HOMER in a Nutshell: OR, HIS WAR BETWEEN THE Frogs and the Mice, Paraphrastically Translated. In Three CANTOS. By SAMVEL PARKER, Gent. — Quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus. Hor. de Art Poet. LONDON: Printed for Tho. Newborough, at the Golden Ball in St. Paul's Churchyard. MDCC. To Sir R. L. SIR, YOU know the Sacredness of Liberty and Property. Now all straggling Apologues fall to you as Lord of the Manor, and the very Ghost of Aesop (no very agreeable Appartion, you may imagine) of Poggius, Abstemius, and my own old blind Author too for Company, durst I withhold the Due, would ev'ry Night draw my Curtains till You had Justice done You. Besides as Duty and real Interest are ever inseparable, so particularly in the present Instance it's the Privilege of Your humble Imitators that by doing You Fealty they challenge Your Protection, the very end of Government, when at the same time too our Tribute's but a Peppercorn-rent, make the best on't, and Your Subjects are more beholden to You for accepting, than You to them for paying their Acknowledgements. I have frequently wondered at the Confidence of Authors in expecting to be gratified for their Dedications, and oftener at the Weakness of Patrons, that they'll vouchsafe 'em those dishonourable Encouragements. For first, it's Ten to One but the great Man catches a Tartar, or provides for a Bantling that is not worth a Clout: Or secondly, if he has reason to be proud of his Purchase, all the Glory and Encomium of the Epistle smells abominably rank of Confederacy and Bargain. Maecenas but spoils his own Market while he makes a liberal Art a mercenary one; and when the Orator or the Poet is to draw his Picture beyond the Life, he can't be contented unless he set for't with a Cap and Bells forsooth! of his own providing. In a Word, the Fee should rather accrue to the Patron from the Scribbler, and little enough at last too considering what a Cause he's obliged to attend: Now my little harmless homely Ditty Petitions for no more than barely the benefit of the two Capital Letters aforesaid. It applies in forma Pauperis, and the Translator will magnify Your Charity both in his Author's Name and in his own, if You'll keep his Calliope in countenance gratis. Nay indeed the whole is but a Cur'sy to my Dancing-Master, pardon the levity of the Allusion. You were my Apollo, my Helicon, and my Muses; that Ocean of true Wit and good Sense from which the Drill, as to all that's tolerable in it, derives itself, and into which it as naturally returns, ' though at the expense of its Acrimony in the Circulation. But hold! 'tis high time to enter upon the main Business of an Epistle Dedicatory, the Patron's Apotheosis. And what now must I extol? Your Integrity, Constancy and Courage? Alas! 'tis a long time ago since these passed for recommendatory Qualities; nay of very dangerous Consequence might it prove to us Both, at this time o' Day, should I blurt out a Syllable in favour of ' 'em. Your Letters then, your judgement, your Wit, your Prudence? That were as much as to say all the World did not already admire 'em, ever excepting my Brother C—; and I verily believe too, even he, could the Man have as good an Opinion of any Body as of himself, would entertain it of you. How then shall I manage my Address? Assume the modish Figure called Apophasis or Whispering aloud, and run you a long Division upon your several Excellencies with a Not to mention ' 'em? Or shall I tell you that your Modesty being a Nuisance to the rest of your Virtues, I had rather be wanting in my Duty to Them, than most inhumanely torture That? Nauseous, vile, pedantic Forms! and as prostituted Common-places as Panegyric itself! What remains therefore but the liberty of making this brief, bare, and simple, yet candid Profession, that I am, Honoured SIR, Most sincerely and most humbly Your Servant, as obliged, S. Parker. THE PREFACE. Gentle Peruser! IN the first place the Translator would have thee know he never pretended to the Character of a Poet, and as he desires to escape the Scandal of the Name, so he will not value himself the more for any good Success, or the less for any Disappointment; seeing after all, in Things of this Nature, every Man will be his own Critic, and the People of nice Rule and acquaint Observation, betray the vanity of their Maxims, while scarce a Couple in the whole Pack agree about