Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/55

Rh Adieu, ye packets—without letters!

Adieu, ye fools—who ape your betters!

Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,

That gave me fever, and the spleen!

Adieu that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,

Adieu his Excellency's dancers!

Adieu to Peter—whom no fault's in,

But could not teach a colonel waltzing;

Adieu, ye females fraught with graces!

Adieu red coats, and redder faces!

Adieu the supercilious air

Of all that strut en militaire!

I go—but God knows when, or why,

To smoky towns and cloudy sky,

To things (the honest truth to say)

As bad—but in a different way.

Farewell to these, but not adieu,

Triumphant sons of truest blue!

While either Adriatic shore,

And fallen chiefs, and fleets no more, Notes