This is not the place to discuss the identity of Homer. Whether a real man, a group of men or a myth, the works of Homer are immortal and, for the most part serious. Our task is to find anything humorous in the Greek epics. It is not easy, indeed, it is almost impossible. But we subjoin an extract which, we may say, comes the nearest to humor in Homer. _THE BEATING OF THERSITES_ Ulysses’ ruling thus restrained The host from flight; and then again the Council was maintained With such a concourse that the shore rang with the tumult made; As when the far-resounding sea doth in its rage invade His sandy confines, whose sides groan with his involved wave, And make his own breast echo sighs. All sate, and audience gave. Thersites only would speak all. A most disordered store Of words he foolishly poured out, of which his mind held more Than it could manage; anything with which he could procure Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure To touch no kings; t’oppose their states becomes not jesters’ parts. But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts In Troy’s brave siege. He was squint-eyed, and lame of either foot; So crookbacked that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot (Here and there ’spersed) thin, mossy hair. He most of all envied Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide. Nor could the sacred king himself avoid his saucy vein; Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain, Being angry for Achilles’ wrong, he cried out, railing thus: “Atrides, why complain’st thou now? What wouldst thou more of us? Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are thine, With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign To our invasion. Want’st thou, then, besides all this, more gold From Troy’s knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold I or some other Greek must take? Or wouldst thou yet again Force from some other lord his prize, to soothe the lusts that reign In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny By rape to ruin. Oh, base Greeks, deserving infamy, And ills eternal, Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are! Come, flee Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys, And try if we helped him or not. He wronged a man that weighs Far more than he himself in worth. He forced from Thetis’ son, And keeps his prize still. Nor think I that mighty man hath won The style of wrathful worthily; he’s soft, he’s too remiss; Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries.” Thus he the people’s pastor chid; but straight stood up to him Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim, This bitter check gave: “Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein