Make Priam's house of scurvy peers
Come tumbling down about their ears.
These Trojans, if they do not mend on't,
Will all be hang'd at least, depend on't:
For thee, my brother, who deserv'd
Much better fate than be so serv'd,
I trust thou wilt not die so sudden,
But still eat many a pound of pudding.
If aught but good should hap to thee,
God knows what must become of me.
When thou art gone, thy men of might
Will run, but rot me if they'll fight.
When once they've lost thy brave example,
They'll let the Trojan rascals trample
Their very guts out ere they'll budge;
They will, as sure as God's my judge.
Shall Helen then with Paris stay,
Whilst thy poor bones consume away;
And some sad dog, thy recent tomb,
Lug out his ware and piss upon?
Adding, that all Atrides got,
Was to come here to lie and rot;
Nor durst his bullying brother stay,
But very stoutly ran away.
Before this scandal on me peep,
May I be buried nine yards deep!
 
 
He spoke; and sighing rubs his eyes,
When Menelaus thus replies:
Thy tears, my hero, prithee keep,
Lest they should make our soldiers weep:
'Tis but, at worst, a harmless scratch;
I'll put upon't a lady's patch:
Or, if you think 'twill mend you faster,
I'll send for Borton's⁸ sticking-plaster.
But if a surgeon's help is meet,
Dispatch a messenger to th' Fleet;
There is a man, who well can do
For scratches, burns, and poxes too.
 
 
The brother king, with gracious look,
Once more resum'd the thread, and spoke
 
 
May all the gods thy life defend,
And all thy wounds and scratches mend!
Talthybius, fly, Machaon bid
Run faster than he ever did;
Let him await us in our tents,
And bring his box of instruments;
My brother's wounded with a dart,
For aught I know, in mortal part
 
 
With such a haste Talthybius run,
He knock'd two common troopers down;
Then search'd through every file and rank,
And found the surgeon in the flank.
 
 
The king, Machaon, wants your help;
You must not march, but run, you whelp;
And, with your box of instruments,
Attend the brothers in their tents:
Make speed, the best leg foremost put;
One brother's wounded in the gut;
And for the other, 'tis not clear
But he has burst his guts for fear.
 
 
The surgeon was a soldier good,
And in his regimentals stood.
Soon as he heard of what had pass'd,
No surgeon ever ran so fast.
Talthybius, who his speed did view,
Swears to this day he thought he flew.
Away he hied, with double speed,
To help the king in time of need
(A double motive surgeons brings,
When they attend the wounds of kings;
It happens oft, as I have heard,
Besides their pay, they get preferr'd).
Away puff'd Chiron on full drive,
In hopes to see the king alive.
Standing he found the man he sought,
And cleaner than at first was thought.
His comrades look'd a little blue,
And so perhaps might I or you.
He pluck'd the arrow with such speed,
Close to the head he broke the reed;
On which he for the buckles felt,
And loos'd at once both head and belt:
When kneeling down upon the ground,
Like Edward's queen he suck'd the wound;
Then to the place, to give it ease,
Apply'd a salve of pitch and grease.
 
 
But, while the surgeon was employ'd,
The Grecians sorely were annoy'd
By Trojan boys that flew about,
Resolv'd just then to box it out;
Roaring they came like drunken sailors,
Or idle combination tailors.
The king durst hardly go or stay;
But yet he scorn'd to run away:
Though peace might make his head appear
A little thick, in war 'twas clear.
Though his own coach was by his side,
Yet, like a man, he scorn'd to ride,
Lest they should think him touch'd with pride,
But ran on foot through all the host,
As nimbly as a penny post:
 
 
And cries, Attend, each mother's son!
This battle must be lost or won.
Remember now your ancient glory,
What broken heads there are in story
Related of your fathers stout;
And you yourselves are talk'd about:
A Trojan fighting one of you,
Has odds against him three to two:
The rascals rotten are as melons,
And full of guilt as Newgate felons.
We'll have 'em all in chains and cuffs,
But till that time let's work their buffs.
This speech was made for men of mettle;
He next the cowards strives to settle:
 
 
O shame to all your former trades,
The ridicule of oyster jades!
Do you intend to stand and see
Your lighters flaming in the sea?
A special time to stare and quake,
When more than all ye have's at stake!
Like stags, who, whilst they stand at bay,
Dare neither fight nor run away;
Perhaps you think it worth the while
For Jove to fight, and save you toil:
But you will find, without a jest,
He safest stands who boxes best.
 
