The Answer

When I, in feeble Verse, essay'd NASSAU and ANNA's Praise, A Lyrick Muse flew o'er my Head, And dropp'd a Branch of Bays.

I wou'd have fix'd it on my Brow, But PHOEBUS said, forbear; 'Tis Vanity to touch the Bough, And Sacrilege to wear.

Give it the Bard, who boldly dares Attempt the Roman Lyre, Who wisely checks, but not impairs The tow'ring PINDAR's Fire.

Thus, Sir, to you, in PHOEBUS' Name, The Lawrel Wreath I send; And since the God denies me Fame, Am glad it crowns my Friend.