Читать книгу A Satire Anthology - Wells Carolyn - Страница 18

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.

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, baited 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 antick Donate: still my spaniel slept.

Still on went I; first, an sit anima;

Then, an it were mortal. Oh, hold, hold! at that

They’re at brain buffets, fell by the ears amain

Pell-mell together; still my spaniel slept.

Then, whether ’t were corporeal, local, fixt,

Ex traduce, but whether ’t had free will

Or no, hot philosphers

Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt,

I stagger’d, knew not which was firmer part,

But thought, quoted, read, observ’d, and pryed,

Stufft noting-books: and still my spaniel slept.

At length he wak’d, and yawned; and by yon sky,

For aught I know he knew as much as I.