 
This said, like Brentford's mighty king
He march'd, and strutted round the ring.
Th' old Cretan gave him great content,
To see him head his regiment;
And to observe how void of fear
The bold Merion form'd the rear.
The serjeant-majors, in their places,
Advanc'd, with grim determin'd faces.
The king, elated much with joy,
Clasp'd in his arms the fine old boy:
O Idomen! what thanks we owe
To men of such-like mould as you!
Thy worth by far exceeds belief:
When Jove from war shall give relief,
Be thine the foremost cut o' th' beef:
And when our pots of ale we quaff,
Mix'd with small beer the better half,
Thy share, depend, shall never fail
To be a double pot, all ale.
 
 
The Cretan had not learn'd to dance;
Had ne'er from Dover skipp'd to France:
For though 'tis plain he meant no evil,
You'll say his answer was not civil:
 
 
There needs no words to raise my courage
So save your wind to cool your porridge:
I'll venture boldly though to say,
I'll act what you command this day:
Let but the trumpets sound to battle,
I'll make the Trojans' doublets rattle.
 
 
The king was rather pleas'd than vex'd,
So travell'd onward to the next.
Ajax he found among his blues;
Ajax, says he, my boy, what news?
Now this he said, because 'twas hard
To have for all a speech prepar'd:
But yet he gladly feasts his eyes
With his new mode of exercise:
He found 'twas Prussian every inch;
Of mighty service at a pinch;
He saw him close his files, then double
(A trick, new learn'd, the foe to bubble);
Next wheel'd to right and left about,
And made 'em face both in and out;
Then turn upon the centre quick,
As easy as a juggler's trick;
Whence soon they form'd into a square;
Then back again just as they were.
By this parade, Atrides knew
That phalanx might be trusted to.
Now, all this while his plotting head
Had conn'd a speech, and thus he said:
 
 
To say I'm pleas'd, O gallant knight!
Is barely doing what is right:
Thy soldiers well may heroes be,
When they such bright examples see.
 
 
Would Jove but to the rest impart
A piece of thy undaunted heart,
Trojans would helter-skelter run,
And their old walls come tumbling down.
 
 
The next he found was ancient Nestor,
Who, spite of age, was still a jester:
For military art renown'd,
As Bland's his knowledge was profound
Besides, when he thought fit, could speak
In any language – best in Greek.
The king espy'd his men in ranks,
And flew to give th' old firelock thanks;
Observ'd how just he plac'd his forces,
His footmen and his line of horses.
The foot⁹ were wisely rang'd in front,
That they the first might bear the brunt.
 
 
The horse along the flanks he drew,
To keep 'em ready to pursue.
The rear made up of mod'rate men,
Half hearts of cock, half hearts of hen.
The very riff-raff rogues they venture
To squeeze together in the centre.
Thus fix'd, they kept a sharp look-out,
And ready stood to buckle to't.
A man with half an eye could see
A rare old Grecian this must be,
Who in so small a space could keep
His knaves from jumbling in a heap;
Then with a phiz as wise as grave
The following advice he gave:
 
 
If you in battle chance to fall,
Don't stay to rise, for that spoils all;
To rise as some men do, I mean,
Burn foremost, then your back is seen;
But jump directly bolt upright,
Ready prepar'd to run or fight.
Advice like this our fathers took,
And drove the world along like smoke.
 
 
Thus spoke the queer old Grecian chief,
And pleas'd the king beyond belief;
Who cry'd, 'Tis cursed hard that age
Should drive such leaders off the stage:
Whilst other bruisers die forgot,
Eternal youth should be thy lot.
 
