,
He might get Thrushes, Snipes, and Woodcocks.
And now he lives (or I'm mistaken)
On Cheesecakes, Custards, Veal and Bacon.
Half free'd (to speak the naked truth)
From Gouts, and Clapps attain'd in Youth,
39
Since now he Sleeps in a whole Skin,
Without a Foe (poor thing!) to trouble it,
And not one Pink-hole in his Doublet.
But since the Gods above contrive
That he must to these Shores arrive,
And bring his Quiver, Shafts, and Boots,
To help to pull up Troy by th'Roots.
That he must to these Shores arrive,
And bring his Quiver, Shafts, and Boots,
To help to pull up Troy by th'Roots.
Let Telamon's stout Son ride Post,
To fetch the Cuckold we had lost;
His pleasant Language will invite him,
And Tropes and Similies delight him;
Although he lay confin'd alone
With racking Pains of Gout, or Stone,
Or will his Crafty Tricks beguile him,
To leave that Place, and Post to Illium.
To fetch the Cuckold we had lost;
His pleasant Language will invite him,
And Tropes and Similies delight him;
Although he lay confin'd alone
With racking Pains of Gout, or Stone,
Or will his Crafty Tricks beguile him,
To leave that Place, and Post to Illium.
But Trent, and Severn shall run back,
And fresh Supplies from Fountains lack;
Or Sol (our mortal labours Scorning)
Lye a bed and Snore 'till Ten i'th' Morning:
Or Nymphs and Fauns forsake their Fountains
Or Whales fly o're the tops of Mountains,
Or Trojan Foes abate the Fury;
Or Lovers trust the Nymphs of Drury;
E'er my best Wishes shall be lacking
To send these Trojan Rogues a packing;
Or Ajax's maggot-eaten Brains,
Bring you one single Farthing Gains.
Because poor Philoctet' did perjure him,
He smells not half so sweet as Marjaram;
But by some dismal plague, or Murrain,
His Gangreen'd Leg stinks worse than Carrion,
Which will offend, our Mincing Whores,
And make 'em scamper hence by Scores.
And fresh Supplies from Fountains lack;
Or Sol (our mortal labours Scorning)
Lye a bed and Snore 'till Ten i'th' Morning:
Or Nymphs and Fauns forsake their Fountains
Or Whales fly o're the tops of Mountains,
40
Or Lovers trust the Nymphs of Drury;
E'er my best Wishes shall be lacking
To send these Trojan Rogues a packing;
Or Ajax's maggot-eaten Brains,
Bring you one single Farthing Gains.
Because poor Philoctet' did perjure him,
He smells not half so sweet as Marjaram;
But by some dismal plague, or Murrain,
His Gangreen'd Leg stinks worse than Carrion,
Which will offend, our Mincing Whores,
And make 'em scamper hence by Scores.
But, my dear Friend, tho' you should tear,
And roar, and hector, rant and swear,
And bounce like Horse of my Lord Mayor.
And tho' you should be so uncivil,
To wish your Bosom Friend with th'Devil;
Or that my Neck a Noose might Stretch,
From Hands of Rascally Jack Ketch,
Or that I might by Lot be given,
To mitigate the wrath of Heaven;
Or else be burn'd, or drown'd o'th' Sudden,
Or drop, and give the Crows a Pudden.
And roar, and hector, rant and swear,
And bounce like Horse of my Lord Mayor.
And tho' you should be so uncivil,
To wish your Bosom Friend with th'Devil;
Or that my Neck a Noose might Stretch,
From Hands of Rascally Jack Ketch,
Or that I might by Lot be given,
To mitigate the wrath of Heaven;
Or else be burn'd, or drown'd o'th' Sudden,
Or drop, and give the Crows a Pudden.
41
Yet will I strive t'appease your Fury,
And beg th'Assistance of Mercury,
To fetch you thence, tho' Greeks should think me
A Fool: or tho' to Death you stink me.
And beg th'Assistance of Mercury,
To fetch you thence, tho' Greeks should think me
A Fool: or tho' to Death you stink me.
Then shall I bring your Shafts and Quiver,
To jerk these Traytors thro' the Liver,
As sure as I trappan'd the Wizzard,
In darkest Night, by help of Vizard,
Or read th'appointed Destiny,
Concerning our return from Troy,
Or Stole the Shrine of Chast Minerva,
Troun comitante Caterva.
