Having thus, I hope, avoided the first exception, against the incompetency of my judgment, I am but little moved with the second, which is of being bribed by the honour you have done me, by attributing in your preface somewhat to my judgment. For I have used your judgment no less in many things of mine, which coming to light will thereby appear the better. And so you have your bribe again. Having thus made way for the admission of my testimony, I give it briefly thus. I never yet saw poem, that had so much shape of art, health of morality, and vigour and beauty of expression, as this of yours. And but for the clamour of the multitude, that hide their envy of the present under a reverence of antiquity, I should say further, that it would last as long as either the _Æneid_, or _Iliad_, but for one disadvantage; and the disadvantage is this; the languages of the Greeks and Romans, by their colonies and conquests, have put off flesh and blood, and are become immutable, which none of the modern tongues are like to be. I honour antiquity; but that which is commonly called _old time_, is _young time_. The glory of antiquity is due, not to the dead, but to the aged. And now, whilst I think of it, give me leave with a short discord to sweeten the harmony of the approaching close. I have nothing to object against your poem; but dissent only from something in your preface, sounding to the prejudice of age. It is commonly said, that old age is a return to childhood. Which methinks you insist on so long, as if you desired it should be believed. That is the note I mean to shake a little. That saying, meant only of the weakness of body, was wrested to the weakness of mind, by froward children, weary of the controlment of their parents, masters, and other admonitors. Secondly, the dotage and childishness they ascribe to age, is never the effect of time, but sometimes of the excesses of youth, and not a returning to, but a continual stay, with childhood. For they that wanting the curiosity of furnishing their memories with the rarities of nature in their youth, pass their time in making provision only for their ease and sensual delight, are children still at what years soever; as they that coming into a populous city, never going out of their inn, are strangers still, how long soever they have been there. Thirdly, there is no reason for any man to think himself wiser to-day than yesterday, which does not equally convince he shall be wiser to-morrow than to-day. Fourthly, you will be forced to change your opinion hereafter when you are old; and in the mean time you discredit all I have said before in your commendation, because I am old already. But no more of this.