My early Mistress, now my Antient Muse,
That strong Circaean Liquor cease t' infuse ,
Wherewith thou didst intoxicate my Youth,
Now stoop with dis-inchanted Wings to Truth;
As the Doves flight did guide Æneas, now hine conduct me to the Golden Bough;
Tell (like a Tall Old Oak) how Learning Shoots
To Heav'n her Branches, and to Hell her Roots.