And shall that proud Swash Buckler be,
In feats of Arms compar'd wi' me?
Troy was to fall at Ten years distance,
Without the Scoundrels least Assistance.
Where are his brave heroick Deeds?
When he his num'rous Chieftains leads;
But above all where are his Huffs,
Of broken Shins, and bloody Cuffs?
Is he affraid that all's not well?
And like a Snail creeps into's Shell?
And do not I without a Fright
Of Rakehell, Goblin, Witch, or Spright,
Commit my self to darkest Night?
Thro' Hazards strange, and Dangers dire,
Of Battle, Water, Sword, and Fire,
Enter into Troy's highest Stories,
In spight of either Whiggs or Tories,
And from their Cupboards with great Ease,
Convey Brown Georges, Cakes and Cheese?
At last the long sought Prize I found,
In an old Hog-trough under Ground;
And brought it off, thro' Fire and Smoak,
Under my old grey russet Cloak,
Which act if I had not perform'd,
In vain you Troy's high Walls had Storm'd,
In vain would Ajax proudly wield
His Baskett-hilt, and rusty Shield.
That very night did Troy o're power,
And batter'd down each Gate and Tower;
Because just then I stole their Goddess,
From Crew of dronish sleepy Noddies,
Cease therefore to compare Tydides
Wi' me, although his Fame full wide is;
His Strength great Warriours has o'recome,
But Skull's as empty as a Drum:
And then my weary Nights and Days,
May justly claim the greatest Praise.
To jerk these Traytors thro' the Liver,
As sure as I trappan'd the Wizzard,
In darkest Night, by help of Vizard,
Or read th'appointed Destiny,
Concerning our return from Troy,
Or Stole the Shrine of Chast Minerva,
Troun comitante Caterva.
And shall that proud Swash Buckler be,
In feats of Arms compar'd wi' me?
Troy was to fall at Ten years distance,
Without the Scoundrels least Assistance.
Where are his brave heroick Deeds?
When he his num'rous Chieftains leads;
But above all where are his Huffs,
Of broken Shins, and bloody Cuffs?
Is he affraid that all's not well?
And like a Snail creeps into's Shell?
42
Of Rakehell, Goblin, Witch, or Spright,
Commit my self to darkest Night?
Thro' Hazards strange, and Dangers dire,
Of Battle, Water, Sword, and Fire,
Enter into Troy's highest Stories,
In spight of either Whiggs or Tories,
And from their Cupboards with great Ease,
Convey Brown Georges, Cakes and Cheese?
At last the long sought Prize I found,
In an old Hog-trough under Ground;
And brought it off, thro' Fire and Smoak,
Under my old grey russet Cloak,
Which act if I had not perform'd,
In vain you Troy's high Walls had Storm'd,
In vain would Ajax proudly wield
His Baskett-hilt, and rusty Shield.
That very night did Troy o're power,
And batter'd down each Gate and Tower;
Because just then I stole their Goddess,
From Crew of dronish sleepy Noddies,
Cease therefore to compare Tydides
Wi' me, although his Fame full wide is;
43
But Skull's as empty as a Drum:
And then my weary Nights and Days,
May justly claim the greatest Praise.
When Ajax view'd the Fleet on fire,
His Fame did n't mount a Hair's breadth higher,
A num'rous Rabble did attend him,
From Stones and Catsticks to defend him,
But of all my Heroick Acts,
None but Tidyd' comes in for Snacks;
Which if he had not known his want,
And how't a Pinch his Witts were scant;
To my all conquering Arm most surely,
He ne'er had yielded so demurely.
His Fame did n't mount a Hair's breadth higher,
A num'rous Rabble did attend him,
From Stones and Catsticks to defend him,
But of all my Heroick Acts,
None but Tidyd' comes in for Snacks;
Which if he had not known his want,
And how't a Pinch his Witts were scant;
To my all conquering Arm most surely,
He ne'er had yielded so demurely.
A milder Ajax might have sought
These Trinkets which old Vulcan wrought;
Andremon's Son, and fierce Euripyl',
Whom Gouts and Pox had made a Cripple;
Idomeneus, besides a Dozen,
And Agamemnon's Cater-Cousin;
All old in Battles, skill'd in Warrs,
And fam'd for hardiness and Scarrs,
Yet mov'd their Bonnets to my Wit,
And look'd as blank, as if besh---.
