'Tis the part of a wise Man to examine the means of attaining the end, that he be not foiled in his Enterprize, or,
Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof,
Eccles. c. 7. v. 8.
You say you'd win the olive crown, and lust
To reap the harvest of th' Olympick dust;
That history may reckon by your name,
From the great year when such a one o'ercame;
'Tis brave, and by the gods I wish the same;
But then consider first what must be done,
Through what a course of hardships you must run
E'er you proceed, and what may be th' event,
And consequence of such a great attempt:
With a strict course of life you must begin,
Confin'd by methods and sharp discipline;
According to direction you must eat
Nothing that's boil'd, and such a kind of meat
As is allow'd' then you must drink no wine,
Nor yet cold water, and observe your time
For exercise, you must yourself inure,
The summer's heat and winter's cold t'indure.
These preparations made, you then must try,
If possible, to gain the victory,
And that not without labour, danger, harm,
Or loss of ribs, perhaps a leg or arm:
And when whole pecks of dust you've swallow'd down,
Been lash'd, and all things requisite have done,
'Tis possible that you may lose the crown.
These hazards when you throughly have survey'd,
You still may venture on; nor be dismay'd,
You'll find the burthen lighter which you've weigh'd,
Else you'll desist, and jade like wanton boys,
Who, tir'd and pleas'd with novelty of toys,
Scarce warm in one, begin another play,
And scorn the tedious sport of yesterday:
Who sometimes pipers, wrestlers represent,
Or with tough cudgel try their hardiment;
Sometimes the horn, or the shrill trumpet sound,
Act tragedies, and kill without a wound:
Thoughtless as they, one while your hand you'll try
In wrestling, fencing next, then poetry,
In rhet'rick, nay, perhaps philosophy,
But fail in each; and all these pains bestow,
Ridiculous as possible to grow,
And make a wond'rous bustle to express
A rev'rend, and more serious childishness,
Like a grave ape, whom nature did create
A type of you, who can but imitate;
Who one thing now, another straight admire,
Who, hurried on with violent desire,
Plunge over head and ears, before you know
How deep the silent smooth-fac'd waters flow,
Or weigh the hardships you must undergo.
Thus some, when any much-fam'd man they spy
Admir'd for wisdom, and for modesty,
Much listen'd to, and courted ev'ry where,
And then, perhaps, some grave quotation hear,
'How true speaks Socrates! Nor can it be
That any should discourse as well as he!
Are taken with an itch of being wise;
They too, forsooth, must needs philosophize.