"Who ere wou'd with ambitious just desire, To mastery in so fire an art aspire, Must all extreams first diligently shun, And in a settled course of vertue run. Let him not fortune with stiff greatness climb, Nor, courtier-like, with cringes undermine: Nor all the brother blockheads of the pot, Ever persuade him to become a sot; Nor flatter poets to acquire the fame Of, I protest, a pretty gentleman. But whether in the war he wou'd be great, Or, in the gentler arts that rule a state; Or, else his amorous breast he wou'd improve Well to receive the youthful cares of love. In his first years to poetry inclin'd, Let Homer's spring bedew his fruitful mind; His manlier years to manlier studies brought, Philosophy must next imply his thought. Then let his boundless soul new glories fire, And to the great Demosthenes aspire. When round in throngs the list'ning people come, T'admire what sprung in Greece so slow at home Rais'd to this height, your leisure hours engage In something just and worthy of the stage; Your choice of words from Cicero derive, And in your poems you design shou'd live, The joys of feasts, and terrors of a war, More pleasing those, and these more frightful are, When told by you, than in their acting were: And thus, enrich'd with such a golden store, You're truly fit to be an orator." While I was wholly taken up with Agamemnon, I did not observe how Ascyltos had given me the slip, and as I continu'd my diligence, a great crowd of scholars fill'd the portico, to hear, (as it appear'd afterwards) an extemporary declamation, of I know not whom, that was discanting on what Agamemnon had said; while therefore they ridicul'd his advice, and condemn'd the order of the whole, I took an opportunity of getting from them, and ran in quest of Ascyltos: But the hurry I was in, with my ignorance where our inn lay, so distracted me, that what way soever I went, I return'd by the same, till tir'd in the pursuit, and all in a sweat, I met an old herb-woman: And, "I beseech ye, mother," quoth I, "do you know whereabouts I dwell?" Pleas'd with the simplicity of such a home-bred jest, "Why should I not?" answer'd she; and getting on her feet went on before me: I thought her no less than a witch: but, having led me into a bye lane, she threw off her pyebal'd patch't-mantle, and "here," quoth she, "you can't want a lodging."