the suitableness of any one Ingredient, but that which is most incompatible with the true Scope of the Art, the Recommendation and Encouragement of Immorality and Irreligion: However, finding himself disposed now and then to try his Skill, and observing the Canto-cut has of late carried the Day, he thought good to bestow a few Hours upon the Translation of a Poem which, and very deservedly, has been celebrated for many Ages; a Poem, which for neatness of Wit, liveliness of Description and regularity of Conduct, equals any part of the Iliads, perhaps excels any part of the Odysseys. And yet as just and regular as I found this Poem, I perceived it would never jump in English with the Humour of the Age, till I had spoilt it by some unwarrantable Alterations, which being printed in a smaller Character, the Reader may observe without the trouble of Comparing. The two most material of 'em are these; first, That whereas, according to my Author, the Frog seems not out of a treacherous Principle to have served the Mouse as he did, I have made him design the worst all along, very consonantly too, if I mistake not, to the Character the Poet fixes afterwards upon him, where he makes him vindicate himself by that egregious Falsity, v. 146. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, etc. And not injuriously neither to the Series of the Story: Then again, that almost upon the same Inducements I have made him improve or rather explain the Stratagem, by which, in the Conclusion of that Speech, the Frog proposes to defeat the Mice. Beside these many slighter Alterations will occur, and here and there an Addition of my own, * Printed also in a small Character. but which I hope he can as readily forgive as discern. For what relates to the Scope and Import of the Fable, I am not persuaded with Aristobulus, that Homer composed it only for the Diversion and Exercise of Schoolboys; the Design appears to have been more momentous, it carries a Face of Instruction upon the Matter of Civil Government, and the Moral is plainly Political. In the occasion of the War between the Frogs and the Mice, we see with what miserable Consequences the generous Credulity of a Prince on one hand abused by the Craftiness and Treachery of a Neighbour on the other, is like to be attended. On the part of the Mouse, 'twas imprudent to repose so great Confidence in a Politician of a distinct or rather opposite Interest and Temper, tho' on the part of the Frog 'twas not only a bold Violation of Divine and Humane Laws to play such a Game, but still more impolitic to stir up so Potent an Adversary, and dare the Vengeance not of Heaven alone (for he seems to have troubled his Head little enough about that) but withal of so many well-disciplined resolute Cavaliers, of which Commotions the Issue will ever be fatal to their Author, how much soever Things may succeed to his Wishes for a Season. The great Distributer of Dues loves to defer his Inflictions as long as his justice will permit; but when that Period's once expired, he sends down both Principal and Interest upon the Heads of the Incorrigible. I confess, the Poet has not intimated so much; nay, has described Jupiter as a malicious Enemy to the Mice. But then we must remember he had represented him before in a State of Indifference, resolved with his Family not to interpose in behalf of this Party or that, nor to concern himself otherwise than as an idle Spectator. Indeed, the freedom the Poet took with his Gods, was, in respect of himself, an unpardonable Presumption, and nothing aught to be built upon it, or inferred from it. Again, the Consummation of the Fray gives us to understand, That Superiority and Dominion are the most slippery Things in the World, and have their Vicissitudes of Rising and Sinking as necessarily as two Buckets in a Well. The Mice at first are too hard for the Frogs, and 'twas but Reason to imagine 'em so till they had taken their just Revenge: But then the Crabs came upon the Mice in the very Pride of their Victory, and by a course kind of Argument, convinced 'em in their turn of the Instability of Human Affairs. Nay, there's yet a further meaning in the Close of the Allegory; for ' though the Frogs deserved ten times more than what they suffered from the Mice; yet we know, the Mice hod been as little remarkable for strict Morals as the most profligate Animals that e'er moved upon