Of knowledge running, and five hundred times
More re-repeats the matter—and gains nil.
"Out broke a voice from heaven: 'Thy patience climbs
Even thus high. Choose! Wilt thou, rather, quick
Ascend to bliss—or, since thy zeal sublimes
"'Such drudgery, will thy back still bear its crick,
Bent o'er thy class,—thy voice drone spite of drouth,—
Five hundred years more at thy desk wilt stick?'
"'To heaven with me!' was in the good man's mouth,
When all his scholars—cruel-kind were they!—