If Esop, though a Phrygian, rose,
And ev’n derived from Scythian snows;
If Anacharsis could devise
By wit to gain th’ immortal prize;
Shall I, who to learn’d Greece belong,
Neglect her honour and her song,
And by dull sloth myself disgrace?
Since we can reckon up in Thrace,
The authors that have sweetest sung,
Where Linus from Apollo sprung;