all Four. The Temptation of a mouldy Crust could prevail with 'em at any time to break through all Obligations of Religion and Honour. The Suggestions of their Appetites they made the Rule of their Duty, and pretended a Privilege, under the Notion of Natural Freedom, to plunder their Landlords and One another as often as they pleased: How then were the Caitiffs rigorously dealt with? What reason had they to expect more favour than the Frogs? In good earnest, I think they had too much showed 'em before; and 'twas an Act of special Condescension in Jupiter to lay the Frogs at the Mercy of the Mice, and not the Mice rather at the Mercy of the Frogs. And so much by way of Interpretation. If the Critics should be displeased at any Grammatical or Poetical Liberties I have taken, they'd highly oblige me. And the longer Bill the● prefer, the better: Though let 'em distort Words, mangle Periods, and misapply Aristotle, Horace, and Bossu, till they're out of breath, I'll lay 'em a Wager at last they can't discover so many Faults in the Performance as their humble Servant. I earnestly beg of 'em to honour me with a Hiss, and shall be most proud of their Condemnation, wellknowing their Sentence is always to be construed, like O— ts Depositions, backward. Ever since I caught some termagant Ones in a Club, undervaluing our new Translation of Virgil, I've known both what Opinion I ought to harbour, and what use to make of 'em, and since the Opportunity of a Digression so luckily presents itself, I shall make bold to ask the Gentlemen their Sentiments of two or three Lines (to pass over a thousand other Instances) which they may meet with in that Work. The fourth Aeneid says of Dido, after certain Effects of her taking Shelter with Aeneas in the Cave appear, Conjugium vocat, hoc praetexit nomine culpam. v. 172. Which Mr. Dryden renders thus, She called it Marriage, by that specious Name To veil the Crime and sanctify the Shame. Nor had he before less happlily rendered the 39th Verse of the second Aeneid, Scinditur incertum studia in contraria vulgus. The giddy Vulgar, as their Fancies guide, With noise say nothing, and in Parts divide. If these are the Lines which they call Flat and Spiritless, I wish mine could be Flat and Spiritless too! And therefore to make short work, I shall only beg Mr. Dryden's leave to congratulate him upon his admirable Flatness and Dulness in a Rapture of Poetical Indignation, Then dares the * I desire these Appellations may not seem to affect the Parties concerned any otherwise than as to their Character of Critics. poring Critic snarl? And dare The * I desire these Appellations may not seem to affect the Parties concerned any otherwise than as to their Character of Critics. puny Brats of Momus threaten War? And can't the proud perverse Arachne's Fate Deter the * I desire these Appellations may not seem to affect the Parties concerned any otherwise than as to their Character of Critics. Mongrels e'er it prove too late? In vain, alas! we warn the * I desire these Appellations may not seem to affect the Parties concerned any otherwise than as to their Character of Critics. hardened Brood: In vain expect they'll ever come to good. No: They'd conceive more Venom if they could. But let each * I desire these Appellations may not seem to affect the Parties concerned any otherwise than as to their Character of Critics. Viper at his Peril by't, While you defy the most ingenious Spite. So Parian Columns raised with costly care * I desire these Appellations may not seem to affect the Parties concerned any otherwise than as to their Character of Critics. Vile Snails and Worms may dawb, yet not impair, While the tough Titles and obdurate Rhyme Fateague the busy Grinders of old Time. Not but your Maro justly may complain, Since your Translation ends his ancient Reign, And but by your officious Muse outvy'd, That vast Immortal Name had never died. But ask my Reader's Pardon for my Impertinences, I have now no more to add, but desire him to fall to, and much good may't do him. ERRATA. PAge 9 line 15. for Wight read Wights, p. 11. l. 15. for were r. we, p. 17. l. 8. for fix r. fixed, p. 17. l. 20. for wreathing r. wreaking, p. 18. l. 13. for Boaster r. Bogster. Homer in a Nutshell. CANTO I. WHEN now the murmuring Vaulters of the Mead Had climbed to Power, and reared a mighty Breed: Doomed by Latona for a brutish Crime To