When I, in feeble Verse, essay'd
N ASSAU and A NNA'S Praise,
A Lyric Muse flew o'er my Head,
And drop'd a Branch of Bays.

I would have fix'd it on my Brow;
But P HOEBUS 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 P INDAR'S Fire.

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