Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/219

Further to plague the world, he must engross
Huge codes and bulky pandects of the laws,
With doctors' glosses to perplex the cause,
Where darkened equity is kept from light,
Under vast reams of nonsense buried quite.
’Gently, good sir!' cry you, 'why all this rant?
Man has his freaks and passions, that we grant;
He has his frailties and blind sides, who doubts)?
But his least virtues balance all his faults.
Pray, was it not this bold, this thinking man,
That measured Heaven, and taught the stars to scan;
Whose boundless wit, with soaring wings, durst fly
Beyond the flaming borders of the sky;
Turned nature o'er, and with a piercing view
Each cranny searched, and looked her through and through?
Which of the brutes have Universities?
When was it heard that they e'er took degrees,
Or were professors of the faculties?
By law or physic were they ever known
To merit velvet, or a scarlet gown?
No, questionless; nor did we ever read
Of quacks with them, that were licentiates made,
By patent to profess the poisoning trade;
No doctors in the desk there hold dispute
About black pudding, while the wondering rout
Listen to hear the knotty truth come out;
Nor virtuosos teach deep mysteries
Of arts for pumping air, and smothering flies.
But, not to urge the matter farther now,
Nor search it to the depth, what 'tis to know,
And whether we know anything or no;
Answer me only this, what man is there
In this vile thankless age, wherein we are,
Who does by sense and learning value bear?
’Wouldst thou get honour, and a fair estate,
And have the looks and favours of the great?'