Stygian Mud and pestilential Slime, Till Application, Stratagem, and Trade, A Blessing of the Malediction made; And what with strenuous Limbs, and slight of Art, Tough Lungs, auspicious Leaps, and hollow Heart, More Wealth, more Splendour, more Command acquired, Than if the Boors had never been bemired. When now the little, shaggy, liquorish Race Of Animals that scud from Place to Place, Or galloping through pliant Grass and Wheat, Or gluttonously buried in their Meat, Still trembling, jealous, malcontent, altho' Thrice happy, would they let themselves be so; Grown up t' a populous and potent State Had surfeited on Tides of luscious Fate, Nor valued foreign Friends, nor foreign Hate, A dire Campaign commenced: Less veh'ment far Th' outrageous Flame of the Titanian War, Then when the lofty Boys of sullen Ops With Dragon Feet oppressed the Mountain-tops: Rocks piled on Rocks, from ruinous Ascents Crowding they stormed heavens Sapphir-Battlements, While the warm Gods bright Volleys fast returned, And with vindictive Flames the hissing Aether burned. Desert, harmonious Nine, your sacred Hill▪ A Work divine proceeds: Inspire my Quill, Inspire as when my Verse ye formed of old: Verse that in loud Heroic Numbers rolled: Your Bard invokes, propitiously disclose From what malignant Seeds the Feud arose. Grim Puss, the squeaking Nation's watchful Bane Pursued a Mouse, and almost had o'rta'n, Yet missed the Racer, whose laborious Flight, Full near as fatal as Grimalkin's By't, Enforced with Fears had Nature's Tone unstrung, And to his droughthy palate glued his Tongue. The next cool Plash he seeks, and soon arrives Where plunging deep his Beard the Wight revives. But scarce was drenched when from th' unwholesome Flood King Bogrill issued, and thus croaked aloud. Soho! My Friend in venerable Fur! What are you, say, and whence, Platonic Sir? Fictions and Quibbles will disgrace your Coat: But if you hold in one consistent Note, You're welcome to the Monarch of this Ditch, A Monarch, tho' I say't, renowned and rich, By King Crocracro, when his Love was hot, Upon the Body of Queen Skip begot. And not to flatter, in that Sylvan Face Methinks I read a brave Majestic Grace, If my nice Optics grossly done't deceive, Or Laws of Phis'nomy we may believe. — My Life on't, bred to War, and nobly steeled, Thy Looks, my Lad, proclaim thee of the Field. To him Illustrious Nibble: For your Sense, I say no more; but your Intelligence Imperfect is, or none; else at first view You must have seen both whence I am and who. From Pypick and Queen Curdylip I spring, Great Snapcrust's Daughter, and myself a King. My Royal Mother, Sir, was brought o' Bed In Grange magnificent, and there she bred Her Child so well, ne'er Mousling better fed. Figs, mellow Figs my Breakfast every Morn, At Noon Plumpudding, and at Night young Corn. So fared long since the plain Pypickian Court, But now we Diet in a daintier sort. Then, with Submission, what your Highness croaks, Tho' kindly meant, appears a Paradox; That you, a Frog, and I should correspond: For how should Frogs of Inland Mice grow fond? Or We converse with Sprawlers of the Pond? A most absurd Alliance 'tis we wish, You cannot live in Meal, nor I with Fish. Man's Meat is mine, and of each sort the best, Rich Soops, Ragous', and Hashes nicely dressed: Your Marmalets, your candied Peels I love, The Ladies and myself are Hand and Glove. Sated with Kickshaws I the Gentry quit, To taste below, for change, a coarser Bit. Cream-cheese, cold Capon, Ven'son-Pasty, Chine, Just so the Gods themselves would like to Dine; For let Romantic Fools chant what they please, Ambrosia's even Poor jack compared to these. What skill in Arms and Courage I've expressed, The Foe that felt their Force can tell you best. Mounting a Mole, soon as the Charge we hear, I still the foremost of our Troops appear. Death undismayed in twenty Forms I meet, And by my bold Example still defeat Our Army's Flight, and all th' Invader's Heat. Nor Butlers me nor Bumkins can surprise; My Courage bears proportion to their Size. Or if ●●y turgid Nerves should chance to fail, My vengeful Politics, be sure, prevail. Does Cookmaid spy me mumping a Recruit, And with a Woman's Fury persecute? No sooner bouncing Bridget snoars in bed, And dreams of Dalliances with Coachman Ned, But up creeps Titmouse, ventures at a bite, Disturbs imagined Sweets, and so good Night. O