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.