Homer in a Nutshell, or, His War Between the Frogs and the Mice (Parker)/Canto 1

by Homer

Homer in a Nutshell.

 

---

CANTO I.

---

 

When now the murm'ring Vaulters of the Mead
Had climb'd to Pow'r, and rear'd a mighty Breed:
Doom'd by Latona for a bruitish 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 Splendor, more Command acquir'd,
Than if the Boors had never been bemir'd.

When now the little, shaggy, liqu'rish Race
Of Animals that scud from Place to Place,
Or galloping through pliant Grass and Wheat,
Or gluttonously bury'd in their Meat,
Still trembling, jealous, malecontent, altho'
Thrice happy, wou'd they let themselves be so;
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Grown up t' a populous and potent State
Had surfeited on Tides of luscious Fate,
Nor valu'd foreign Friends, nor foreign Hate,

A dire Campaign commenc'd: Less veh'ment far
Th' outragious Flame of the Titanian War,
Then when the lofty Boys of sullen Ops
With Dragon Feet oppress'd the Mountain-tops:
Rocks pil'd on Rocks, from ruinous Ascents
Crowding they storm'd Heav'n's Sapphir-Battlements,
While the warm Gods bright Vollies fast return'd,
And with vindictive Flames the hissing Æther burn'd.

Desert, harmonious Nine, your sacred Hill:
A Work divine proceeds: Inspire my Quill,
Inspire as when my Verse ye form'd of old:
Verse that in lowd Heroick Numbers rowl'd:
Your Bard invokes, propitiously disclose
From what malignant Seeds the Feud arose.

Grim Puss, the squeaking Nation's watchful Bane
Pursu'd a Mouse, and almost had o'rta'n,
Yet miss'd the Racer, whose laborious Flight,
Full near as fatal as Grimalkin's Bite,
Enforc'd with Fears had Nature's Tone unstrung,
And to his droughthy Pallat glu'd his Tongue.
The next cool Plash he seeks, and soon arrives
Where plunging deep his Beard the Wight revives.
But scarce was drench'd when from th' unwholsome Flood
King Bogrill issu'd, and thus croak'd aloud.

Soho! My Friend in venerable Fur!
What are you, say, and whence, Platonick 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, renown'd 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 Majestick Grace,
If my nice Opticks grosly don't deceive,
Or Laws of Phis'nomy we may believe.
———My Life on't, bred to War, and nobly steel'd,
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 my self a King.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$My Royal Mother, Sir, was brought a' Bed
In Grange magnificent, and there she bred
Her Child so well, ne'er Mousling better fed.
Figs, mellow Figs my Breakfast ev'ry Morn,
At Noon Plum-pudding, and at Night young Corn.
So far'd 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;
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$That you, a Frog, and I shou'd correspond:
For how shou'd 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 drest:
Your Marmalets, your candy'd Peels I love,
The Ladies and my Self are Hand and Glove.
Sated with Kickshaws I the Gentry quit,
To tast below, for change, a coarser Bit.
Cream-cheese, cold Capon, Ven'son-Pasty, Chine,
Just so the Gods themselves wou'd like to Dine;
For let Romantick Fools chant what they please,
Ambrosia's e'en Poor Jack compar'd to these.
What skill in Arms and Courage I've exprest,
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.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Death undismay'd 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 surprize;
My Courage bears proportion to their Size.
Or if my turgid Nerves shou'd chance to fail,
My vengeful Politicks, be sure, prevail.
Does Cook-maid 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 Tit-mouse, ventures at a bite,
Disturbs imagin'd Sweets, and so good Night.
O cou'd I once from Kites and Cats be freed,
Vermin by Fate arm'd to destroy the Breed!
Cou'd I from that curs'd Fabrick be secure,
Dragg'd into which by some enchanting Lure,
Ourselves precipitate th' impending Snare,
And block up all Retreats but black Despair,
Confin'd above by stubborn Canopy,
Hew'n from the Trunk of the dread Thund'rer's Tree,
Champing in vain our Adamantine Grate,
As unrelenting as the force of Fate!
O! might I get these Grievances redrest,
No Polycrates cou'd 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 lov'd Duckry nor your Water-cress.

He say'd: The marshy Monarch grinning wide,
To his departing Stranger thus reply'd,

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 domestick stor'd
I'll furnish out, believe me, such a Board,
As might transport, cou'd but the Trick be try'd,
Sardanapalus in a Mouses Hide.
Only be pleas'd (and make no more ado)
To board my Back instead of a Canow,
Securely so, my Lord, you'll ferry o'r,
And at the Pallace-stairs be set a'shoar.

Advising thus the Prince expos'd his Back,
And Russet rode as soon a-pick-a-pack.
He smirks, he cocks his Ears, and works his Tail,
O'rjoy'd to think how rarely he shall sail;
'Till his Canow plung'd all into the Deep,
And then the banter'd Knight begun to weep.
In rage he plucks his Furs, robustly spurns
With quiv'ring Haunches, while at Soul he burns.
He felt his Honour had receiv'd a Wound,
And wish'd 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 Pow'rs, he cry'd, and Thou———
And then the Diver duck'd his Cargo low.
Restor'd to kindly Draughts of upper Air
He thus proceeds, Great Jove once proud to bear
Thy trembling Mistress on thy goodly Chine
Thro' frothy Tumors of the dancing Brine,
Behold!———But e'r that Word his Lips escap'd,
A painted Floater, formidably shap'd
Travers'd the curling Tide, a hungry Pest,
With Jaws Tartarian and erected Crest.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$The yellow Knight near Danger apprehends,
And biting poor Pilgarlick's Fingers-ends,
Breaks his Embrace, and into Mud descends.
In vain the vig'rous Chief deserted sprawls,
Beats the vext Element, and pants, and calls.
Thrice through th' Abyss unwillingly he sinks,
Emerges thrice, yet soon chill Death he drinks,
For now the soaky Hide too pond'rous grew,
And boding thus he bid the Light adieu.

Yes, Traytor, thou shalt feel, and that e'r long,
How much th' offended Gods resent my Wrong.
Jove sends his Bolts on thy devoted Head,
My self infernal Scorpions from the Dead.
O! had'st thou call'd me to the Lists, and there
Approv'd thy Skill———But, Slave, thou did'st not dare.
Expect avenging Squadrons on thy Coast
To sacrifice thee to my longing Ghost.

He spoke: Then with a mighty Plunge expir'd,
And down to Styx his angry Shade retir'd.