The only good that he can do,
'S to quench a Cannon-ball, or so.
His massie Bulk no Couquest gains,
Whose Head such Cavities contains,
Without a Thimble-full of Brains.
He's fit indeed in Arms to clatter,
That can't keep clear from Fire and Water,
In short, he's need of my protection,
To fight, or flee, by my direction:
Since great Atride (in me delighting)
Takes my appointed Times for fighting,
He 'mongst dull Animals may pass,
Whose Wit, and bulk come near an Ass;
But my great Parts all Arts commencing,
As Camping, Stoolball, Quoits, and Fencing,
Excel old Dotards o'er and o'er,
As much as Steerer does the Rower.
These Trinkets which old Vulcan wrought;
Andremon's Son, and fierce Euripyl',
Whom Gouts and Pox had made a Cripple;
Idomeneus, besides a Dozen,
And Agamemnon's Cater-Cousin;
All old in Battles, skill'd in Warrs,
And fam'd for hardiness and Scarrs,
Yet mov'd their Bonnets to my Wit,
And look'd as blank, as if besh---.
44
'S to quench a Cannon-ball, or so.
His massie Bulk no Couquest gains,
Whose Head such Cavities contains,
Without a Thimble-full of Brains.
He's fit indeed in Arms to clatter,
That can't keep clear from Fire and Water,
In short, he's need of my protection,
To fight, or flee, by my direction:
Since great Atride (in me delighting)
Takes my appointed Times for fighting,
He 'mongst dull Animals may pass,
Whose Wit, and bulk come near an Ass;
But my great Parts all Arts commencing,
As Camping, Stoolball, Quoits, and Fencing,
Excel old Dotards o'er and o'er,
As much as Steerer does the Rower.
Nine Taylors, Antients do maintain,
Do go to make a proper Man;
But ninety dozen Fools 'an't fit,
If joyn'd, to make a Man of Wit.
Do go to make a proper Man;
But ninety dozen Fools 'an't fit,
If joyn'd, to make a Man of Wit.
45
In Councils Wise, in Fight I'm Hardy,
Nor was I ever taken tardy;
My Mind, and Limbs alike prevail,
To make our Bloody Foes turn Tail:
To keep great Hector at a distance,
And Maul the rest without resistance.
But now my Story's almost ended,
To which with Patience you've attended:
Whom should such noble Gifts reward,
But him that's your most Faithful Guard?
Who for so many Years depending,
Has been your Corps, and Cause defending:
Employ'd his utmost Skill to ease you,
And run thro' thick and thin to please you.
Therefore (without a long Preamble
Of such as for these Arms may Scramble)
Since I did in one Night obtain,
What Ten long Winters sought in vain;
And to the Grecians utmost Joy,
Remov'd the Wooden Shrine from Troy;
Which made their Walls on Ground to welter,
And Turrets tumble Helter-Skelter.
Nor was I ever taken tardy;
My Mind, and Limbs alike prevail,
To make our Bloody Foes turn Tail:
To keep great Hector at a distance,
And Maul the rest without resistance.
But now my Story's almost ended,
To which with Patience you've attended:
Whom should such noble Gifts reward,
But him that's your most Faithful Guard?
Who for so many Years depending,
Has been your Corps, and Cause defending:
Employ'd his utmost Skill to ease you,
And run thro' thick and thin to please you.
Therefore (without a long Preamble
Of such as for these Arms may Scramble)
Since I did in one Night obtain,
What Ten long Winters sought in vain;
And to the Grecians utmost Joy,
Remov'd the Wooden Shrine from Troy;
Which made their Walls on Ground to welter,
And Turrets tumble Helter-Skelter.
46
Now if there's any Thing remaining,
That for my Country may be gaining,
If either Strength, or Wit, will do't,
You may be sure I'll bring 't about.
That for my Country may be gaining,
If either Strength, or Wit, will do't,
You may be sure I'll bring 't about.
Therefore I shall not be in Fault,
If Troy's not Plow'd, nor Sow'd wi' Salt,
But bear in Mind my last Petitions,
And Canvas 'em amongst the Grecians,
And if my Merits don't succeed,
Let Trojan's chief Defender Plead.
