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The LX. ADVERTISEMENT.
A Litterato desires of Apollo, the Art of Memory, for which he is laught at by his Majesty.
ON last Tuesdaies Audience, a poor thread-bare Litterato presented himself before Apollo, and told his Majesty, that by reason of his small learning, he durst not appear in the common Schools; and that his ignorance in Sciences proceeded from his very bad memory; for he re∣membred but very little of what he read: And that having a great desire to be a Scholar, he humbly craved some remedy which might produce in him as tenacious a memory as those great Litterati have, who remember whatsoever they do read: And be chiefly desireth the gift of Local me∣mory, whereby he had heard that they reaped great honor who had it. Apollo told him, That the lovers of Learning got good Memories by perpetual reading; and that Local Memory was a thing onely pra∣ctised by Mountebanks, and by the common sort of Litterati, who are sed with ostentation, and a certain vain-glory to appear more then what they are; and not by sound and well-grounded Schollars, who esteemed it a ridiculous thing, good only to make the common people wonder. The Petitioner replyed, That if it were so, he desired to better his memo∣ry by usual means. Apollo said again, That memory could not be bet∣ter perfected, then by continual study, and assured him, that thereby he might compass his desire. The Schollar replyed again, He had found the contrary: For having lately been very diligent in studying Virgil the mi∣racle of the Latin Poets, he remembred but very few of those infinite de∣licacies which he had observed in him, all which deserved never to be for∣gotten. Apollo was not pleased with this answer; for with some shew of anger, not usual with him in giving audience, at which times he puts on miraculous patience; he bad him go study Virgil again, and that he would remember much more the second time, than he had done the first. Then turning to those that were near him, he said, he hated their impertinances, who having been but a quarter of an hour in a Mill, would come forth as much bemealed, as those Millers who keep there day and night all the daies of their life.