Apply yourself to [this] noble profession. . . . You will find it useful. . . . You will be advanced by your superiors. You will be sent on a mission. . . . Love writing, shun dancing; then you become a worthy official. . . . By day write with your fingers; recite by night. Befriend the scroll, the palette. It pleases more than wine. Writing for him who knows it is better than all other professions. It pleases more than bread and beer, more than clothing and ointment. It is worth more than an inheritance in Egypt, than a tomb in the west.

Young fellow, how conceited you are! . . . But though I beat you with every kind of stick, you do not listen. . . . You are a person fit for writing, though you have not yet known a woman. Your heart discerns, your fingers are skilled, your mouth is apt for reciting. . . .

But though I spend the day telling you “Write,” it seems like a plague to you. . . .

See for yourself with your own eye. The occupations lie before you.

The washerman’s day is going up, going down. All his limbs are weak, [from] whitening his neighbor’s clothes every day, from washing their linen.

The maker of pots is smeared with soil. . . . [H]e is like one who lives in the bog.

The cobbler mingles with vats. His odor is penetrating. His hands are red . . . , like one who is smeared with blood. . . .

The watchman prepares garlands and polishes vase-stands. He spends a night of toil just as one on whom the sun shines.

The merchants travel downstream and upstream. They are as busy as can be, carrying goods from one town to another. They supply him who has wants. But the tax collectors carry off the gold, that most precious of metals.

The ships’ crews from every house [of commerce], they receive their loads. They depart from Egypt for Syria, and each man’s god is with him. [But] not one of them says: “We shall see Egypt again!”

[The] outworker who is in the fields, his is the toughest of all the jobs. He spends the day loaded with his tools, tied to his toolbox. When he returns home at night, he is loaded with the tool-box and the timbers, his drinking mug, and his whetstones. . . .

Let me also expound to you the situation of the peasant, that other tough occupation. [Comes] the inundation and soaks him . . . , he attends to his equipment. By day he cuts his farming tools; by night he twists rope. Even his midday hour he spends on farm labor. He equips himself to go to the field as if he were a warrior. . . . When he reaches his field he finds [it?] broken up. He spends time cultivating, and the snake is after him. It finishes off the seed as it is cast to the ground. He does not see a green blade. He does three plowings with borrowed grain. His wife has gone down to the merchants and found nothing for barter. . . .

If you have any sense, be a scribe. If you have learned about the peasant, you will not be able to be one. . . . Look, I instruct you to . . . make you become one whom the king trusts; to make you gain entrance to treasury and granary. To make you receive the shipload at the gate of the granary. To make you issue the offerings on feast days. You are dressed in fine clothes; you own horses. Your boat is on the river; you are supplied with attendants. You stride about inspecting. A mansion is built in your town. You have a powerful office, given you by the king. Male and female slaves are about you. Those who are in the fields grasp your hand, on plots that you have made. . . . Put the writings in your heart, and you will be protected from all kinds of toil. You will become a worthy official.

Do you not recall the [fate of] the unskilled man? His name is not known. He is ever burdened [like an ass carrying things] in front of the scribe who knows what he is about.

Come, [let me tell] you the woes of the soldier, and how many are his superiors: the general, the troop-commander, the officer who leads, the standard-bearer, the lieutenant, the scribe, the commander of fifty, and the garrison-captain. They go in and out in the halls of the palace, saying: “Get laborers!” He is awakened at any hour. One is after him as [after] a donkey. He toils until the Aten sets in his darkness of night. He is hungry, his belly hurts; he is dead while yet alive. When he receives the grain-ration, having been released from duty, it is not good for grinding.

He is called up for Syria. He may not rest. There are no clothes, no sandals. . . . His march is uphill through mountains. He drinks water every third day; it is smelly and tastes of salt. His body is ravaged by illness. The enemy comes, surrounds him with missiles, and life recedes from him. He is told: “Quick, forward, valiant soldier! Win for yourself a good name!” He does not know what he is about. His body is weak, his legs fail him. When victory is won, the captives are handed over to his majesty, to be taken to Egypt. . . . His wife and children are in their village; he dies and does not reach it. If he comes out alive, he is worn out from marching. . . .

Be a scribe, and be spared from soldiering! You call and one says: “Here I am.” You are safe from torments. Every man seeks to raise himself up. Take note of it!

Source: Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975), 2:168–72. Reproduced with permission of UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS via Copyright Clearance Center.