What matter ignorance and pride? 
  The man was happily allied. 
  Provided that his clerk was good,
  What though he nothing understood?
70
  In church and state, the sorry race
  Grew more conspicuous fools in place. 
  Such heads, as then a treaty made,
  Had bungled in the cobbler’s trade. 
     Consider, patrons, that such elves,
  Expose your folly with themselves. 
  ’Tis yours, as ’tis the parent’s care,
  To fix each genius in its sphere. 
  Your partial hand can wealth dispense,
  But never give a blockhead sense.
80
     An owl of magisterial air,
  Of solemn voice, of brow austere,
  Assumed the pride of human race,
  And bore his wisdom in his face;
  Not to depreciate learned eyes,
  I’ve seen a pedant look as wise. 
     Within a barn, from noise retired,
  He scorned the world, himself admired;
  And, like an ancient sage, concealed
  The follies public life revealed.
90
     Philosophers of old, he read,
  Their country’s youth to science bred,
  Their manners formed for every station,
  And destined each his occupation. 
  When Xenophon, by numbers braved,
  Retreated, and a people saved,
  That laurel was not all his own;
  The plant by Socrates was sown;
  To Aristotle’s greater name
  The Macedonian[10] owed his fame.
100
     The Athenian bird, with pride replete,
  Their talents equalled in conceit;
  And, copying the Socratic rule,
  Set up for master of a school. 
  Dogmatic jargon learnt by heart,
  Trite sentences, hard terms of art,
  To vulgar ears seemed so profound,
  They fancied learning in the sound. 
     The school had fame:  the crowded place
  With pupils swarmed of every race.
110
  With these the swan’s maternal care
  Had sent her scarce-fledged cygnet heir: 
  The hen (though fond and loath to part)
  Here lodged the darling of her heart: 
  The spider, of mechanic kind,
  Aspired to science more refined: 
  The ass learnt metaphors and tropes,
  But most on music fixed his hopes. 
     The pupils now advanced in age,
  Were called to tread life’s busy stage.
120
  And to the master ’twas submitted,
  That each might to his part be fitted. 
     ‘The swan,’ says he, ’in arms shall shine: 
  The soldier’s glorious toil be thine. 
  The cock shall mighty wealth attain: 
  Go, seek it on the stormy main. 
  The Court shall be the spider’s sphere: 
  Power, fortune, shall reward him there. 
  In music’s art the ass’s fame
  Shall emulate Corelli’s[1] name.
130
     Each took the part that he advised,
  And all were equally despised;
  A farmer, at his folly moved,
  The dull preceptor thus reproved: 
     ‘Blockhead,’ says he, ’by what you’ve done,
  One would have thought ’em each your son: