| Were I (who to my cost
already am |
| One of those strange, prodigious
creatures, man) |
| A spirit free to choose, for my own
share, |
| What case of flesh and blood I pleased
to wear, |
| I’d be a dog, a monkey, or a bear, |
| Or anything but that vain animal |
| Who is so proud of being rational. |
| The senses are too gross,
and he’ll contrive |
| A sixth, to contradict the other five, |
| And before certain instinct, will
prefer |
| Reason, which fifty times for one does
err ; |
| Reason, an ignis fatuus in the
mind, |
| Which, leaving light of nature, sense,
behind, |
| Pathless and dangerous wandering ways
it takes |
| Through error’s fenny bogs and thorny
brakes ; |
| Whilst the misguided follower
climbs with pain |
| Mountains of whimseys, heaped in his
own brain ; |
| Stumbling from thought to thought,
falls headlong down |
| Into doubt’s boundless sea, where, like
to drown, |
| Books bear him up awhile, and make him
try |
| To swim with bladders of philosophy ; |
| In hopes still to o’ertake the escaping
light, |
| The vapour dances in his dazzling sight |
| Till, spent, it leaves him to eternal
night. |
| Then old age and experience, hand in
hand, |
| Lead him to death, and make him
understand, |
| After a search so painful and so long, |
| That all his life he has been in the
wrong. |
| Huddled in dirt the reasoning engine
lies, |
Who was so proud, so witty, and so
wise.
|
| John Wilmot
| Classic Poems |
| |
|
[ Homo Sapiens ] [ Love and Life ] |
