GIGANTOMAXIA[Greek]. Or A Full, and True Relation Of the Great and Bloody Fight, between Three Pagan Knights and a Christian Gyant ::

GIGANTOMAXIA[Greek]. Or A Full, and True Relation Of the Great and Bloody Fight, between Three Pagan Knights and a Christian Gyant

[by Samuel Speed]

Speed, Samuel

[section]

ΓΙΓΑΝΤΟΜΑΧΙΑ.

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Of Monsters fell, and wondrous Wights,
Of Tow'rs Inchanted, bloudy Fights,
Of ERRANT Knaves, and ERRANT Knights
I shall Compose my Ballad;

How a huge Gyant Fierce and Stout,
Three Gentle KNIGHTS at once did Rout;
Of which, if you the Truth do Doubt,
The Record's in my Wallet.

Contrary to Romantick Rules,
By Snatches sweetly Con'd at Schools,
Which always make the biggest Fools,
Truth here takes part with Gyant,

For He the Knight's thick Skulls did Crack,
He laid their Honours on the Back,
And did their Ribs full rudely Thwack,
To make their Purses Plyant.

Thou great St. George, and Eglamore,
Thou Pegasus, and Brigliadore,
With all hard Names that Poets Roar,
And for their Gods have taken,

Merlin that made the Dee'l an Ass,
Blàdud-ap-creat-Rud-Hudibrass,
That through the Air like Owl could pass,
And Famous Fryar Bacon;

Assist, Assist my Mournful Song!
Mingle your pow'rful Charms Among,
With whisper'd Numbers, Dark and Strong,
Whilst I the Lists do Enter!

Hence all Profaneness! come not Near
T'Invade the Sacred Rituals Here,
Nor Wine, nor Mony, nor good Cheer,
To hinder mine Adventure.

An Isle there is, that Albion Hight,
With Fruits and Flowers, around Bedight,
Where Damsel fair, and gentle Knight,
In every Shade are Playing,

Where Nightingales each Tree Adorn,
Spurring their Breasts with watchful Thorn
Throughout the Year, where ev'ry Morn
The Virgins go a Maying.

A Town it has, which Fiends Inchant,
Where Brideled Furies Roar and Rant,
In olden times, hight Troynovant,
But now 'tis London Stiled.

Which By full many a Dev'lish Spell
And Brands and Balls fetch'd up from Hell,
In its own Cindars Buried Fell,
Of all its Glory Spoiled.

But when Rome's Thrid-bare Plots were Spy'd,
Her Charms unravel'd, Knots Unty'd,
'Twas gloriously Re-edifi'd,
Far Noblier than by th'Founder;

Bright Turrets in th'Invaded Air,
By Negromantick Art they Rear;
With Stately Domes, and Houses Fair,
Besprinkling all around Her.

Here the Learn'd Sages every Year,
In Venerable Furs appear,
To chuse a CHRISTIAN Officer,
That may provide 'em Juries;

This makes the PAGAN-TORIES Rave,
Because their stakes they cannot Save;
This makes ROGERO Strut and Brave,
With all his Club of Furies.

Some Renegado's stile you Can,
Two Knights, but ne're a Gentleman,
Sometimes on the hot Scent they Ran
A hunting for Promotion,

And now and then for nimble Bounds,
Or treading down their Neighbours Grounds,
Their Dog-lookt Friends amongst the Hounds,
Are Dubd with great Devotion.

Such Recreant Knights, accoutred Fine
With Sword and Mace, their Steps Incline
To a large House, where Sin and Wine
On equal Tearms are Vended:

Its name I know not, tho' 'tis Sed
And thought by most, 'twas the Popes-Head,
For there like Friends they might be Sped,
And carefully Attended.

The first was of as strong a make,
As ever Lance in Justing Brake,
Or handled Sword for Ladies Sake,
In Turky or in Persy:

From Top to Toe, from Head to Heel,
He Cas'd himself in Burnish'd Steel;
For Yard, a Spear he now does Feel.
And Mail instead of Kersy.

