And many a knock was at the gate,

And many a casque was tapped by Fate

On many a dissipated pate,

Ere Troy was quite dis-Troyed.

The Irish general Pat-Roc

lus Hector soon laid flat,

Whom, in the combat's mortal shock,

Achilles killed for that.

The Trojans were most deuced mules,

Until a wooden steed.

Made asses of the sturdy fools-
A woundy cross indeed!

This steed was made of deal; why not?

There is a deal in fashion:

But then the wicked beast had got

No bowels of compassion.

"Twas feminine, and fair to sight; The guilty Greeks they gilt it quite, Which made it seem a bright mare.

The Trojans seized it with delight,

(cask?)

And so the folks in Troy, one night,

Were troubled with the night-mare.

Had Priam known their doings then,

He had deemed it quite a sin

That his men should, like Yorkshire men,

In horse-dealing so shrewd of ken,

Take other people in.

The Princess Cass, a doleful lass,

Put in her word, of course,

And said great woe would come to pass,
Unless they broke the horse.

With an horse-laugh they answered, straight,

And fell to drink and gobble.

Said she, "You'll find, when 'tis too late

"At night, your hobby, warriors great,

"Will put you in a hobble.”

Again they laughed, again they quaffed,

Again they played at draughts,

Strong draughts of ale that made them ail,

Like those who half seas over sail

Upon the craziest crafts.

Soon each intestine warrior draws,

To wage intestine war.

And deadly jars were caused, because

The gate was left a-jar!

Said they, "We've Bacchus here to back us, "And Mars shall mar our foes;

"Favoured by Nox, with sturdy knocks "We'll fracture-their repose."

Thus when the crafty Greeks, en masse,

Into fair Ilion came,

They burned it to the ground, alas !
Which was a burning shame.

There was wild uproar and turmoil,
Much rage and little pity.

Stakes were pulled up to aid the broil,
And the hot victors bagged the spoil,
Just when they sacked the city!

They boarded all the boarding schools;

(steaks?)

But the boards were broke, and 'gainst the rules,

Broken was every bar-gate;

The Board of Works were worked like mules;

The Board of Ordnance, hapless souls,

Were fired at like a target!

King Priam's man, at dead of night,

The royal curtains drew ;

And would have said, in mortal fright,

That half the town was burning bright,—

But this he could not do.

The king awaking, straight roared out: "'Sblood! is the town on fire?"

His valet answered, in about

Ten minutes, when he grew more stout, "Yes-s-s-s—s, sire!”

The Lord in Waiting would not wait,

To hear one sentence more.

Full twenty stone he weighed, (Troy weight) And, as he waddled to the gate,

A heavy heart he bore.

One stone on t'other, at that rate,

They would not leave, he swore.

The royal household was broke up ;
And some of them broke down,

As they with broken heads did troop,
To get away from town.

The Master of the Horse took horse,
And set off at full speed;

To the high road he took, of course,
Which was quite low, indeed.

The steward was half stewed, before
He'd leave his situation;

The gardener, from his hot house-door,
Saw an end of vegetation.

The cook, less swift than any hound,
Though well used to stand fire,

Fled from the broil, just nicely browned,

Ireful to lose his hire.

The scullions knocked their sculls against

The scullery, in their fear;

The boot-boy, when the scrape commenced,

Brushed off, just like a dear.

You'd swear 'twas Warren's blacking-bard,

So sable was his hue,

(deer?)