Classic Poem

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 little Wit into the Scull,
Which never fails to make a mighty Fool ;
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.