Read it through once

The vulgar thus through imitation err; As oft the learned by being singular. So much they scorn the crowd that if the throng By chance go right they purposely go wrong: So schismatics the plain believers quit, And are but damned for having too much wit. Some praise at morning what they blame at night, But always think the last opinion right. A muse by these is like a mistress used, This hour she's idolized, the next abused; While their weak heads, like towns unfortified, 'Twixt sense and nonsense daily change their side. Ask them the cause, they're wiser still they say; And still to-morrow's wiser than to-day. We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow; Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so. Once school-divines this zealous isle o'erspread. Who knew most sentences was deepest read, [441] Faith, Gospel, all, seemed made to be disputed, And none had sense enough to be confuted: Scotists and Thomists now in peace remain, [444] Amidst their kindred cobwebs in Duck Lane. [445] If faith itself has different dresses worn, What wonder modes in wit should take their turn? Oft, leaving what is natural and fit, The current folly proves the ready wit; And authors think their reputation safe, Which lives as long as fools are pleased to laugh.