Who read huge works, to boast what ye have read;
Can all the real knowledge ye possess,
Or those - if such there are - who more than guess,
Atone for each impostor’s wild mistakes,
And mend the blunders pride or folly makes ?
What thought so wild, what airy dream so light,
That will not prompt a theorist to write?
What art so prevalent, what proof so strong,
That will convince him his attempt is wrong?
One in the solids finds each lurking ill,