THE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD

ARGUMENT

 
Now all the troops in order plac'd,
Against their minds, each other fac'd;
When nimble Paris, by a fit
Of courage, or of phrensy, bit,
Fierce sallies forth upon the plain;
The cuckold drives him back again:
Yet hearten'd afterwards by Hector,
Who read him a confounded lecture,
This dancing, cuckold-making knight
Challeng'd the cuckold out to fight;
Which Menelaus answer'd soon,
And in the scuffle knock'd him down.
Fast by the crown the Spartan held him,
And swore most bloodily he'd geld him:
But Venus, queen of love and beauty,
Who thinks all whoring tricks a duty,
In a great hurry came and caught him
Fast by the luggs, and fairly brought him
To his own room; then from the closet
She fetch'd a smoking-hot sack posset.
Soon as she found it warm'd his belly,
She stepp'd to th' door, and call'd up Nelly;
Who scolded hard at first, but soon
Pull'd off her clothes, and laid her down
Upon the bed beside her swain,
Who trimm'd her buff with might and main.
How oft, at exercise so vi'lent,
They cry'd Encore, our author's silent.
 

HOMER'S ILIAD

BOOK III

 
Thus muster'd by their leaders' care,
Both sides for fisty-cuffs prepare.
The Trojans toss their caps and shout,
And noise proclaims 'em bloody stout;
Like cranes that fly in winter time
(As poets tell us) to a clime
Where pigmies dwell, with whom they fight
To th' ears in blood from morn to night.
But the bold Grecians on their toes
Steal softly to surprise their foes,
Taking huge steps along the green
To get a blow before they're seen,
Knowing, a sorry rogue may crack
A brave man's crown behind his back.
With nimble feet, in sweat well soak'd,
They trudge it, though with dust half chok'd.
Thus, when a mist on mountain head
As thick as mustard round is spread,
The puzzled shepherd cannot keep
The goats from mingling with the sheep:
So of the Greeks, not one, I trow,
Ask him but hastily, could know
Whether his nose was on or no.
Now front to front they ready stand
To fight, and only wait command;
When nimble Paris to the van,
Dress'd à la mode de François, ran:
With coney-skins he edg'd his coat,
To show he was a man of note:
A cross-bow o'er his back was slung;
And on his thigh his poniard hung.
A staff he pois'd would fell an ox,
And dar'd the boldest Greek to box.
As thus he struts, and makes a splutter,
Like crow i' th' middle of a gutter,
Him Menelaus soon espies,
And joyful to himself he cries:
 
 
Blast my old shoes, but very soon
I'll have a knock at your rogue's crown!
Then darted, in a bloody rage,
From his old duns cart to engage:
And as he hied along to meet him,
He look'd as if he meant to eat him.
So joys the bailiff, when he spies
A half-pay officer his prize:
Headlong he drives across the way,
Regardless both of cart and dray,
Nor stops till he has seiz'd his prey.
 
 
Soon as the youth the cuckold saw,
As guilt will ever feel an awe,
In spite of all that he could say,
He found his legs would run away:
Then, since the matter turn'd out so,
'Twas best, he thought, to let 'em go;
So turn'd about, and in a crack
They brought their master safely back;
And, as he puff'd along, we find him
Not daring once to look behind him.
As when a bumpkin sees a snake
Come slyly stealing from the brake,
He starts, and looks confounded cunning,
But quickly saves himself by running:
So this young beau the cuckold shuns,
And 'mongst his trusty Trojans runs.
This the bold Hector could not bear;
He thought he ran away for fear —
Without considering, now and then
The very best and boldest men
Cannot their members so command
To make 'em at all seasons stand.
Be that as't may; with accent grave
He thus began to scold the knave:
 
 
Paris, says he, you're but a cheat,
And only dare the wenches meet;
But though a man you dare not face,
Yet, when the fight becomes a chase,
You'd beat a thousand in the race.
I wish, ere Nelly thou hadst felt,
Thou'dst broke thy neck, or hadst been gelt:
Better by half than thus to bully,
Then run away from such a cully.
The Greeks all swear thou art besh-t,
And their fat sides with laughing split.
Thou look a soldier! thou be d – d!
The Grecians cannot be so flamm'd.
When thy fine long-boats went to Greece
To steal away this precious piece;
Say, did'st thou, in thy first attack
On Helen's freehold, thus give back?
Joy to thy foes, shame to thy race,
Thy father's grief, and Troy's disgrace,
Recover thy lost credit soon,
And stoutly stand by what you've done;
Or else all Troy, as well as me,
Thy buxom wench will plainly see
Belongs a better man than thee.
Take heed, Troy may awake at last,
And make thee pay for all that's past.
Here Paris blush'd – a sign of grace;
Nor durst he look in Hector's face:
 