The next that carry'd on the Fight,
With ponderous Mace of mickle Might,
Was Hangman, Senator, and Knight,
A strange Three-headed Monster;

Whom Scandalizing Whigs in Sport,
When to their Brethren they Resort,
That he's Ally'd to the French-Court,
By's name's resemblance Conster.

The S---f can't the L---s hide,
The Knightly Spurs must needs be spy'd,
Tho the Gold-Chain's about 'em ty'd,
The better to obscure 'um;

Th'Ass is an Ass, tho Cloath'd he Be
In the cast Robes of Majestie,
Tho his long Ears Beasts cannot See,
From trembling to secure 'um.

The Third, a proper Man 'tis true,
But that his Legs did stand askew,
And both like Sampson's Foxes grew,
One this way, that the other;

Nought but their equal Ugliness,
Their equal Shape, and equal Dress,
Could make th'amaz'd Beholder Guess,
That this to that was Brother.

With him I would not enter Strife,
Nor try a Fall to save my Life,
For as a Bone upon a Knife,
My Legs would split on his-'n:

This may without a stretch be Sed;
Upon my Neck should he but Tread,
He'd certainly cut off my Head,
Before my Tail were ris'n.

Enough of these, too much I fear;
Now of the Gyant you shall hear,
That did with Bloud their Chaps besmear,
And eke their sides Bumbasted;

How on their Skulls he Blows did Rain,
And kickt 'um down, and up Again;
How with no little Grief and Pain
They from his Clutches Hasted.

His outward Parts were something small;
'Twas th'inward Powers that Acted all;
Yet tho a Gyant him we call,
Let not the Tories blame us;

For as close Flames more fiercely Roll,
Imprison'd in a narrow Hole;
So 'twas his brave Gygantick SOUL
Made's Pygmee-Body Famous.

All Tory Cloath, and Drapers too,
With Fist, or else with Indigo,
He's us'd to die both Black and Blue,
The best in all the Nation;

And lest his Customers be found,
Some do Suppose he has been bound,
By heavy Bagg of Hundred Pound,
To hide his Occupation.

This Dragon-firking Hercules,
This Cadmus, This—e'ne what you please,
That direful Monsters quell'd with Ease,
And Dragg'd from horrid Cavern;

The matter few Distinguish can,
Whether he freely thither Ran,
Or was Entic'd by a Trepan,
And Wheedled to the Tavern.

Who there Behind the Door should Lurk,
But a false-misbelieving-Turk,
Who thus began the Devils Work,
With Glass fast claspt in Clutches.

Ah! Sir-ah! have we got you here?
Come Pledge a Health to th'Grand-VISIER,
Or else with speed my Cimiter,
Shall make new room for Crutches.

Sad was the Christian Champion's case;
He had nor Battle-axe, nor Mace,
Yet Stoutly he took Heart-a-grace,
And thus Desies the Pagan:

False Recreant Wretch as 'ere did Wield,
An unbecoming Lance, or Shield!
My head, as soon as Knees I'le Yield,
To your great Bel, and Dragon.

Jack Adams struts about the Rooms,
And swears, and sinks, and cocks and fumes,
That thus one Stubborn Whig presumes,
On three Arm'd Knights to Venture;

Sirrah you Dog! d'ee prate, d'ye prate?
Must Captives then capitulate?
Dispatch; or else I'le break your pate,
And Ramm ye to the Center.

No sooner Said, no soner Done,
The Fight was instantly Begun;
A blow he Struck enough to Stun,
The Stoutest Knight in London:

Some fav'ring God, or powerful Charm,
To save a Courteous Knight from harm,
I'th' nick came underneath his arm,
Or there he had been undone.

The empty Sword slid glancing by;
Not so our Champion, who must try,
Bravely to Conquer, or to Dye,
By hand of miscreant Heathen;

But since he saw the War begin,
He won't for nothing sell his skin,
But if his reach they come within,
Hee'l give his Foes a breathing.

His Fist he bends, and dings it right,
At's Worship's Face with all his Might,
Down on the floor my gentle Knight,
All in a heap does tumble:

As when one Mungril you attack,
The yelping Cur your steps will track,
And raise the Parish on your back,
His Friends began to grumble.