could I once from Kites and Cats be freed, Vermin by Fate armed to destroy the Breed! Could I from that cursed Fabric be secure, Dragged into which by some enchanting Lure, Ourselves precipitate th' impending Snare, And block up all Retreats but black Despair, Confined above by stubborn Canopy, Hewn from the Trunk of the dread thunderer's Tree, Champing in vain our Adamantine Grate, As unrelenting as the force of Fate! O! might I get these Grievances redressed, No Polycrates could be half so blest! Till then my want of Manners you'll excuse, If such kind Invitations I refuse. You much oblige me, Sir: But I profess I ne'er loved Duckry nor your Water-cress. He said: The marshy Monarch grinning wide, To his departing Stranger thus replied, Yet stay, my Godlike Guest— Let me for once your Majesty convince, These Realms yield Belly-timber for a Prince. On Dainties of the Garden or the Brook We glut, and Nature our unerring Cook. With foreign Guegaws and domestic stored I'll furnish out, believe me, such a Board, As might transport, could but the Trick be tried, Sardanapalus in a mouse's Hide. Only be pleased (and make no more ado) To board my Back instead of a Canow, Securely so, my Lord, you'll ferry o'er, And at the Pallace-stairs be set a'shoar. Advising thus the Prince exposed his Back, And Russet road as soon a-pick-a-pack. He smirks, he cocks his Ears, and works his Tail, O'rjoyed to think how rarely he shall sail; Till his Canow plunged all into the Deep, And then the bantered Knight begun to weep. In rage he plucks his Furs, robustly spurns With quivering Haunches, while at Soul he burns. He felt his Honour had received a Wound, And wished but for the sight of solid Ground. Much he resents his Fate, but more he fears: Now with stiff Tail he rows, and now he steers. Witness, Immortal Powers, he cried, and Thou— And then the Diver ducked his Cargo low. Restored to kindly Draughts of upper Air He thus proceeds, Great jove once proud to bear Thy trembling Mistress on thy goodly Chine Through frothy Tumours of the dancing Brine, Behold!— But e'er that Word his Lips escaped, A painted Floater, formidably shaped Traversed the curling Tide, a hungry Pest, With Jaws Tartarian and erected Crest. The yellow Knight near Danger apprehends, And biting poor Pilgarlick's Fingers-ends, Breaks his Embrace, and into Mud descends. In vain the vigorous Chief deserted sprawls, Beats the vexed Element, and pants, and calls. Thrice through th' Abyss unwillingly he sinks, Emerges thrice, yet soon i'll Death he drinks, For now the soaky Hide too ponderous grew, And boding thus he bid the Light adieu. Yes, Traitor, thou shalt feel, and that e'er long, How much th' offended Gods resent my Wrong. jove sends his Bolts on thy devoted Head, Myself infernal Scorpions from the Dead. O! hadst thou called me to the Lists, and there Approved thy Skill— But, Slave, thou didst not dare. Expect avenging Squadrons on thy Coast To sacrifice thee to my longing Ghost. He spoke: Then with a mighty Plunge expired, And down to Styx his angry Shade retired. CANTO II. Fixed on the mossy Bank an Osier Shed O'rlooked the Lake, long time inhabited By Tallowlick, a Mouse of Life obscure, An humble Rustic, honest, old, and poor. He from his Lattice first discerned a'float Th' extended Hero, and in piteous Note, Much injured Prince, he screams, nor stands to dress, But up to Court flies with the sad Express. Revenge and Grief, e'er scarce the Tale was heard, In each wild Face Competitors appeared. Full-proof against the Toils and Storms of State, The good old King now sunk beneath this Weight: To soothing Comforts deaf the frentick Queen Tears off her Ermine, skulks and won't be seen. The py-bald Nymphs his every Grace recall, And much deplore the Youth's untimely Fall. Scarce was the King's cold Paroxysm spent Of Woe, when Rage supplanting Discontent, Four Heralds he around the Palace sends To cite his faithful Counsellors and Friends. Soon to the Board the cited Council run, Where thus aloud th' impatient King begun. Sirs, 'tis a public Wound. Not I'm alone Deprived of th' Heir and Colleague of my Throne. My Subjects too have lost a mighty stay: I miss my Child, but their Defender They— Cursed Fate of a declining Sire! To see Of three brave Sons the sad Catastrophe! My First by tabby Cannibal destroyed, My Second into Wooden Death decoyed! And now the hopefullest