A BURLESQUE TRANSLATION OF HOMER.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

BY

THOMAS BRIDGES

THE FOURTH EDITION IMPROVED.

VOL. I.

LONDON.

Printed for G.G. and J. ROBINSON, Paternoster-Row

1797.

Dilucida et negligenter quoque audientibus aperta; ut in animum ratiotanquam sol in oculos, etiamsi in eam non intendatur, occurrat. Quare,non ut intelligere possit, sed ne omnino possit non intelligere,curandum.

QUINTIL.

If you would make a speech, or write one,
Or get some artist to indite one,
Don't think, because 'tis understood
By men of sense, 'tis therefore good;
But let your words so well be plann'd,
That blockheads can't misunderstand.

Homer casting pearls before Swine.

THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD.

ARGUMENT.

Atrides, as the story goes,
Took parson Chrysis by the nose.
Apollo, as the gods all do,
Of Christian, Pagan, Turk, or Jew,
On that occasion did not fail
To back his parson tooth and nail.
This caus'd a dev'lish quarrel 'tween
Pelides and the king of men;
Which ended to Achilles' cost,
Because a buxom wench he lost.
On which great Jove and's wife fell out,
And made a damn'd confounded rout:
And, had not honest Vulcan seen 'em
Ready for blows, and stepp'd between 'em;
'Tis two to one but their dispute
Had ended in a scratching-bout.
Juno at last was over-aw'd,
Or Jove had been well clapper-claw'd.

SOMETHING BY WAY OF PREFACE.

Good people, would you know the reason
I write at this unlucky season,
When all the nation is so poor
That few can keep above one whore,
Except the lawyers—(whose large fees
Maintain as many as they please)—
And Pope, with taste and judgement great,
Has deign'd this author to translate—
The reason's this:—He may not please
The jocund tribe so well as these;
For all capacities can't climb
To comprehend the true sublime.
Another reason I can tell,
Though silence might do full as well;
But being charg'd—discharge I must,
For bladder, if too full, will burst.
The writers of the merry class,
E'er since the time of Hudibras,
In this strange blunder all agree,
To murder short-legg'd poetry.
Words, though design'd to make ye smile,
Why mayn't they run as smooth as oil?
No poetaster can convince
A man of any kind of sense,
That verse can be the greater treasure,
Because it wants both weight and measure
Or can persuade, that false rough metre,
Than true and smooth, by far is sweeter.
This is the wherefore; and the why,
Have patience, you'll see by-and-by.

HOMER'S ILIAD.

BOOK I.

Come, Mrs. Muse, but, if a maid,
Then come Miss Muse, and lend me aid!
Ten thousand jingling verses bring,
That I Achilles' wrath may sing,
That I may chant in curious fashion
...