 
Then answers, By my soul, you're right
But who like you can preach and fight?
I know you're made of best of steel,
And box as if you could not feel.
You have your gifts, and I have mine:
Where each may in his province shine.
Smite you the men; I smite the wenches,
And seldom fail to storm their trenches.
Don't you despise the lover's charms:
They're Venus' gift, her powerful arms.
A good strong back, and proper measure
Of love, to give the fair ones pleasure,
Are blessings, which the gods bestow
Only to favourites below.
Yet, if it please thee, I will stand
This cuckold's combat hand to hand:
His mutton-fist bold Paris scorns,
He only fears his branching horns;
Should he receive from these a wound,
Our quack can never make him sound.
But go, explain the matter fully,
And I will box this Spartan bully.
My pretty Nelly shall be set
For him that doth the conquest get:
Her swelling breasts and matchless eyes
Shall be the lucky conqu'ror's prize:
Then Troy and Greece, in any weather,
May smoke a sober pipe together.
This challenge pleas'd, and Hector quick
Stopp'd all the Trojans with his stick;
Next to the foe, with Spanish pace,
Advanc'd, to let them know the case.
 
 
The Greeks, like coward sons of whores,
Threw bricks and cobble-stones in show'rs.
 
 
Atrides soon the tumult spies:
Give o'er, ye silly dogs! he cries;
'Tis Hector comes, if I am right,
To talk a little, not to fight:
I know him by his breadth of chest,
I know his skull-cap's always drest
With goose quills of the very best:
Then be not in such woeful splutter,
But hear what Hector has to utter.
At this rebuke they threw no more:
The tumult ceas'd; the fray was o'er:
His eyes the bully Trojan roll'd,
And briefly thus his story told:
 
 
Hear, all ye warriors, fam'd for toils,
In civil feuds and drunken broils:
Paris demands you now forbear
To kick and cuff, and curse and swear;
But on the ground your cudgels throw,
And stick your broomstaves on a row:
Let Troy and Greece but sit 'em down,
Paris will fight this Spartan loon;
The charming Helen shall be set,
For him that shall the conquest get;
Her snowy breasts and matchless eyes
Shall be the lucky conqu'ror's prize:
Then Troy and Greece, in any weather,
May smoke a sober pipe together.
 
 
He spoke; and for six minutes good,
With mouths half-cock'd, both armies stood:
 
 
When Menelaus thus began:
Bold Hector offers like a man,
And I the challenge will accept;
As freely as I ever slept.
Hector, perhaps, may think I won't,
But singe my whiskers if I don't!
I know, my lads, you fight for me,
And in my quarrel cross'd the sea.
I thank you, friends, for what you've done;
But now the battle's all my own:
Who falls, it matters not a fig,
If one survives to dance a jig
With that bewitching female Helen,
And stump it tightly when he's well in.
So, Trojans, if you mean no flams,
Go buy directly two grass-lambs;
One for the Earth, as black as crow,
One for the Sun, as white as snow:
For surly Jove, you need not fear,
We'll get one, be they cheap or dear;
For well we know he'll make us feel,
If e'er we cheat him of a meal.
But let King Priam on the place
Appear; we rev'rence his old face.
His sons are hect'ring roaring fellows,
And fifty thousand lies may tell us;
Old age is not so quick in motion,
But sees with care, and moves with caution.
Experience makes old folks discerning;
At blunders past they oft take warning.
 
 
Both parties hear, and hope, at last
Their broils and broken pates are past;
Nor staid they to be bidden twice,
But stripp'd their jackets in a trice:
Their cudgels, all the circle round
As quick as thought threw on the ground.
Two beadles Hector sent to town,
In haste to fetch his daddy down;
And bid 'em tell old limberhams,
Not to forget to bring two lambs.
The running footman of the fleet
(Talthybius call'd, with nimble feet)
With all his speed his stumps did stir
To fetch a lamb for Jupiter.
I' th' int'rim, fond of mischief-telling,
The rainbow goddess flies to Helen:
(Most modern farts, I ever knew,
When set on fire, burn only blue,
Or simple red; but when behind
This nimble goddess lets out wind,
It leaves a track along the skies
Compos'd of fifty different dyes.)
She seem'd like old Antenor's daughter,
That Helen might not know she sought her.
The housewife at her task she found,
With all her wenches seated round:
For, as she work'd in Priam's hall,
She chose to have them within call:
Where, like a brazen, saucy jade,
She wrought her tale in light and shade:
How, for her sake, the Greeks employ
Their utmost force to pull down Troy;
And wove the story in her loom,
Of horns, her former husband's doom:
Adding withal, to keep her going,
What for nine years they had been doing:
The necessary names wrote under,
Lest lookers-on should make a blunder;
Lest they should make a wrong conjecture:
This is brisk Paris – that is Hector;
This is Ulysses – that the beast
Thersites – so of all the rest.
Helen, says Iris, pray come out
And see what work they're all about.
Their clubs thrown down; their staves they prick
Fast in the ground, and there they stick.
They fight no more; for this good day
Paris and Menelaus say
They'll have one bout at cudgel play.
These happy rogues appear in view
To box their very best for you;
And which soever of 'em win,
With kissing he will soon begin.
This put the light-heel'd dame in mind
Of people she had left behind
In her own country: not these two
(She'd try'd the best that they could do);
But she had left behind some dozens
Of uncles, aunts, and loving cousins.
She gulp'd, and swallow'd down her spittle,
But yet was seen to weep a little;
Then left her work, and on her wait
Two wenches to the Scean gate,
Where some old square-toes, grave and try'd,
Were chatting close to Priam's side:
I think they were in number seven;
It matters not, or odd or even.
The name of each I would rehearse,
But it would edge your teeth in verse.
Like grasshoppers they sat i' th' sun,
Telling strange tales of ancient fun;
And, in a feeble hollow tone,
Repeated what great feats they'd done;
How they had thrum'd the maids of Troy,
When Adam was a little boy:
At Helen's shapes they shook their wings;
What could they more? they had no stings.
 
