The Answer

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

I would 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 Laurel Wreath I send;
And, since the God denies me Fame,
Am glad it crowns my Friend.