In our Relation to be brief,
Sir Simon Suck-egg was the chief,
That brought his Brother Fool relief,
Than all his Fellows madder;

He by his quondam HONOURS Swore,
By forked Crest the arms he bore,
And by his Mistress, alias W---
To turn him o're the LADDER.

But tho his hands were thick, and long,
His Weapon ponderous, and strong,
And he with Mace laid on ding-dong,
Yet still our Champion tight-stood,

And after many a crabbed Jowle,
Putting aside his weighty Pole,
He takes him ore the Jobbernole,
And down he fetcht poor Knight-hood.

In Triumph over them he goes,
Thinking he had conquer'd all his Foes,
And under his victorious Toes,
He stampt their batter'd Faces;

Sir Simon's Beauty went to Pot,
That tho in Love he had been hot,
His Mistress soon restore would not,
Her favours, and good Graces.

Beat Death's Alarm upon the Drums!
'Ware Shanks! 'Ware Shanks! Sir Harry comes;
He bit for Anger both his Thumbs,
And at our Champion yawned;

He like Alcides did provide,
To guard himself on either side,
When Hydra's Coxcombs multiply'd,
And two for one were spawned.

With Corps erect, and Visage grim,
One foot he plants on simple Sim.
Who sadly growled under him;
Sir Bobb supported t'other:

With an undaunted Meen, and Air,
His conqu'ring Arms he high does Rear,
And for the third Assault prepare,
To drubb their' Friend and Brother.

So have I seen a sprightly Cat,
That purring in a Corner sat,
In Ambuscade for lusty Rat,
Sworn Foe to Cheese and Bacon;

When two young Mice that frisking out,
From a low Port of their Redoubt,
By Governours command to scout,
Were in her Clutches taken.

Their piercing Shrieks the Fort affright;
Out Sallies Ratt, prepar'd to fight,
As fierce as any TORY Knight,
Vpon her madly falling;

Puss in two Paws shuts captive Mice,
To hinder rescue, or surprise;
With th'other at her Foe does rise,
And down she Cuffs him sprawling.

Doughty Sir Hall, a tiptoe Stands,
With mighty Fauchion reard in hands,
And Satisfaction demands,
For both his Friends Mischances;

He Winks, and then Pel-mel lets drive,
Aiming his head in twain to rive;
That was the gentlest Knight alive;
But flatlong on't it glances.

Our Champions Head, and Brains ran round,
Down he was sinking in a sound,
But yet as soon's he toucht the ground,
Up leapt he like Antæus

Antæus: a famous Moorfields wrastler, who the oftener he was foil'd the more strength he had.

The Turks arrears he payd him soon,
Tho he for grace did Importune,
And made him see more Stars at Noon,
Than e're did Galilæus

Galilæus an old Conjurer (kin to Gadbury) that saw the stars at noon with a spying glass.

In Vain the Wretch for help dos Bawl,
On back, and sides, and face and all,
With Knightly prowess he does fall,
And many a trusty greeting;

He laid on Load on empty Crown,
Until with a most gracious frown,
His honour too came Rattling down,
To give his Friends a meeting.

Stout Whig their Noses gently tweaks,
Their Skuls, tho thick, all over breaks,
And his just Anger on 'em wreaks
For their Affront Notorious:

He rents their Lace, and Linen pure
(Who can so sad a sight endure?)
And Poynt-Crevats, and Garniture
That made 'em look so glorious.

Their empty Crowns rung jangling Peals,
Their Foe Chimes backward, and reveals
The Fire that their warm Ear conceals
Whilst they're in woful pickle:

Had you but seen 'em how they Sat,
Spoil'd of their Cloak, and Band, and Hat,
You would conclude they had been at
A Bristow-Conventicle.

Now on the Floor their Corps he spreads,
Now on their Neck in Tryumph treads,
Then disoblig'd their LOGGERHEADS,
Jumbling them alltogether,

And if they once but Curst, or Frown'd,
He roll'd em round, and round, and round,
Trayling their Cloaths about the Ground
They knew not how nor whether.

