True, it should seem that the tissue of thought
Is like a web by cunning master wrought,
Where one stroke moves a thousand threads,
The shuttle shoots backwards and forwards between,
The slender threads flow together unseen,
And one with the others thousand-fold weds:
Then steps the philosopher forth to show
How of necessity it must be so:
If the first be so, the second is so,
And therefore the third and the fourth is so;
And unless the first and the second before be,
The third and the fourth can never more be.
So schoolmen teach and scholars believe,
But none of them yet ever learned to weave.
He who strives to know a thing well
Must first the spirit within expel,
Then can he count the parts in his hand,
Only without the spiritual band.
Encheiresis naturæ, ’tis clept in Chemistry,
Thus laughing at herself, albeit she knows not why.
Student.
I must confess I can’t quite comprehend you.
Mephistopheles.
In this respect time by and by will mend you,
When you have learned the crude mixed masses
To decompose, and rank them in their classes.
Student.
I feel as stupid to all he has said,
As a mill-wheel were whirling round in my head.
Mephistopheles.
After logic, first of all,
To the study of metaphysics fall!
There strive to know what ne’er was made
To go into a human head;
For what is within and without its command
A high-sounding word is always at hand.
But chiefly, for the first half year,
Let order in all your studies appear;
Five lectures a-day, that no time be lost,
And with the clock be at your post!
