Selected quad for the lemma: book_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A58861
|
Homer A la Mode a mock poem upon the first and second books of Homer's Iliads.
|
Scudamore, James, 1624-1668.; Scudamore, James, 1641 or 2-1666.
|
1664
(1664)
|
Wing S2131; ESTC R7260
|
38,745
|
130
|
butter'd Daughter of Jove * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that of Goats lether Wears doublets what wind brought thee hither Art come to testify the slander Thrown on me by Atrides yonder I 'le tell the one thing and that truly He presently shall come of Blewly For by these trusty hilts this strife If I miss not shall cost his life To him then thus said bleare ey'd Pallas Art mad What dost not fear the gallows My dame which too well loves you all Hath sent me to compose this braul I 'me sent by Juno with white wrists To keep the peace and hold your fists Therefore hands off do not thou draw Thy sword agree you know the Law Is costly if you please you may Berogue and rascall him all day For this I tell you and 't is true This combate he shall dearly rue He shall e're long be put to 's shifts And court you with three times these gifts Prethee therfore put up thy toole say thou wer 't once rul'd by a fool Then said Achilles light of feet If she command me then so be it we must of force obey old wives Needes must he go the Divell drives Though I were vex'd and nere so bold I dare not strike when she bids hold * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I know if I be rul'd by thee Thou 'lt do as much again for mee This said e're any blood was spilt He put his fist in 's basket hilt To th' scabbard that did it in viron He thrust again his fighting Iron When Pallas saw 't she tooke her flight A stride a cowle-staffe out of sight And streight before one could have mist her She was where she had many a sister That sate in Joves house dayly working That Jove that weares a goates skin jerkin Meane while Achilles kept the peace But to berogue him did not cease Quoth he * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 thou drunken dogs-face coward There 's all the parish can tell how hard 'T is for us ever to perswade Thee to lie in an ambuscade Nor ever will thy faint heart yeild To put on armor for the field Y' had rather live on what you pillage By these dog-tricks from your own village Forsooth if any contradict You streight his pockets must be pickt T is forty pittys th' hast such power Thy poor dragoons thus to deuoure But for my part I tell you playne You nere shall rayle at me againe But this I say and if I tooke To it my oath upon a booke I should not be forsworne I sweare By this comanding club I beare * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 This club that nere againe shall bring Forth blosomes for t was cut last spring Out of the Copse where 't grew before And now t is dayntyly guilt or'e a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Borne by a Graecian Constable To keepe the peace among the rable And yet I tell you that 's an oath To break which I 'de be very loath I swear and I will ne're draw back That when the Greeks my ayd do lack Which will be shortly I conjecture When they fall into ' th hands of Hector Then thou in vain shal't fret at heart And fret thou shal't stil for my part Then wilt thou rue the time and place Where thou the stout'st Greek didst disgrace So when he had said he did doff his Cap and * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 flung down his staffe of office On which the badge and name o' th town Was writ in gold besides his own And sate him down upon his bum When streightway with a hauk and hum To clear his cough there rose up aged Nestor the while Atrides raged Well-spoken Nestor a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 from whose chops Flow'd hony words as fast as hops He was Pylian and had bore All offices i' th parish o're b 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Two years together he had tooke On him the keeping o' th church-Church-Book In which he faithfully writ down Those that were born and dy'd i' th town And that year least th' accounts should erre He was the third time register This yeoman mongst them up did rise And made this preachment grave and wise Gods bobs quoth he how great a sorrow Will this bring all the parish thorough This will make Priamus rejoyce And with him all his Trojan boys He 'le be at heart glad when he heares You 're fal'n together by the ears You Sir that are the Grecks conducter And you that are their grave instructer Leave off and be rul'd by me rather I 'me old enough to be your father I have been bred I tell you true With many men as good as you And none of them ever despis'd To doe the thing that I adviz'd And no disparagement I may say You shan't see in a summers day Such as Pirithous and Dry as The sheaphard that liv'd here hard by us Besides Exadius and Ceneus Men who in war were of no mean use And then another who may seem as Though he was Joves Son Polyphemus And Theseus of whom we come short all You would have sworn h' had been immortall These were stout men as ere were borne Or that ere eate bread made of corne And though I say 't many a hard battle They fought in fields with neighbours cattle * 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 And butcher'd them in cruell manners And after sold their hides to tanners I of this gang for some short while was When I did travell out of Pylus And lest the hue and cry should seize us We trudg'd out of Peloponesus Then did I as well as I cou'd Rob pastures for my livelihood They took mee with them at the first No man liv'd in those dayes that durst Fight with these kilcows and yet they What I adviz'd would still obey Do as these men did then pray do Sirs By my advice you 'll be no loosers And though you Agamemnon may Pray doe not take the wench away Prethee for my sake let him have her Because to him the Graecians gave her To give a thing and take a thing You know is the Devils gold ring And you Achilles pray forbeare Against the Generall to sweare How can you think your honour even With his which is bestow'd by heaven 'T is Iove hath given him his place In signe of which he beares a mace What though you 'ue a good pedegree And are a lusty fellow he Must take place of you and that duly He is your generall and must rule ye And many more for you Atrides Soone as your anger pacify'd is Achilles I shall reconcile And put an end to his mad coyle For in this war without a bragg He 's the best peare in all our bagg Thus Nestor gaue in his opinion When next Atrides whose dominion Reach't far and wide reply'd says he I mary gaffer there i 'me w' ye But this contentious