The Passions still predominant will rule,
Ungovern'd, rude, not bred in  School;
Our Understanding they with Darkness fill,
Cause strong Corruptions, and pervert the Will;
On these the Soul, as on some flowing Tide,
Must sit, and on the raging Billows ride,
Hurry'd away, for how can be withstood
Th' impetuous Torrent of the boiling Blood?
Be gone false Hopes, for all our Learning's vain,
Can we be free, where these the Rule maintain:
These are the Tools of Knowledge which we use;
The Spirits heated, will strange things produce;
Tell me who e'er the Passions could controul,
Or from the Body disengage the Soul;
Till this is done, our best Pursuits are vain
To conquer Truth and unmix'd Knowledge gain:
Thro' all the bulky Volumes of the Dead,
And thro' those Books that modern times have bred.
With pain we travel, as thro' moorish Ground,
Where scarce one useful Plant is ever found;
O'er-run with Errors which so thick appear,
Our Search proves vain, no Spark of truth is there.