Flies: (i The Hosts of Achor" 229 



The real, overwhelming, loathsome horror of the visitation 

 was of course this, that the land of Egypt suddenly swarmed 

 from end to end with house-flies, and no others. They did 

 not sting, nor bite. They did nothing aggressive, but simply 

 sat in sheets, in heaps, everywhere, acres of them, square 

 miles, crawling one over the other, ever-shifting clouds, 

 almost too thick to walk through, perpetually rising and re- 

 settling. 



Who that has been in Egypt in the hot weather has not felt 

 the fly an almost intolerable burden, a presence almost too 

 nauseating for endurance ? And the bazaars ! Even un- 

 plagued they are a memory to shudder at. What is that 

 man yonder selling ? As some one passes, the black plaster 

 of flies lifts heavily for an instant off the wares on his stall. 

 They are ruddy in colour. What are they? Sweetmeats 

 dyed with pomegranate juice ? Water-melons split to show 

 their rosy freshness ? Or meat ? The seller is asleep in the 

 corner, his clout over his head, and the flies hang in bunches 

 from every stain on the dirty rag. And worse, and worse, and 

 worse is seen, till the cumulative horror would shame an 

 English page to describe it, and sicken the reader. So 

 why did Cowley he often does it in the same poem 

 think to improve upon Divine vengeance, so simple and 

 yet so inconceivably shocking, by the elegancies of 

 variety ? 



Moore has a poem on the Egyptians' worship of the hosts 

 of Achor, in which he turns the point to suit his own 

 political prejudices : 



' ' The wise men of Egypt were secret as dummies, 

 And even when they most condescended to teach, 

 They packed up their meaning as they did their mummies 

 In so many wrappers 'twas out of one's reach. 

 They were also good people, much given to kings, 

 Fond of monarchs and crocodiles, monkeys and mystery, 

 Bats, hieophants, bluebottle flies, and such things : 

 As will partly appear in this very short history. 



