A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

      Away then sneak'd the harmless wizard,

      Grumbling confoundedly i' th' gizzard,

      And, as in doleful dumps he pass'd,

      Look'd sharp for fear of being thrash'd.

      But out of harm's way when he got,

      To Phœbus he set up his throat:

      Smintheus, Latona's son and heir,

      Cilla's chief justice, hear my pray'r!

      Thou link-boy of the world, that dost

      In Chrysa's village rule the roast,

      And know'st the measure, inter nos,

      Of ev'ry wench in Tenedos,

      Rat-catcher general of heaven,

      Remember how much flesh I've given

      To stay your stomach; beef and mutton

      I never fail'd your shrine to put on;

      And, as I knew you lik'd them dearly,

      I hung a dozen garlands yearly

      About your church, nor charg'd the warden

      Or overseers a single farthing;

      But paid the charge and swept the gallery

      Out of my own poor lousy salary.

      This I have done, I'll make't appear,

      For more than five-and-fifty year.

      In recompense I now insist

      The Grecians feel thy toe and fist;

      For sure thou canst not grudge the least

      To vindicate so good a priest.

      Thus Chrysis pray'd: in dreadful ire,

      The carrot-pated god took fire;

      But ere he stirr'd he bent his bow,

      That he might have the less to do,

      Resolv'd before he did begin

      To souse 'em whilst his hand was in.

      Fierce as he mov'd the Greeks to find,

      He made a rumbling noise behind;

      His guts with grumbling surely never

      Could roar so loud – it was his quiver,

      Which, as he trotted, with a thwack

      Rattled against his raw-bone back.

      In darkness he his body shrouds,

      By making up a cloak of clouds.

      But, when he came within their view,

      Twang went his trusty bow of yew:

      He first began with dogs and mules,

      And next demolish'd knaves and fools.

      Nine nights he never went to sleep,

      And knock'd 'em down like rotten sheep;

      And would have sous'd 'em all, but Juno,

      A scolding b – h as any you know,

      Came and explain'd the matter fully

      To Thetis' son, the Grecian bully,

      Who ran full speed to summon all

      The common council to the hall.

      When seated, with a solemn look

      Achilles rose, and thus he spoke:

      Neighbours, can any Grecian say

      We ought not all to run away

      From this curst place without delay?

      Else soon our best and bravest cocks

      Will be destroy'd by plague or pox.

      We cannot long, though Jove doth back us,

      Resist, whilst two such foes attack us.

      I think 'tis time to spare the few

      Our broils have left; but what think you?

      A cunning man perhaps may tell us

      The reason why this plague befel us

      Or an old woman, that can dream,

      May help us out in this extreme;

      For dreams, if rightly you attend 'em,

      Are true, when Jove thinks fit to send 'em.

      Thus may we form some judgment what

      This same Apollo would be at;

      Whether he mauls each wicked sinner,

      Because a mighty pimping dinner

      He often had but then he knew

      That we had damn'd short commons too.

      If 'tis for that he makes such stir,

      He's not the man I took him for:

      But, as I've reason for my fears,

      I vote to pay him all arrears.

      Therefore let such a man be found,

      Either above or under ground,

      To tell us quickly how we may

      In proper terms begin to pray,

      That he may ease us of these curses,

      And stay at home and mind his horses —

      Much better bus'ness for the spark

      Than shooting Grecians in the dark.

      He said, and squatting on his breech,

      Calchas rose up, and look'd on each:

      With caution he began to speak

      A speech compos'd of purest Greek.

      He was a wizard, and could cast

      A figure to find out things past;

      And things to come he could foretel,

      Almost as well as Sydrophel.

      The diff'rent languages he knew

      Of every kind of bird that flew,

      Each word could construe that they spoke.

      Or screech-owl's scream, or raven's croak,

      And, by a science most profound,

      Distinguish rotten eggs from sound.

      When first the Grecians mann'd their boats

      To sail and cut the Trojans' throats,

      Safely to steer 'em through the tide,

      They chose this wizard for their guide.

      As slow as clock-work he arose,

      Then with his fingers wip'd his nose:

      Dubious to speak or hold his tongue,

      His words betwixt his teeth were hung:

      But,