Lxxii. Knowledge Without Practice Poem by Ellis Walker

Doth any man look big, and boast that he
Doth understand
Chrysippus
thorowly,
That he hath digg'd the mine, and found the gold,
That he his darkest precepts can unfold;
Say thus within yourself;
Why what pretense
Would this man have to merit, if the sense
Of what
Chrysippus
writ were plain? But I
Would study nature, and my thoughts apply
To follow her; but who shall lead me on,
And shew the way? 'Tis time that I were gone,
Having made this enquiry, when I hear

Chrysippus
is the best interpreter,
I the dark author straightway take in hand,
But his hard writings do not understand;
I find him difficult, abstruse, profound,
I some one seek, who his vast depth can found
After much search I find him, but as yet,
I have accomplish'd nothing that is great;
'Till I begin to practice what I sought,
What he explains, what great
Chrysippus
taught;
Then, and then only, is the garland won,
For practice is the prize for which we run.
If knowledge be the bound of my desire,
If learning him be all that I admire,
If I applaud myself, because I can
Explain
Chrysippus,
a grammarian,
Instead of a philosopher, I grow;
For what I should have done, I only know;
Here's all the diff'rence between him and me,

Chrysippus
I expound, and
Homer
he:
All that I have achiev'd is to explain
What great
Chrysippus
writ, and blush for shame
That knowing what he taught, I still am vain.