Accursed the man, whom Fate ordains, in spite, And cruel parents teach, to read and write! What need of letters? wherefore should we spell? Why write our names? A mark will do as well. Much are the precious hours of youth misspent, In climbing Learning's rugged, steep ascent; When to the top the bold adventurer's got, He reigns, vain monarch, o'er a barren spot; Whilst in the vale of Ignorance below, Folly and Vice to rank luxuriance grow; 10 Honours and wealth pour in on every side, And proud Preferment rolls her golden tide. O'er crabbed authors life's gay prime to waste, To cramp wild genius in the chains of taste, To bear the slavish drudgery of schools, And tamely stoop to every pedant's rules; For seven long years debarr'd of liberal ease, To plod in college trammels to degrees; Beneath the weight of solemn toys to groan, Sleep over books, and leave mankind unknown; 20 To praise each senior blockhead's threadbare tale, And laugh till reason blush, and spirits fail; Manhood with vile submission to disgrace, And cap the fool, whose merit is his place, Vice-Chancellors, whose knowledge is but small, And Chancellors, who nothing know at all: Ill-brook'd the generous spirit in those days When learning was the certain road to praise, When nobles, with a love of science bless'd, Approved in others what themselves possess'd. 30 But now, when Dulness rears aloft her throne, When lordly vassals her wide empire own; When Wit, seduced by Envy, starts aside, And basely leagues with Ignorance and Pride; What, now, should tempt us, by false hopes misled, Learning's unfashionable paths to tread; To bear those labours which our fathers bore, That crown withheld, which they in triumph wore? When with much pains this boasted learning's got, 'Tis an affront to those who have it not: 40 In some it causes hate, in others fear, Instructs our foes to rail, our friends to sneer. With prudent haste the worldly-minded fool Forgets the little which he learn'd at school: The elder brother, to vast fortunes born, Looks on all science with an eye of scorn; Dependent brethren the same features wear, And younger sons are stupid as the heir. In senates, at the bar, in church and state, Genius is vile, and learning out of date. 50 Is this--oh, death to think!--is this the land Where Merit and Reward went hand in hand? Where heroes, parent-like, the poet view'd, By whom they saw their glorious deeds renew'd? Where poets, true to honour, tuned their lays, And by their patrons sanctified their praise? Is this the land, where, on our Spenser's tongue, Enamour'd of his voice, Description hung? Where Jonson rigid Gravity beguiled, Whilst Reason through her critic fences smiled? 60 Where Nature listening stood whilst Shakspeare play'd, And wonder'd at the work herself had made? Is this the land, where, mindful of her charge