of my Stem is found By a false Monarch in his Marshes drowned. To Arms, to Arms! Th' Occasion checks Delay: Old as I am myself will lead the way. Scarce the grey Sage had closed his trembling Lips, When from the Clouds the God of Battle slips, And with rich Arms the zealous Wight equips. A Coat of Mail to cover Back and Side, He plaited from a Snake's forsaken Hide. Dry Peascods, whose green Embryos once had lined Their Bellies, now around their Shanks they bind. Flat Cockle-shells on Gravel-Walk new laid Impenetrable, radiant Corslets made. Nor sought th' assiduous Band in vain for Shields, A Brazier's Shop a thousand Saveall's yields. A Foot of Wire each haughty Pikeman trails, And at their Hips hang (four a Penny) Nails. Helmets of Acorn-cups their Fronts protect, With Tags of Silk and waving Plume bedecked. Appointed thus through Labyrinths of Grass, The Warriors to their Expedition pass. Mean while preventing Fame, of eager Flight As Northern Blasts, pernicious as their Blight, A sprouting Ill, on her own Vitals fed, At first a Dwarf, in Cells and Grottoes bred, But soon the yielding Clouds receive her Head; With Noise, and Lies, and Obloquys ne'er cloyed, All Ears, all Eyes, all Tongue, and All employed, Alarms th' amphibious People of the Lake: To Shoar the terrified Musicians make. Grave Magistrates in a long reverend Train Hop to the shining Capitol a main, The noisy Mob expecting all around Th' event of Consultations so profound. But e'er th' august Assembly deep had dived Into the Meaning, from the Mice arrived A valiant Herald, portly Mumblebun, Magnanimous Lapcustard's eldest Son, Who boldly thus the Senators addressed, My Lords, my Master would ha' scorned t'infest Your happy State; but not to prosecute So foul a Fact would make him Party to't. On him the Gild of Murder must devolve, Did he not now by Force of Arms resolve You Prince to punish, who but yesternight, Spite of all National and Private Right, Betrayed and Drowned great Pypick's gallant Heir: For War, for hideous War, ye Frogs, prepare. He menacing withdrew, and rugged Notes Result confusedly from their labouring Throats. Against th' Aggressor loud Complaints arise, Who thus evades the Charge with specious Lies, Witness, ye Powers, to whose especial Care The Rights of Truth and Faith submitted are: Blast me with exemplary Plagues, and shed Contagions thick on this perfidious Head, If Bogrill e'er has instrumental been To the young Prince's Harm, or e'er has seen Or heard of his Mishap! A-lack-a-day! I warrant you the Lad was got to Play, And marking how the Pool were crossed and crossed, He must be paddling too, and so was lost! Shall I then smart if such an Oaf as This Must have his Frolic, and succeeds amiss? Hard Fate of Innocence! to bear the Blame Of blackest Crimes, because too meek and tame! Yet if your Lordships will my Counsel take, The Foe shall feel, Wounded it can awake. A Project I've conceived, which if pursued Infallibly roots out the dusky Brood. Ranged in a File, on some commodious Rise, we'll watch their Troops, and to the Bank entice: Then when their Onset they with Fury make, Wheel off, and let 'em rush into the Lake: Or, should they halt in Rear, our Wings defiled Charge 'em behind, and drown each Mother's Child. So shall one wavy Tomb the Herd embrace, And with rich Trophies we the Conquest grace. He said; but mist of the proposed Event, The conscious Fairies published his Intent. And now th' applauding Troglodytes adjourn To seek what Armour best may serve the turn. As round their little Alps I've often ' spied Industrious Infects Aliment provide; Here in stretched Mouth up steep unequal Ways A single Slave a single Seed conveys. There sable Troops confederating draw One Grain of Wheat, or half an Inch of Straw. With frugal Fervency the Work they press, And baffle bleak December's near Distress. Thus each brave Myrmidon designing Greaves, Round his Supporters fibrous Mallows weaves. Light Corslets broken Shells of Eggs afford, And a tough springy Bulrush many a Sword. For Targets empty Cockle-shells they found: Their Heads high Periwinkle-Turbants crowned. Adorned, the buxom Champions take their Post, A menacing, proud, formidable Host. Observing jove, by Maia's active Son Summons the Gods: To Council-board they run, Whence the pleased thunderer shows the comic Scene Of the new War, and what the Rivals mean, The Conduct of the Generals, and their Strength, Th' Invention of their Lances, and their length, And how the strutting Bands with Pride advanced, As towered the Foe the restiff Centaurs pranced. Then jocundly enquired— Say to which Interest, Gods, y'are most inclined, Bogrill's or Pypick's: Freely tell your Mind. Minerva, what sayest thou, my Wench, speak out— Ha! which dost like, my Girl?