WOULD you, my Friend, a finish'd Sceptic make,
To form his Nature, these Materials take:
A little Learning; twenty Grains of Sense,
Join'd with a double Share of Ignorance;
Infuse a  into the Scull,
Which never fails to make a ;
Two Drams of Faith; a Tun of Doubting next;
Let all be with the Dregs of Reason mixt:
When in his Mind, these jarring Seeds are sown,
He'll censure all Things, but approve of none.