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In the Year 1715
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! | |
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| Soft B——s and rough C[ragg]s, adieu! | 5 |
| Earl Warwick, make your moan; | |
| The lively H[inchenbroo]k and you | |
| May knock up whores alone. | |
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| To drink and droll be Rowe allow’d | |
| Till the third watchman’s toll; | 10 |
| Let Jervas gratis paint, and Froude | |
| Save threepence and his soul. | |
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| Farewell Arbuthnot’s raillery | |
| On every learned sot; | |
| And Garth, the best good Christian he, | 15 |
| Although he knows it not. | |
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| Lintot, farewell! thy bard must go; | |
| Farewell, unhappy Tonson! | |
| Heav’n gives thee for thy loss of Rowe, | |
| Lean Philips and fat Johnson. | 20 |
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| Why should I stay? Both parties rage; | |
| My vixen mistress squalls; | |
| The Wits in envious feuds engage; | |
| And Homer (damn him!) calls. | |
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| The love of arts lies cold and dead | 25 |
| In Halifax’s urn; | |
| And not one Muse of all he fed | |
| Has yet the grace to mourn. | |
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| My friends, by turns, my friends confound, | |
| Betray, and are betray’d: | 30 |
| Poor Y[ounge]r ’s sold for fifty pounds, | |
| And B[ickne]ll is a jade. | |
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| Why make I friendships with the great, | |
| When I no favour seek? | |
| Or follow girls seven hours in eight?— | 35 |
| I need but once a week. | |
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| Still idle, with a busy air, | |
| Deep whimseys to contrive; | |
| The gayest valetudinarie, | |
| Most thinking rake alive. | 40 |
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| Solicitous for others’ ends, | |
| Tho’ fond of dear repose; | |
| Careless or drowsy with my friends, | |
| And frolic with my foes. | |
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| Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, | 45 |
| For sober, studious days! | |
| And Burlington’s delicious meal, | |
| For salads, tarts, and pease! | |
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| Adieu to all but Gay alone, | |
| Whose soul sincere and free, | 50 |
| Loves all mankind but flatters none, | |
| And so may starve with me. | |
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