If Troy's not Plow'd, nor Sow'd wi' Salt,
But bear in Mind my last Petitions,
And Canvas 'em amongst the Grecians,
And if my Merits don't succeed,
Let Trojan's chief Defender Plead.
So turning up his rusty Plad,
He shew'd their Tutelary God.
Thus did he finish his Orisons,
Which by the by, (good Folks) were Wise ones;
And Grecians mov'd with inward Pity,
On hearing such a dismal Ditty,
Rejecting all their former Guests,
Granted the cunning Rogues Requests,
He shew'd their Tutelary God.
Thus did he finish his Orisons,
Which by the by, (good Folks) were Wise ones;
And Grecians mov'd with inward Pity,
On hearing such a dismal Ditty,
Rejecting all their former Guests,
Granted the cunning Rogues Requests,
So an unwearied plodding Brain,
May every difficulty gain.
May every difficulty gain.
47
Then he who'had suffer'd Hector's Ire,
Dangers from Jove, from Sword and Fire;
The shock of Blows, and skill o'th' Archer;
By rage became as mad as March-hare.
Whole Droves of Goates, and Sheep and Oxen,
And other Animals he knocks down,
Supposing them the Grecian Squadrons,
By Beards, and Horns, and Shaggy Aprons.
Dangers from Jove, from Sword and Fire;
The shock of Blows, and skill o'th' Archer;
By rage became as mad as March-hare.
Whole Droves of Goates, and Sheep and Oxen,
And other Animals he knocks down,
Supposing them the Grecian Squadrons,
By Beards, and Horns, and Shaggy Aprons.
Then grasp'd he close Toledo trusty,
(Which want of use had render'd rusty)
But all his pulling for his Heart,
Could not make Sword and Scabbard Part;
So throwing Cap and Cloak at distance,
And whatsoever made Resistance,
To th'Boats with might and main he hyes
And there a lovely Halter spies,
Then walking says in surly manner,
I'll now lye down in Bed of Honour:
For ne'er a lousie simple Fellow-Man,
Shall curry the brave Son of Telamon:
This done, o're Branch of Oak, he throws
The end of Suffocating Noose,
And (on a Buffet-Stool ascended,)
Says now my Sorrows will be ended;
Thou lovely Curer of my Grief,
That bring'st such quick and sure Relief,
Thou shalt embrace my brawny Collar,
A Death most glorious for a Souldier;
And thus I'll end my woeful Days,
Without a stave of Hopkins Lays.
Then down went Cricket, off went he,
And Danc'd it round most gallantly,
His Grinders clos'd, and Eyeballs star'd,
And full as fierce as Lightning Glar'd.
(Which want of use had render'd rusty)
But all his pulling for his Heart,
Could not make Sword and Scabbard Part;
So throwing Cap and Cloak at distance,
And whatsoever made Resistance,
To th'Boats with might and main he hyes
And there a lovely Halter spies,
Then walking says in surly manner,
I'll now lye down in Bed of Honour:
For ne'er a lousie simple Fellow-Man,
Shall curry the brave Son of Telamon:
This done, o're Branch of Oak, he throws
The end of Suffocating Noose,
And (on a Buffet-Stool ascended,)
Says now my Sorrows will be ended;
48
That bring'st such quick and sure Relief,
Thou shalt embrace my brawny Collar,
A Death most glorious for a Souldier;
And thus I'll end my woeful Days,
Without a stave of Hopkins Lays.
Then down went Cricket, off went he,
And Danc'd it round most gallantly,
His Grinders clos'd, and Eyeballs star'd,
And full as fierce as Lightning Glar'd.
But tho' his Countenance was so stern,
Yet from the Regions of his Postern,
Drop'd something Saffron-Dye excelling,
Yet sweet as Musk, or Civet, Smelling.
This with a warm and pleasant Shower,
From that same Turf produc'd a Flower,
In whose thick Leaves (by common Fame)
Appears the stout Commanders Name.
Yet from the Regions of his Postern,
Drop'd something Saffron-Dye excelling,
Yet sweet as Musk, or Civet, Smelling.
This with a warm and pleasant Shower,
From that same Turf produc'd a Flower,
In whose thick Leaves (by common Fame)
Appears the stout Commanders Name.
FINIS.
| Ovid in Masquerade | |