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But yet your People, just in this alone,
That they acknowledge your superior Worth,
When with each Greek or Roman Chief compar'd,
Weigh not with equal Judgment other Things;
All modern Writers they despise and hate;
To Merit, till deceas'd, no Incense pay,
No Wit admire, unless of foreign Growth.
The Grecian Laws, on the twelve Tables grav'd,
The Treaties, which the ancient Kings of Rome
With Gabii, and the rigid Sabines form'd;

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The Sibyls Books, and Scrolls of pristine Bards;
(So blindly they adore Antiquity)
They swear, on Alba's Top, were to our Sires
Divinely by the Choir of Muses giv'n.