 
When Nestor shook his hoary locks,
And thus replies: Age, with a pox!
Will come apace: could I, forsooth,
Recall the strength I had in youth,
When Ereuthalion I did thwack,
Be sure I would that strength call back;
But dear experience can't be gotten
Till we're with tricks of youth half rotten:
The young are fittest for the field,
But to the old in council yield.
Though now my fighting bears no price,
Yet I can give you rare advice.
Fight you and scuffle whilst you're young,
My vigour centres in my tongue:
I would do more to show my love,
But can no other weapon move.
With joy great Agamemnon heard
This doughty knight o' th' grizzle beard,
 
 
He left him then, because he had
No time to spare, things look'd but bad:
When, lo! he found Menestheus
In a most lamentable fuss.
His potlid he could not explore,
Because 'twas hid behind the door:
Searching about his tent all round him,
The gen'ral left him where he found him.
 
 
Next spy'd Ulysses at his stand;
Th' old buffs were under his command:
Idle they lay at distance far,
Nor knew a word about the war:
Atrides saw them playing pranks,
And all disorder'd in their ranks;
Which made him in a mighty passion
The poor Ulysses fall slap dash on:
 
 
I thought you, Mr. Slight-of-Hand,
Had known much better than to stand
Picking your fingers, whilst the rest
Are forc'd to box their very best,
And make a marvellous resistance
To keep these Trojan whelps at distance:
In time of peace you're much respected,
And never at our feasts neglected;
You're first i' th' list when I invite,
And therefore should be first in fight.
 
 
The sage Ulysses, with a blush,
Returns for answer, Hush, hush, hush:
If you speak loud, the Trojans hear;
Not that we care, what need we fear?
But I'm persuaded you'll ere long
Wish you had kept that noisy tongue
Betwixt your teeth, nor let it pass
To tell us all you're half an ass;
Why, can't you see we're ready booted,
And I've just got my jacket clouted?
Without your keeping such a coil.
Ten minutes fits us for our broil;
Give you the word, and we'll obey,
At quarter-staff or cudgel play;
When we begin, perhaps I'll do
Such wonders as may frighten you.
 
 
Well said, Ulysses! cries the king
(A little touch'd though with the sting
Of this rum speech); I only fear'd
To catch my warrior off his guard;
But am rejoic'd to find thee steady,
For broils and wenching always ready.
 
 
He said, and pass'd to Diomede,
And caught him fast asleep in bed.
Zoons! quoth the king, I thought Tydides,
The man in whom my greatest pride is,
Might absent been perhaps a-whoring,
But little dreamt to catch him snoring:
Dost thou not hear the Trojans rattle?
Already they've begun the battle.
Not so thy father – none could doubt him,
He long ere this had laid about him;
Had gi'n the Trojans such a drubbing,
As would have say'd a twelvemonth's scrubbing:
'Tis known he was a lad of wax,
Let bellum be the word, aut pax.
He was, indeed, of stature small,
But then in valour he was tall.
I saw him once, 'twas when he stray'd
To Polynice's house for aid;
Troopers he begg'd, and straight we gave 'em;
But Jove sent word he should not have 'em:
With long-tail'd comets made such rout,
That we e'en let him go without.
But after that, I know it fact,
He fifty blust'ring bullies thwack'd:
Nay, hold, I fib, 'twas forty-nine;
For one he sav'd, a friend of mine,
To witness that the tale was true,
Else 'twould have been believ'd by few.
Though two bold bruisers led them on,
Meon and sturdy Lycophon,
He trimm'd their jackets ev'ry one.
But I must tell you in this case,
And tell you flatly to your face,
Since our affairs so ill you handle,
You're hardly fit to hold his candle.
 
 
With rage and grief Tydides stung,
Scratch'd his rump raw, yet held his tongue;
Provok'd by this abusive knight
To scratch the place that did not bite.
Not so the son of Capaneus;
He soon began to play the deuce:
 
 
Good Mr. Chief, if you would try
To speak the truth, you would not lye;
Like other mortals though we rest,