Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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HOMER AND VIRGIL CRAMM'D IN A NUTSHELL;
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 | Scripscrapologia |  |
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HOMER AND VIRGIL CRAMM'D IN A NUTSHELL;
OR, THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY.—A SONG.
I sing of a siege at which Legions were lost,
And a town that ten years did more thumping sustain,
Than the sturdy old Rock of Gibraltar could boast,
When beleaguer'd by all the proud bullies of Spain:
When young Helen, the wife of the Monarch of Sparta,
To keep up the gig which her head ran upon,
As she always contended for Love's Magna Charta.
Resolv'd to indulge in a little Crim. Con.
And a town that ten years did more thumping sustain,
Than the sturdy old Rock of Gibraltar could boast,
When beleaguer'd by all the proud bullies of Spain:
When young Helen, the wife of the Monarch of Sparta,
To keep up the gig which her head ran upon,
As she always contended for Love's Magna Charta.
Resolv'd to indulge in a little Crim. Con.
As the Dame chose with Paris to take her full swing,
And to stir both her stumps but she'd stick to her joy;
Her Lover and she hopp'd the twig and took wing,
And they fled, like two sparrows, from Sparta to Troy;
So, to loggerheads then went the Trojans and Greeks,
And like Devils they fought while the Gods they look'd on;
Till, at last, they were rous'd by their frolicks and freaks,
And to crown the confusion, took part, Pro and Con!
And to stir both her stumps but she'd stick to her joy;
Her Lover and she hopp'd the twig and took wing,
And they fled, like two sparrows, from Sparta to Troy;
So, to loggerheads then went the Trojans and Greeks,
And like Devils they fought while the Gods they look'd on;
Till, at last, they were rous'd by their frolicks and freaks,
And to crown the confusion, took part, Pro and Con!
Though Juno had got the best end of the staff,
And though Mars look'd as bluff as Bellona look'd blue,
Venus took up the cudgels in Beauty's behalf,
And their Godships were all in a strange Hub bub booh!
But Pallas, who sprung out of Jupiter's knob,
Whipping on little Diomede's dudds in a trice,
In her cunning contriv'd an unmerciful jobb,
And kill'd Trojans as fast as a cat can kill mice!
And though Mars look'd as bluff as Bellona look'd blue,
Venus took up the cudgels in Beauty's behalf,
And their Godships were all in a strange Hub bub booh!
But Pallas, who sprung out of Jupiter's knob,
Whipping on little Diomede's dudds in a trice,
In her cunning contriv'd an unmerciful jobb,
And kill'd Trojans as fast as a cat can kill mice!
Achilles too, back'd by his Myrmidons all,
When of stout Hector's blood he had spilt a full pail,
His carcase he wantonly dragg'd round the wall,
Like a dog with a cannister ty'd to his tail!
And Ulysses, so crafty at cutting of throats,
Having found a contrivance the Trojans to flog,
Stufft a horse full of men, as you'd stuff him with oats,
And you'll say, for a horse, that was comical prog!
When of stout Hector's blood he had spilt a full pail,
His carcase he wantonly dragg'd round the wall,
Like a dog with a cannister ty'd to his tail!
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Having found a contrivance the Trojans to flog,
Stufft a horse full of men, as you'd stuff him with oats,
And you'll say, for a horse, that was comical prog!
But at night the grim devils got out of their hole,
With their brimstone and matches, and torches and tinder,
And down in the street, by a ladder, they stole,
Having bargain'd to burn ev'ry soul to a cinder:—
Old Priam, the King, then, jump'd out of his bed,
While, instead of a robe, in an old blanket clad,
The Queen ran about with a clout on her head,
And, poor soul, she cry'd “Fire”, as if she was mad!
With their brimstone and matches, and torches and tinder,
And down in the street, by a ladder, they stole,
Having bargain'd to burn ev'ry soul to a cinder:—
Old Priam, the King, then, jump'd out of his bed,
While, instead of a robe, in an old blanket clad,
The Queen ran about with a clout on her head,
And, poor soul, she cry'd “Fire”, as if she was mad!
But Eneas, who 'scap'd with his Sire and Son,
While beholding the flames, cry'd the comical codger,
“The Landlord, by this, may, perhaps, be undone,
“But 'tis nothing to me, for I am but a Lodger”:—
And for Helen, she manag'd the matter so well,
That, a Phœnix in Beauty, she still rul'd the roast;
For her Spouse hid his horns, like a snail in the shell,
And, without being burnt, she was always a Toast!
While beholding the flames, cry'd the comical codger,
“The Landlord, by this, may, perhaps, be undone,
“But 'tis nothing to me, for I am but a Lodger”:—
And for Helen, she manag'd the matter so well,
That, a Phœnix in Beauty, she still rul'd the roast;
For her Spouse hid his horns, like a snail in the shell,
And, without being burnt, she was always a Toast!
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