Chapter 2. On the Office of the Prince’s Teacher
1 And so I, your teacher—for I am given wings by that name, and grow ten cubits tall, being called the emperor’s instructor—bring you the gift of this discourse today of my own free will, and I become your herald of good news (do not disbelieve a teacher’s voice): rivers of blessing will flow to you, if my words come down upon your heart like rain, since you have been pleased with the freewill offerings of my mouth. For I will not flatter my emperor, nor tickle your ears with deceitful words that put on the airs of a sophist; nor will I tune my song to the soft Lydian mode, but to the taut and martial Dorian.[1] For I would be doing a grave wrong both to the calling I have been given in life and to your own nature; a nature fully able to bear good fruit, and no ignoble fruit, if only it receives a royal seed.