"Were I (who to my cost already am One of those strange, prodigious creatures, man) A spirit free to choose, for my own share, What case of flesh and blood I pleased to wear, I'd be a dog, a monkey, or a bear, Or anything but that vain animal, Who is so proud of being rational. The senses are too gross; and he'll contrive A sixth to contradict the other five; And before certain instinct will prefer Reason, which fifty times for one does err; Reason, an ignis fatuus of the mind, Which, leaving light of nature, sense, behind, Pathless and dangerous wandering ways it takes, Through error's fenny bogs and thorny brakes; Whilst the misguided follower climbs with pain Mountains of whimseys, heaped in his own brain."