Nat sez, "Homer's Iliad set to bawdy verse. The Preface sings true, even today:"
Good people, would you know the reason
I write at this unlucky season,
When all the nation is so poor
That few can keep above one whore,
Except the lawyers — (whose large fees
Maintain as many as they please) —
"The translation itself is just as fiery:"
Ready to burst with vengeful ire,
That made his bloodshot eyes strike fire,
Atrides, with a vengeful scowl,
Replies, The devil fetch your soul!
I've a great mind, you lousy wizard,
To lay my fist across your mazzard.
Son of an ugly squinting bitch,
Pray who the pox made you a witch?
I don't believe, you mongrel dog,
You ken a handsaw from a hog;
Nor know, although you dare thus flounce,
How many f—s will make an ounce;