Alexander Pope (1688–1744). Complete Poetical Works. 1903.
Poems: 171317A Farewell to London
D
Thy fools no more I ’ll tease:
This year in peace, ye Critics, dwell,
Ye Harlots, sleep at ease!
Earl Warwick, make your moan;
The lively H[inchenbroo]k and you
May knock up whores alone.
Till the third watchman’s toll;
Let Jervas gratis paint, and Froude
Save threepence and his soul.
On every learned sot;
And Garth, the best good Christian he,
Although he knows it not.
Farewell, unhappy Tonson!
Heav’n gives thee for thy loss of Rowe,
Lean Philips and fat Johnson.
My vixen mistress squalls;
The Wits in envious feuds engage;
And Homer (damn him!) calls.
In Halifax’s urn;
And not one Muse of all he fed
Has yet the grace to mourn.
Betray, and are betray’d:
Poor Y[ounge]r ’s sold for fifty pounds,
And B[ickne]ll is a jade.
When I no favour seek?
Or follow girls seven hours in eight?—
I need but once a week.
Deep whimseys to contrive;
The gayest valetudinarie,
Most thinking rake alive.
Tho’ fond of dear repose;
Careless or drowsy with my friends,
And frolic with my foes.
For sober, studious days!
And Burlington’s delicious meal,
For salads, tarts, and pease!
Whose soul sincere and free,
Loves all mankind but flatters none,
And so may starve with me.