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Page 12
Then I spoke, and said that Herodotus himself declared that he could not
believe that story; but the priest regarded me not. And he said that Herodotus
had never caught a crocodile with cold pig, nor did he ever visit Assyria, nor
Babylon, nor Elephantine; but, saying that he had been in these lands, said
that which was not true. He also declared that Herodotus, when he travelled,
knew none of the Fat Ones of the Egyptians, but only those of the baser sort.
And he called Herodotus a thief and a beguiler, and 'the same with intent to
deceive,' as one of their own poets writes, and, to be short, Herodotus, I
could not tell you in one day all the charges which are now brought against
you; but concerning the truth of these things, _you_ know, not least, but
most, as to yourself being guilty or innocent. Wherefore, if you have anything
to show or set forth whereby you may be relieved from the burden of these
accusations, now is the time. Be no more silent; but, whether through the
Oracle of the Dead, or the Oracle of Branchidae, or that in Delphi, or Dodona,
or of Amphiaraus at Oropus, speak to your friends and lovers (whereof I am one
from of old) and let men know the very truth.
Now, concerning the priests in the City of the Ford of the Ox, it is to be
said that of all men whom we know they receive strangers most gladly, feasting
them all day. Moreover, they have many drinks, cunningly mixed, and of these
the best is that they call Archdeacon, naming it from one of the priests'
offices. Truly, as Homer says (if the Odyssey be Homer's), 'when that draught
is poured into the bowl then it is no pleasure to refrain.'
Drinking of this wine, or nectar, Herodotus, I pledge you, and pour forth some
deal on the ground, to Herodotus of Halicarnassus, in the House of Hades.
And I wish you farewell, and good be with you. Whether the priest spoke truly,
or not truly, even so may such good things betide you as befall dead men.
V.
Epistle to Mr. Alexander Pope.
From mortal Gratitude, decide, my Pope,
Have Wits Immortal more to fear or hope?
Wits toil and travail round the Plant of Fame,
Their Works its Garden, and its Growth their Aim,
Then Commentators, in unwieldy Dance,
Break down the Barriers of the trim Pleasance,
Pursue the Poet, like Actaeon's Hounds,
Beyond the fences of his Garden Grounds,
Rend from the singing Robes each borrowed gem,
Rend from the laurel'd Brows the Diadem,
And, if one Rag of Character they spare,
Comes the Biographer, and strips it bare!
Such, Pope, has been thy Fortune, such thy Doom.
Swift the Ghouls gathered at the Poet's Tomb,
With Dust of Notes to clog each lordly Line,
Warburton, Warton, Croker, Bowles, combine!
Collecting Cackle, Johnson condescends
To _interview_ the Drudges of your Friends.
Though still your Courthope holds your merits high,
And still proclaims your Poems poetry,
Biographers, un-Boswell-like, have sneered,
And Dunces edit him whom Dunces feared!
They say; what say they? Not in vain You ask.
To tell you what they say, behold my Task!
'Methinks already I your Tears survey'
As I repeat 'the horrid Things they say.' (1)
(1) _Rape of the Lock_.
Comes El--n first: I fancy you'll agree
Not frenzied Dennis smote so fell as he;
For El--n's Introduction, crabbed and dry,
Like Churchill's Cudgel's (2) marked with Lie, and Lie!
(2) In Mr Hogarth's Caricatura.
'Too dull to know what his own System meant,
Pope yet was skilled new Treasons to invent;
A Snake that puffed himself and stung his Friends,
Few Lied so frequent, for such little Ends;
His mind, like Flesh inflamed, (3) was raw and sore,
And still, the more he writhed, he stung the more!
Oft in a Quarrel, never in the Right,
His Spirit sank when he was called to fight.
Pope, in the Darkness mining like a Mole,
Forged on Himself, as from Himself he stole,
And what for Caryll once he feigned to feel,
Transferred, in Letters never sent, to Steele!
Still he denied the Letters he had writ,
And still mistook Indecency for Wit.
His very Grammar, so De Quincey cries,
"Detains the Reader, and at times defies!"'
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