Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 7.djvu/16

4 Let us (for shame!) no more be fed With antique reliques of the dead, The gleanings of philosophy; Philosophy, the lumber of the schools, The roguery of alchemy; And we, the bubbled fools, Spend all our present life, in hopes of golden rules.

III.

But what does our proud ignorance Learning call? We oddly Plato's paradox make good, Our knowledge is but mere remembrance all; Remembrance is our treasure and our food; Nature's fair tablebook, our tender souls, We scrawl all o'er with old and empty rules, Stale memorandums of the schools: For Learning's mighty treasures look In that deep grave a book; Think that she there does all her treasures hide, And that her troubled ghost still haunts there since she died. Confine her walks to colleges and schools; Her priest, her train, and followers show As if they all were spectres too! They purchase knowledge at th' expense Of common breeding, common sense, And grow at once scholars and fools; Affect ill-manner'd pedantry, Rudeness, ill-nature, incivility, And, sick with dregs of knowledge grown, Which greedily they swallow down, Still cast it up, and nauseate company. IV. Curst