By shadows awed, to quit their ground? How would fools laugh, should it appear Pomposo was the slave of fear? 770 'Perish the thought! Though to our eyes, In all its terrors, Hell should rise; Though thousand ghosts, in dread array, With glaring eyeballs, cross our way; Though Caution, trembling, stands aloof, Still we will on, and dare the proof.' They said; and, without further halt, Dauntless march'd onward to the vault. What mortal men, who e'er drew breath, Shall break into the house of Death, 780 With foot unhallow'd, and from thence The mysteries of that state dispense, Unless they, with due rites, prepare Their weaker sense such sights to bear, And gain permission from the state, On earth their journal to relate? Poets themselves, without a crime, Cannot attempt it e'en in rhyme, But always, on such grand occasion, Prepare a solemn invocation, 790 A posy for grim Pluto weave, And in smooth numbers ask his leave. But why this caution? why prepare Rites, needless now? for thrice in air The Spirit of the Night hath sneezed, And thrice hath clapp'd his wings, well-pleased. Descend then, Truth, and guard thy side, My Muse, my patroness, and guide! Let others at invention aim, And seek by falsities for fame; 800 Our story wants not, at this time, Flounces and furbelows in rhyme; Relate plain facts; be brief and bold; And let the poets, famed of old, Seek, whilst our artless tale we tell, In vain to find a parallel: Silent all three went in; about All three turn'd, silent, and came out. BOOK III.