Pierides, or, The muses mount by Hugh Crompton, Gent.

50. The Ramble.

GO home loose thoughts, y' have seen enough▪ Your pleasure's burnt unto a snuff: What you conceiv'd your lasting prize, Now proves a vapor in disguize. Now you have rambled out your swing, You find the world is no such thing As you suppos'd, when you were wont Only to stand and gaze upon't.

••ow many friendships were profest? ••ow many fawners did contest ••o wait on me, while I was stay'd, ••nd kept me close unto my trade? ••h what pretences, what a brood ••f promises to do me good! ••hese puft me up, and did invite ••y fancy to some fresh delight; ••hought I, I'le try the world, and see •• starting out will better me; ••e change the course of my estate, And fall upon some newer fate. Oh foolish brain! though some indeed ••eek out new fortunes, 'tis for need; When th' old's so poor 'twill not maintain them, ••hen to seek out it doth constrain them. ••ut he that's fixt well, he is worse ••hen mad, in altering of his course; ••he follie's mine. Abroad I went, And many a silver spill I spent, And I was welcome while it lasted; But being gone my pleasure blasted: And they that courted me before ••nto their favours, now give o're, And have so moulded their condition, That they regard not my petition: While I had silver, there would be No want of good societie, Such pleasant words did me assail As use to court men iuto Jail▪

I was a sweet young man, they said, And did deserve as sweet a maid. Bless him and's fortunes, prudent youth▪ And I must be a Saint forsooth. Pox take their Worships, but no matter, This Ramble makes my knowledge fatter. I find all pleasures are but vain; Therefore I will go home again.