— The Mice, no doubt, The witty, wanton Mice— With Aristippick Zeal and sly Design Frisking and bustling round thy Silver Shrine, Till Victims broil and unctuous Odours mount; Their Vigilance then turns to good Account. No, my dread Sire, replied the martial Maid, That sacrilegious Crew I'll never aid. Profane Poultrons! that all my Garlands spoil, Steal to my Lamps, and lap away my Oil. What strange, malicious Tricks, each Hour they play 'Twere tedious to relate. But t'other Day Upon my Tissue-Vest by Hands divine Embroidered, did the hungry Caitiffs dine. The Mercer (for my Priest had ticked for Silk) Duns as he were to break, and smells a Bilk. Nor shall my Succour to the Frogs be lent, The filthy Spawn of Nature's Excrement, A loud, unfashioned Species: Nay (t'evince How just my Accusation) four Days since Spent with the Trade of War, and in pursuit Of gentle Morpheus for a kind recruit, I laid me down upon an Oozy-bed, When presently came droning round my Head Ten thousand Skip-jacks, and till Night's dull shade Gave place to Day, renewed their Serenade. The silent Power, obnoxious to Surprise, Abhorred the Din, and fled my wishing Eyes. Impartialy let's all th' Event attend, And neither Faction worry or befriend. There's Danger in th' Engagement, for who knows But should the ' Squires once come to Handy-Blows, Rough Mars again might from a mortal Arm Receive a pungent, rude, opprobrious Harm, And Cytherea's Hand forfeit another Charm? Supinely rather and unmoved survey The various Feats and Fortune of the Day. Thus She: The merry Powers th' Advice approve, And all to advantageous Posts remove. CANTO III. FOrth from each Camp two stalking Heralds came, The near approach of Battle to proclaim. Behind shrill Hornets, musical and large, Tumultuous Clangors mingling sound the Charge: While Saturn's Son their Arms to dignify Rowls ominous Thunder through the rattling Sky. First fell gigantic Crambeef in the Van, A daring Chief, his length near half a Span, Struck by a Lance from Gabberillo sent; It pierced his Paunch and through the Liver went. The Champion's Fall resounding Earth bespeaks, And clotted Dust deforms his groveling Cheeks. Rough Skulk a Javelin next at Bungy threw, Hissing it passed, and through his Corslet flew: Down, down he sinks; his eager Heart transfixed Spews out sweet Life with purple Oceans mixed. At old Lapcustard Grub a Shaft let fly, Which glancing through his Temples reached his Eye: An easy Conquest instant Fate obtained, And closed the Luminary that remained. At bulky Groggle fierce Bisketto cast A Spear, which singing in't ' his Garbage past. He grunts not long nor welters in his Gore, E'er his grieved Soul finds out the newmade Door. No sooner Bogrill had the Loss beheld, But black Revenge his angry Bosom swelled. Collecting all his Force, and straining oft The Monarch brandished with his Arms aloft A wild, unhandy, ragged Peblestone, Which crushing Sculk athwart the Shoulder-bone, Scarce left him a Reprieve to fetch a Groan. His Son black Carrotscoop at Bogrill's Groin Enraged took aim, nor mist of his Design. No sooner the Disaster Wamble knew, But to the Water parrying he withdrew, While Carrotscroop pressed on, till Wamble reels Into the Ditch, and pulls him in by th' Heels. Immersed their Blows the hardy Champions ply, And Stripes of Crimson the Maeotis die, Till trussed along the Margin of the Flood Lay Wamble, and the Mousling in the Mud. So when young Spaniel sent by clamorous Boys A rough Athenian Fowl in Pond annoys, The Philosophic Bird with Beak and Claw Returns his keen Salutes of Tooth and Paw. Now yelping Pups prevails, now hooting Madge, And Plumes and curling Locks bestrow the liquid Stage. Poppin at further distance from the Brook, Assailed sage Butterbeard and Prisoner took. Sleek Gobbletart engaged stout Specklebum, But Speckle left his Shield and off he swum. Morasse discharged a Slat, and with the stroke Mump's Neck most diomedicaly broke. From both his Nostrils mucous Brain distilled, And blended