 
No wonder, 'faith, they cry, that Greece
Should fight for such a tempting piece;
The man that Helen's ringlets touzes,
Can never grudge a thousand bruises;
But since 'tis o'er with us long since,
'Tis best to send the brimstone hence:
If she stays here, Troy tumbles down;
But pack her off, we save the town.
 
 
Whilst thus the gipsy's praise they squeak,
The Trojan king began to speak:
 
 
Come hither, girl, I take a pride
To have thee chatter by my side.
Behold your friends, my dearest honey,
And take a view of your old crony.
'Tis not your fault: you're not the cause
Of half our bruises, kicks, and blows.
The gods, they say, are in a pet;
And when they're once on mischief set
The devil cannot keep 'em down,
Till they've demolish'd some old town;
And for nine years, I plainly see,
They have been grumbling hard at me.
But tell us, who's that swinging fellow
That struts so fierce? he's drest in yellow,
And cocks his hat with such a pinch,
He looks a soldier ev'ry inch.
 
 
Helen replies, Although, good Priam,
No woman's better kiss'd than I am,
Yet I could wish I had been hang'd,
Or at a whipping-post well bang'd,
Ere I away with Paris ran,
And cuckolded an honest man:
My little girl most bitterly,
They tell me, for her mam doth cry:
I'm full of grief, if that would do;
But matters can't be mended now.
 
 
The gipsy, after this parade,
Thus to the good old Trojan said:
He whom to know my daddy seeks,
Is the great leader of the Greeks:
 
 
His fame is known both near and far,
To scold in peace, and kick in war:
My brother he was call'd, before
Your son and I turn'd rogue and whore:
To call him so I'm now asham'd,
And even blush to hear him nam'd.
 
 
Is that Atrides, quoth the king?
To me he seems the very thing:
I'm told he is, or grave or mellow,
In peace or war, a clever fellow.
Amongst the Phrygians I have been.
But ne'er a tighter fellow seen.
When Otreus sat upon their throne,
And Migdon led their hang-dogs on,
I and my Trojans join'd the roysters;
Where, by the help of cod and oysters,
We laid, with many strokes and thwacks,
The Amazons upon their backs:
Yet those now standing in our sight
Are tighter fellows, by this light.
But tell me, Helen, if you can,
Who's that broad-breasted little man;
His shoulders large and widely spread,
But not so tall as th' last by th' head?
He is no serjeant, I've a notion;
Yet like a serjeant in his motion:
He seems to bustle much about him;
You'd swear they could not do without him.
 
 
Helen replies, My judgment misses,
If he you speak of ben't Ulysses.
Now that I take a better view,
'Tis he himself, I spy him now:
Let him be standing still, or running,
You'll hardly find his match for cunning;
He knows a thousand slipp'ry tricks,
But shines the most in politics.
Though from a barren isle he came,
The world's too little for his fame:
And, had he not been born a prince,
He'd been prime minister long since.
 
 
Antenor told the king, he knew
What Helen said was very true.
When Atreus' son and he came over,
This coaxing baggage to recover,
Men of great worth they seem'd to be,
I therefore let 'em lodge with me:
I knew them both before that day,
And knew they could their reck'ning pay.
Whene'er we chatted o'er a can
Of flip, with care I mark'd each man.
Atrides standing, look'd the best,
'Cause he was mostly better drest:
Seated, Ulysses reverence drew;
On breech he gave the clearest view.
Atrides was no man of tongue;
His speech was good, though never long:
But when Ulysses 'gan to speak,
You never heard so queer a Greek;
He'd fix his eyes upon the ground,
As if a speech could there be found;
Look'd foolish, though he knew no tongue
Like his was half so glibly hung:
He could, with oily words, I tell ye,