Book 9 — THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIAD.

Finding that no Achilles comes, Poor Agamemnon bites his thumbs; And though his heavy eyes kept winking, He could not steal a nod for thinking How he from this unlucky scrape Might with his ragged rogues escape: For as says he, our woeful pickle Requires that ev'ry man should stickle, Why should our Grecian lazy dogs Keep snoring like distillers' hogs, Whilst I for gen'ral good am watching, And flaying all my rump with scratching? So up he gets, sans more ado, And sends the cuckold Menelau To bring their comrades all together, That they might club their noddles, whether They ought, in this great strait, to stay, Or take good start and ran away. A council call'd, they send from thence Two spies, to steal intelligence; And steal they did for, by their prize, You'd swear he sent two Yorkshire spies, For, after stealing sev'ral purses, They stole a special pair of horses.