I was a scholar: seven useful springs
Did I deflower in quotations
Of cross’d opinions ’bout the soul of man.
The more I learnt the more I learnt to doubt:
Knowledge and wit, faith’s foes, turn faith about.
Delight, my spaniel slept, whilst I baus’d leaves,
Toss’d o’er the dunces, pored on the old print
Of titled words, and still my spaniel slept.
Whilst I wasted lamp-oil, bated my flesh,
Shrunk up my veins; and still my spaniel slept.
And still I held converse with Zabarell,
Aquinas, Scotus, and the musty saw
Of antic Donate; still my spaniel slept
Still went on went I; first an sit anima,
Then, and it were mortal. O hold, hold! at that
They’re at brain-buffets, fell by the ears amain
Pell-mell together; still my spaniel slept.
Then whether ’twere corporeal, local, fix’d,
Extraduce; but whether’t had free will
Or no, ho philosophers
Stood banding factions all so strongly propp’d,
I stagger’d, knew not which was firmer part;
But thought, quoted, read, observ’d, and pried,
Stuff’d noting-books; and still my spaniel slept.
At length he waked and yawn’d and by yon sky,
For aught I know he knew as much as I.