with black Gore enriched the barren Field. Wallow from Tallowlick received a Wound, The Pike o'rturning fix him to the Ground. On Egdrain then disturbed Treadwavio flew, Tripped up his Heels, and into Puddle drew, There by main Strength he held the Pilf'rer down, Insulting thus, Drown, ravenous Monster, drown: Since you're so good at sucking, call me Fool If I don't give you now your Bellyful, And dowsed him headlong down to Phlegeton. But Pypick, now his dearest Friends were gone, Driven by Revenge and rash Despair along, As when Convulsions make a Patient strong, Up to majestic Ambergillo made, In the proud Croaker sheathed his wreathing Blade, And forced him through th' Infernal Mote to wade. Soon as Codrillo the Disaster ' spied, Grasping soft Clay and something soft beside, The mellow Shot on Pypick he conferred, Bunged up his Eyes, and damnifyed his Beard. Transported by fresh Injuries the King Groped out a Stone, and with a veh'ment Spring Against Codrillo sent, a rocky Stone, Fit for a Pigmy-Leader to have thrown. Codrillo's Ankles felt the battering Mass, And groaning hoarse he dropped into the Grass. Duke Dabble brooked not this unnatural Deed, But fiercely brandishing his pointed Reed, Inch-deep into the Cawl his Highness struck, And with the Lance drew out Imperial Pluck. Grave Brews on a verdant Ridge reclined To soothe his Wounds, felt greater in his Mind. The mangled Monarch much his Sight offends, And rather than be butchered like his Friends, Into the Dike he cheerfully descends. Old Snapcrust, as gay Bogrill vaunting stood, Wounded his Foot: The Boaster saw the Blood, Perceived the Smart, and took in haste the Flood. Snapcrust precipitantly to pursue Th' unfinished Work of Death even stepped in too. Stern Didap, when he saw the King distressed, Through the wild Tumult of the Battle pressed, And tossed his taper Weapon, though in vain; The sounding Target sent it back again. But none of the Pypickians might compare For Backsword or Sasa with Scamblefare, Undaunted Scamblefare the dear Delight Of surly Mars, and Son to Gristlebite. Boasting he stemmed the War's impetuous Tide, Prevailing more than all the Mice beside. On the raised Bank he struts: Thence threatening loud Portends Excision to the croaking Crowd: And had much more than menaced (for his Word Was ne'er too big or little for his Sword) But heavens grand sovereign saw the coming Stroke, And melting into Pity Silence broke, With solemn Nod: See there, ye Gods, see there Th' attempts of bloody-minded Scamblefare! Minerva— Mars— stoop with a rapid Flight, And drive the fell Insulter from the Fight! Thus jove: To whom the God of Arms, Not I, Nor She, nor all our Peers throughout the Sky Can aid the Frogs: However we may try. If our Joint-Pow'rs the Mischief can't remove, Still our Benignity we shall approve— Or what if downward you a Bolt should dart, A sputt'ring Bolt forged with laborious Art? Such as on Phlaegra's execrable Plain Besieged your vexed Divinity did rain, When the tall Brood which Earth's damp Cayerns boar, You riveted to Mountains whence their Arms they tore. He said. The Son of Saturn rising hurled A Lemnian Shaft, and stunned the upper World. Down from the rocking Orbs the Tempest came, Ushered by Preludes of diffusive Flame. At first both Army's fear: Yet this Device Affrights not from Hostilities the Mice, The Froggish Name t' extinguish boldly bend, But squeamish jove averse to their Intent, Puissant Succours to the Buff-coats lent. Deformed, ungainly, awkward, sideling Sholes, Testaceous Tenants of the slimy Holes, Waving four slender Feet on either side, With jetty Claws and rocky Shoulders wide: Their Backs in form of Snushbox-covers made, And on their Chests Ebony Eyes inlaid, Height Crabs, whose worse than Cornish Gripes alarm The Mice, and by't away Leg, Tail, and Arm. Soon cooled this grisly Pest their active Heat, And in Disorder forced 'em to retreat. Thus that Campaign which with the Day begun, Closed at the late Immersion of the Sun. Advertisement. Fix Philosophical Essays upon several Subjects, viz. Concerning 1. Dr. Burnet's Theory of the Earth. 2. Wit and Beauty. 3. A Public Spirit. 4. The Weather. 5. The Certainty of Things, and the Existence of a Deity. 6. The Cartesian Idea of God. By Samuel Parker, Gent. of Trinity-College in Oxford. Printed for Tho. Newborough, at the Golden Ball in St. Paul's Churchyard.