With solemn phiz, about the fate Of Troy the gods deliberate; And long dispute the matter, whether To joul their loggerheads together, Or make all farther scuffles cease, And let them drink and whore in peace. At last the gods agree nem. con. To let the rascals squabble on: Paris then jogs Lycaon's son To knock poor Menelaus down; And whilst the honest quack, Machaon, A plaster spread the wound to lay on, A dreadful noise of shouts and drumming Forewarn'd the Greeks that Troy was coming. The gen'ral now, the troops to settle, And show himself a man of mettle, In a great splutter runs about To call their trusty leaders out, Swaggers and bounces, kicks and cuffs, Some serjeants praises, others huffs; At last the roysters join in battle, And clubs, and staves, and potlids rattle.

Illustration from A Burlesque Translation of Homer

Hebe prepar'd upon the spot A jug of purl made piping hot, Of which she gave each god a cup, Who sup and blow, and blow and sup.