Sometimes on their Fat Guts he jumps,
Sometimes their Paunches rudely thumps,
And on their Heads makes Egg-like bumps,
Whilst their poor Pates were addled;

Now he their Jaws accosts with hand,
Now on his Legg prepar'd did stand,
To give their Tails a REPRIMAND,
And now their sides he swadled.

Still he lets Drive his furious Blows,
Untill at last, as most suppose,
The reverent-Sirs affront his Nose,
With PARACELSIAN Civet;

AT---d they did!

So crafty REYNARD now and then,
When outed by intruding men,
Be-s--- the cleanly Badgers Den,
To make its Land-Lord leave it.

The TORYS their bang'd sides bemoan,
They sadly yelp O hone! O hone!
And with full many a dolorous Groan,
Hold up their Paws for pity.

Sir Bobb and Hal did deeply yell,
But who his direful Plaints can tell,
That was, while it seem'd good to Hell,
A Burden to the City.

Thirteen-Pence-Half-penny hee'd bestow
With generous Fist on Conqu'ring Foe,
If he'd be pleas'd to let him go
But for one livelong Moment;

But since some wiser are than some,
Our Champion threatens with a Drum
Beating before to kick 'em home;
Although he never so meant.

As soon as they had strength to rise,
For Crick in Neck, in Back, in Thighs,
They lookt about to find their Eyes,
Thinking he'd beat 'em all out;

So have I seen a maimed Snail,
When by rude Heels its Rampires fail,
Dragging along its slimy Tail,
From thence attempt to crawl out.

The Christian had a Noble Soul,
And when he saw 'em thus condole,
He grants 'em Freedom on Parole,
While Fame his Glory raises;

This Tell-tale Goddess had a Spy
That brought her word immediately;
About the City she does flye,
And Trumpets out his Praises.

Of TORY Champions, fierce and stout,
London and England all throughout,
She the Atchievements spreads about,
And of their Valour Tattles;

But with slye Malice chiefly she
Does magnifie their COURTESIE,
When they to odds must yield or flee,
In such unequal Battels.

For when, by unexpected Chance,
One did against all Three advance,
They yielded out of Complaisance,
And took a Civil Drubbing.

But since, although Cock-sure, they fail,
And Three to One could not prevail,
This did the Hot-spur Courage quail
Of poor Heroick Robin.

Fame's a damn'd Whig they fret and cry,
(Screwing their Mouths up to their Eye)
If e're we meet her she shall dye;
Kiss and tell! Out upon her!

Fortune we find's a fickle Whore,
We'll never trust the Gypsie more:
(Thus like a Bittern they did roar)
Our Honour! O our Honour!

Their Friends advise 'em to Compound.
If lusty Dyer may be found,
And get him unto silence bound,
Although he hard to win is;

With sense profound they gravely say,
'Twould be the best and safest way,
To lock his Lips with Silver Kay,
Or gag his Mouth with Guinies.

'Twas spoke, and instantly 'twas done;
Whilst they their Pockets rummage, one
To every Coffee-House does run,
To find Victorious DYER;

They reason'd on the point, and he
Because they're Friends won't Disagree,
But out of meer CIVILITIE
He grants 'em their Desire.

Else how is he so chang'd become?
He answers nothing now but Mum!
To all Enquirers deaf and dumb,
Strangely retir'd o'th' sudden.

Ask him about it, ask again,
Tho of his Silence you complain,
Yet still you'll ask, and ask in vain;
For, not a word o'th' Pudding.

There's your true Spaniels for you, Sirs;
Kick 'em, they'll love you ne're the worse,
But, like Good-Christian-Honest-Curs,
Or Women of Moscovy,

The longer Cudgel one provides,
To exercise their Back and Sides,
The longer their Good-will abides,
And they'll the longer love ye.

But, Tories, take a Friend's Advice,
Well-willer to your NOSE and EYES,
That never lik'd this Enterprize,
To Whig-land so delighting:

Drink for the DUKE while you can stand,
Chase all Phanaticks round the Land,
With Glasses ready charg'd in Hand;
But pray take heed of Fighting.

FINIS.

University of Virginia Library

ΓΙΓΑΝΤΟΜΑΧΙΑ.