Solve senescentem mature sanus equum, ne
Peccet ad extremum ridendus.---- HOR. Lib. i. Ep. i. 8.
The voice of reason cries with winning force,
Loose from the rapid car your aged horse,
Lest, in the race derided, left behind,
He drag his jaded limbs and burst his wind. FRANCIS.
SUCH is the emptiness of human enjoyment,
that we are always impatient of the present.
Attainment is followed by neglect, and possession
by disgust; and the malicious remark of the Greek
epigrammatist on marriage may be applied to every
other course of life, that its two days of happiness
are the first and the last.
Few moments are more pleasing than those in
which the mind is concerting measures for a new
undertaking. From the first hint that weakens the
fancy, till the hour of actual execution, all is
improvement and progress, triumph and felicity. Every
hour brings additions to the original scheme,
suggests some new expedient to secure success, or
discovers consequential advantages not hitherto
foreseen. While preparations are made, and materials
accumulated, day glides after day through elysian
prospects, and the heart dances to the song of hope.
Such is the pleasure of projecting, that many
content themselves with a succession of visionary
schemes, and wear out their allotted time in the calm
amusement of contriving what they never attempt
or hope to execute.
Others, not able to feast their imagination with
pure ideas, advance somewhat nearer to the grossness
of action, with great diligence collect whatever
is requisite to their design, and, after a thousand
researches and consultations, are snatched away by
death, as they stand in procinctu waiting for a proper
opportunity to begin.
If there were no other end of life, than to find
some adequate solace for every day, I know not
whether any condition could be preferred to that of
the man who involves himself in his own thoughts,
and never suffers experience to shew him the vanity
of speculation; for no sooner are notions reduced to
practice, than tranquillity and confidence forsake
the breast; every day brings its task, and often
without bringing abilities to perform it: difficulties
embarrass, uncertainty perplexes, opposition retards,
censure exasperates, or neglect depresses. We
proceed because we have begun; we complete our
design, that the labour already spent may not be
vain; but as expectation gradually dies away, the
gay smile of alacrity disappears, we are compelled
to implore severer powers, and trust the event to
patience and constancy.
When once our labour has begun, the comfort
that enables us to endure it is the prospect of its
end; for though in every long work there are some
joyous intervals of self-applause, when the attention
is recreated by unexpected facility, and the imagination
soothed by incidental excellencies; yet the toil
with which performance struggles after idea, is so
irksome and disgusting, and so frequent is the
necessity of resting below that perfection which we
imagined within our reach, that seldom any man
obtains more from his endeavours than a painful
conviction of his defects, and a continual resuscitation
of desires which he feels himself unable to
gratify.
So certainly is weariness the concomitant of our
undertakings, that every man, in whatever he is
engaged, consoles himself with the hope of change; if
he has made his way by assiduity to publick
employment, he talks among his friends of the delight
of retreat; if by the necessity of solitary application
he is secluded from the world, he listens with a
beating heart to distant noises, longs to mingle with
living beings, and resolves to take hereafter his fill
of diversions, or display his abilities on the universal
theatre, and enjoy the pleasure of distinction and
applause.
Every desire, however innocent, grows dangerous,
as by long indulgence it becomes ascendant in the
mind. When we have been much accustomed to
consider any thing as capable of giving happiness, it
is not easy to restrain our ardour or forbear some
precipitation in our advances, and irregularity in our
pursuits. He that has cultivated the tree, watched the
swelling bud and opening blossom, and pleased himself
with computing how much every sun and shower
add to its growth, scarcely stays till the fruit has
obtained its maturity, but defeats his own cares by
eagerness to reward them. When we have diligently
laboured for any purpose, we are willing to believe
that we have attained it, and, because we have
already done much, too suddenly conclude that no
more is to be done.
All attraction is increased by the approach of the
attracting body. We never find ourselves so desirous
to finish, as in the latter part of our work, or so
impatient of delay, as when we know that delay cannot
be long. Thus unseasonable importunity of discontent
may be partly imputed to langour and weariness,
which must always oppress those more whose
toil has been longer continued; but the greater part
usually proceeds from frequent contemplation of
that ease which is now considered as within reach,
and which, when it has once flattered our hopes, we
cannot suffer to be withheld.
In some of the noblest compositions of wit, the
conclusion falls below the vigour and spirit of the
first books; and as a genius is not to be degraded
by the imputation of human failings, the cause of
this declension is commonly sought in the structure
of the work, and plausible reasons are given why in
the defective part less ornament was necessary, or
less could be admitted. But, perhaps, the author
would have confessed, that his fancy was tired, and
his perseverance broken; that he knew his design
to be unfinished, but that, when he saw the end so
near, he could no longer refuse to be at rest.
Against the instillations of this frigid opiate, the
heart should be secured by all the considerations
which once concurred to kindle the ardour of enterprise.
Whatever motive first incited action, has still
greater force to stimulate perseverance; since he
that might have lain still at first in blameless
obscurity, cannot afterwards desist but with infamy
and reproach. He, whom a doubtful promise of distant
good could encourage to set difficulties at
defiance, ought not to remit his vigour, when he has
almost obtained his recompense. To faint or loiter,
when only the last efforts are required, is to steer
the ship through tempests, and abandon it to the
winds in sight of land; it is to break the ground and
scatter the seed, and at last to neglect the harvest.
The masters of rhetorick direct, that the most
forcible arguments be produced in the latter part
of an oration, lest they should be effaced or perplexed
by supervenient images. This precept may be justly
extended to the series of life: nothing is ended with
honour, which does not conclude better than it began.
It is not sufficient to maintain the first vigour;
for excellence loses its effect upon the mind by
custom, as light after a time ceases to dazzle.
Admiration must be continued by that novelty which first
produced it, and how much soever is given, there
must always be reason to imagine that more remains.
We not only are most sensible of the last
impressions, but such is the unwillingness of mankind
to admit transcendant merit, that, though it be
difficult to obliterate the reproach of miscarriages by
any subsequent achievement, however illustrious,
yet the reputation raised by a long train of success
may be finally ruined by a single failure; for
weakness or errour will be always remembered by that
malice and envy which it gratifies.
For the prevention of that disgrace, which
lassitude and negligence may bring at last upon the
greatest performances, it is necessary to proportion
carefully our labour to our strength. If the design
comprises many parts, equally essential, and therefore
not to be separated, the only time for caution
is before we engage; the powers of the mind must
be then impartially estimated, and it must be
remembered that, not to complete the plan, is not to
have begun it; and that nothing is done, while any
thing is omitted.
But, if the task consists in the repetition of single
acts, no one of which derives its efficacy from the
rest, it may be attempted with less scruple, because
there is always opportunity to retreat with honour.
The danger is only, lest we expect from the world
the indulgence with which most are disposed to
treat themselves; and in the hour of listlessness
imagine, that the diligence of one day will atone
for the idleness of another, and that applause begun
by approbation will be continued by habit.
He that is himself weary will soon weary the
publick. Let him therefore lay down his employment,
whatever it be, who can no longer exert
his former activity or attention; let him not
endeavour to struggle with censure, or obstinately
infest the stage till a general hiss commands him
to depart.