LOTHARIO
.
JOIN
now
Apollo
the
harmonious
strain
,
O
Muses
,
Graces
,
all
ye
gentle
train
;
Once
more
conspire
to
aid
my
humble
lays
,
And
wake
my
harp
to
fam'd
Lothario's
praise
.
A
comedy
youth
,
young
Cupid's
favourite
care
,
Handsome
in
shape
,
and
graceful
in
his
air
:
In
all
respects
he's
form'd
the
fair
to
please
,
Can
sigh
,
and
talk
,
and
laugh
,
and
love
with
ease
.
But
O
what
words
,
what
numbers
can
express
,
What
muse
can
paint
Lothario's
late
distress
?
This
I'll
essay
,
although
the
task's
severe
,
While
Delia
drops
a
sympathetic
tear
.
And
thus
it
happen'd
,
on
a
fatal
morn
,
Rous'd
with
the
sound
of
hound
and
echoing
horn
,
This
charming
youth
,
on
rural
sports
intent
,
With
some
companions
to
the
field
he
went
:
Each
hound
he
summons
,
they
attend
him
there
,
With
eager
steps
pursue
the
timid
hare
.
Pleas'd
with
their
toil
,
o'er
various
heights
they
went
,
Nor
did
the
craggy
cliffs
their
speed
prevent
.
Too
soon
Lothario
gain'd
the
wish'd
for
prize
,
While
horns
and
hounds
re-echo
to
the
skies
.
The
chase
now
past
,
their
late
inspiring
toil
,
Our
jovial
sportsman
led
to
rest
a
while
.
To
the
next
inn
with
hasty
steps
they
pass
,
And
quaff
with
social
hearts
the
cheerful
glass
.
In
foaming
goblets
pleasing
draughts
went
round
;
In
sparkling
liquors
ev'ry
care
was
drown'd
.
But
ah
!
the
fumes
affect
Lothario's
brain
;
Once
more
he
tries
for
pleasure
on
the
plain
.
The
scene
is
chang'd
,
his
pleasure
now
is
gone
,
Lost
and
forlorn
he
wanders
all
alone
.
With
weari'd
steps
,
o'er
barren
heaths
he
past
,
And
in
Bane's
moss
,
alas
!
he
lands
at
last
.
His
trembling
hand
,
which
held
the
lifeless
hare
,
Now
casts
it
from
him
as
not
worth
his
care
.
Three
times
he
drops
,
three
times
he
lifts
his
plaid
,
Hope
and
despair
by
turns
his
breast
invade
:
He
look'd
for
help
,
alas
!
no
help
was
nigh
,
And
in
the
dreary
moss
he's
forc'd
to
lie
.
"
Am
I
to
Death
become
an
easy
prey
,
"
With
quiv'ring
lips
methought
he
thus
did
say
,
"
Now
farewell
hope
,
my
much
lov'd
friends
,
adieu
;
"
My
dear
companions
,
charming
Delia
too
,
"
O
wert
thou
near
to
heave
a
tender
sigh
,
"
Upon
thy
breast
I
would
contented
die
:
"
With
ravish'd
eyes
I'll
view
thy
charms
no
more
;
"
My
race
is
run
,
life's
fleeting
vision
o'er
.
"
Thus
did
the
sad
Lothario
vent
his
grief
,
Till
balmy
sleep
bestow'd
a
short
relief
.
On
mossy
pillows
rests
his
drooping
head
,
While
azure
curtains
hang
around
his
bed
,
All
night
extended
on
the
turf
he
lay
,
Nor
op'd
his
eyes
till
dawning
of
the
day
:
The
chilling
frost
his
tender
form
had
seiz'd
,
But
Phoebus'
beams
the
captive
swain
releas'd
,
Abash'd
,
confounded
,
being
thus
confin'd
,
To
free
himself
part
of
his
coat
resign'd
;
With
tardy
pace
the
plains
he
wander'd
o'er
,
Some
cot
or
village
wish'd
to
see
once
more
.
Kind
fortune
now
did
her
assistance
lend
,
And
led
him
safely
to
a
gen'rous
friend
.
Lothario
view'd
the
mansion
with
delight
,
And
at
the
door
he
knock'd
with
all
his
might
.
Impatience
,
by
repeated
strokes
,
confest
,
Till
they
with
joy
receiv'd
the
welcome
guest
,
Who
seem'd
as
one
from
mortals
long
estrang'd
,
His
lost
address
and
comely
visage
chang'd
:
His
clothes
by
nauseous
mud
bespatter'd
o'er
;
His
hair
dishevell'd
,
and
his
ruffles
tore
.
Struck
with
amaze
,
they
view'd
his
dismal
case
,
Nor
were
they
slow
in
rend'ring
him
solace
,
Unto
the
parlour
fire
he
first
is
led
,
From
thence
into
Matilda's
downy
bed
;
Then
with
assiduous
care
they
kindly
soothe
And
cheer
the
lonely
,
wand'ring
,
helpless
youth
.
Each
friendly
aid
conspir'd
to
ease
his
pain
,
And
bring
Lothario
to
himself
again
.
Ye
lovely
nymphs
,
now
sing
in
softest
strains
Lothario's
praise
,
the
pride
of
Scotia's
plains
;
Ye
charming
youths
,
blest
with
his
company
,
Pray
that
Bane
Moss
he
never
more
may
see
.