A Burlesque Translation of Homer. Francis Grose

      Mean time Ulysses, full of cares,

      Had moor'd his boat at Chrysa's stairs:

      When sails were furl'd, and all made snug,

      They tipp'd the can, and pass'd the jug;

      Then fell to work, and brought their store

      Of cows and rotten sheep ashore:

      This done, the last of all came out

      The girl that caus'd this woful rout.

      Ulysses, ever on the lurch,

      Hurries the girl away to church,

      Knowing full well that there he had

      Best chance of finding her old dad;

      And as he gave her to th' old man,

      To lie1 and cant he thus began:

      I come upon my bended knees,

      Thine and Apollo's wrath t' appease;

      And that I'm in good earnest, see

      Thy girl come back, and ransom-free;

      And, what I own is boldly said,

      I've brought her with her maidenhead;

      For which, I hope, our friend you'll stand,

      That Sol may hold his heavy hand,

      The parson hugg'd and kiss'd his daughter,

      And shak'd the hands of them that brought her

      So pleas'd to see the girl again,

      He fell to prayers might and main;

      And, whilst the Greeks the cattle slay,

      The parson thus was heard to pray:

      Apollo, pr'ythee hear me now,

      As eke thou didst nine days ago:

      As thou at my request didst murder

      The Grecians, pr'ythee go no further;

      Hear, once again, thy priest's petition,

      And mend their most bedaub'd condition.

      Apollo, as the sound drew near,

      To ev'ry syllab lent an ear:

      And now they fell to cutting throats

      Of bulls and oxen, sheep and goats.

      After the day-light god was serv'd,

      The priest for all the people carv'd.

      But how the hungry whoresons scaff'd;

      How eagerly the beer they quaff'd,

      Till they had left no single chink,

      Either to hold more meat or drink,

      None can describe: they grew so mellow,

      Nothing was heard but whoop and halloo;

      Rare songs they sung, and catches too —

      (The composition good and true)

      Apollo made 'em, but took care

      They should not last above a year,

      Well knowing that the future race

      Of men all knowledge would disgrace,

      And that his lines must have great luck,

      Not to give place to Stephen Duck.

      At sun-set all hands went from shore

      On board their oyster-boat to snore.

      I' th' morning, when they hoist their sail,

      Apollo lent a mack'rel gale,

      With which they nimbly cross'd the main,

      And haul'd their boat ashore again.

      But now 'tis time we look about

      And find the bold Achilles out:

      Pensive he sat, and bit his thumbs;

      No comfort yet, no mammy comes:

      The days had number'd just eleven,

      When Jupiter return'd to heaven;

      He'd got his belly full of smacks

      From thick-lip'd Ethiopian blacks.

      The mother on her word must think;

      So up she mounted in a twink,

      Approach'd his godship, whom she took

      Fast by the hand, and thus she spoke:

      If ever I had luck to be

      Useful in time of need to thee,

      (Which, I am sure, you can't deny,

      Unless you tell a cursed lie)

      Quickly revenge th' affront that's done

      By Agamemnon to my son.

      Let Hector thrash 'em, if he list,

      Till ev'ry Grecian rogue's bepiss'd,

      And make them run like frighten'd rats

      From mother Dobson's tabby cats.

      Whilst Jove considers what to say,

      Onward she goes; she'll have no nay:

      You must with my request comply,

      My dearest dad, so don't deny;

      But let the heavenly rabble see

      Some kindness is reserv'd for me.

      Then answers he who rolls the thunder:

      I'm much amaz'd, and greatly wonder,

      That you should thus attempt, with tears,

      To set my rib and me by th' ears;

      This, by my soul! will make rare work:

      Juno will rate me like a Turk:

      You surely know, and have known long,

      The devil cannot match her tongue:

      To Troy, I'm sure, I wish full well,

      She ne'er forgets that tale to tell:

      But his away from hence, lest she

      Should spy you holding chat with me.

      If I but say I'll grant your suit,

      You may depend upon't I'll do't:

      With head (observe) I'll make a nod,

      That cannot be revers'd by god.

      The thund'rer then his noddle shakes,

      And Greece, like city custard, quakes.

      Thetis, well pleas'd the Greeks to souse,

      Dives under water like a goose;

      Whilst Jove to th' upper house repairs,

      And calls about him all his peers;

      Who ran t' attend his call much faster

      Than schoolboys run to meet their master.

      All silent stood the gaping bevy,

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