Farewell to London
Dear,
damn'd
distracting
town,
farewell!
Thy
fools
no
more
I'll
tease:
This
year
in
peace,
ye
critics,
dwell,
Ye
harlots,
sleep
at
ease!
Soft
B—-
and
rough
C—-s
adieu,
Earl
Warwick
made
your
moan,
The
lively
H—-k
and
you
May
knock
up
whores
alone.
To
drink
and
droll
be
Rowe
allow'd
Till
the
third
watchman's
toll;
Let
Jervas
gratis
paint,
and
Frowde
Save
three-pence
and
his
soul.
Farewell,
Arbuthnot's
raillery
On
every
learned
sot;
And
Garth,
the
best
good
Christian
he,
Although
he
knows
it
not.
Lintot,
farewell!
thy
bard
must
go;
Farewell,
unhappy
Tonson!
Heaven
gives
thee
for
thy
loss
of
Rowe,
Lean
Philips,
and
fat
Johnson.
Why
should
I
stay?
Both
parties
rage;
My
vixen
mistress
squalls;
The
wits
in
envious
feuds
engage:
And
Homer
(damn
him!)
calls.
The
love
of
arts
lies
cold
and
dead
In
Halifax's
urn:
And
not
one
Muse
of
all
he
fed
Has
yet
the
grace
to
mourn.
My
friends,
by
turns,
my
friends
confound,
Betray,
and
are
betrayed:
Poor
Y—-r's
sold
for
fifty
pound,
And
B—-ll
is
a
jade.
Why
make
I
friendships
with
the
great,
When
I
no
favour
seek?
Or
follow
girls,
seven
hours
in
eight?
I
us'd
but
once
a
week.
Still
idle,
with
a
busy
air,
Deep
whimsies
to
contrive;
The
gayest
valetudinaire,
Most
thinking
rake,
alive.
Solicitous
for
others'
ends,
Though
fond
of
dear
repose;
Careless
or
drowsy
with
my
friends,
And
frolic
with
my
foes.
Luxurious
lobster-nights,
farewell,
For
sober,
studious
days!
And
Burlington's
delicious
meal,
For
salads,
tarts,
and
pease!
Adieu
to
all,
but
Gay
alone,
Whose
soul,
sincere
and
free,
Loves
all
mankind,
but
flatters
none,
And
so
may
starve
with
me.
