There now, I’ve toiled my way quite through

There

Law, Medicine, and Philosophy,

And, to my sorrow, also thee,

Theology, with much ado;

And here I stand, poor human fool,

As wise as when I went to school.

Master, ay, Doctor, titled duly,

An urchin-brood of boys unruly

For ten slow-creeping years and mo,

Up and down, and to and fro,

I lead by the nose: and this I know,

That vain is all our boasted lore—

A thought that burns me to the core!

True, I am wiser than all their tribe,

Doctor, Master, Priest, and Scribe;

No scruples nor doubts in my bosom dwell,

I fear no devil, believe no hell;

But with my fear all joy is gone,

All rare conceit of wisdom won;

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