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.