When some weak youth hath wisely feared the chance of ill success:
Now, he will barely be a winner,—to magnify thy triumphs afterward;
Now, he will hardly be a loser,—but cannot cease to wonder at thy skill:
He laudeth his own worth, that the leader may have glory in his follower;
He meekly confesseth his unworthiness, that the leader may have glory in himself.
Many wiles hath he, and many modes of catching,
But every trap is selfishness, and every bait is praise.
Come, I would forewarn thee and forearm thee; for keen are the weapons of his warfare;
And, while my soul hath scorned him, I have watched his skill from far.
His thoughts are full of guile, deceitfully combining contrarieties,