HOMER in a Nutshell.
13
Whence the pleas'd Thund'rer shews the comick 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 advanc'd,
As tow'rd the Foe the restiff Centaurs pranc'd.
Then jocundly enquir'd———
Say to which Int'rest, Gods, y'are most inclin'd,
Bogrill's or Pypick's: Freely tell your Mind.
Minerva, what say'st 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.
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 advanc'd,
As tow'rd the Foe the restiff Centaurs pranc'd.
Then jocundly enquir'd———
Say to which Int'rest, Gods, y'are most inclin'd,
Bogrill's or Pypick's: Freely tell your Mind.
Minerva, what say'st 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, reply'd the martial Maid,
That sacrilegious Crew I'll never aid.
Prophane 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
Embroider'd, did the hungry Caitiffs dine.
The Mercer (for my Priest had tick'd 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,
That sacrilegious Crew I'll never aid.
Prophane 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
Embroider'd, did the hungry Caitiffs dine.
The Mercer (for my Priest had tick'd 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
