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

V. The Conceit.

1.

GIve me the boul, the jolly boul Fill'd to the brim with Claret: And since the Crown from th' head doth roll, Upon my nose Ile wear it, Ile weare it there, and 'tis no crime If I conceive my self sublime.

2.

I have a heart within my breast That no misfortune knows, And will not languish in the least, While Fancy comes and goes. No alteration me confines, While my poor Muse doth bro••ze the vines.

3.

I bu••then not my brains at all With Parliamentall matters; With who shall stand or who shall fall, Or shall be torn in tatters. I push out Ladies with my paw, For I have read the Salique Law.

4.

I am as great, perhaps as good As them that boldly slay The Root and Branch of noble blood, Princes & caetera. Each Martyrs Ghost haunts them, we see, When there's no fate has power on me.

5.

Yet I adore the sacred Stream O'th' Bacchanalian vain. Whose pleasures yield a boundlesse Theam: Then fill the boul again. If this be vain, you must submit, Your glory's far more vain then it.