Y’are only big with fancy, which may prove
A witty Brat, like Pallas sprung from Jove.
And have you then conceiv’d? How can I chuse
But write Encomiums on my fertile Muse?
Mind not the Father, nor his Brat, for it
Will like the Father live (no doubt) by wit:
Let Pegasus be Godfather, the crew
Of the nine Muses, Gossips; so adieu.
I desired no answer, therefore stayed not till the return of the messenger, but rid that night to Maidenhead.