a treasure, and left to his heirs only enough to maintain them as shepherds, a condition of life which he thought the most secure and the most happy.

LOTHARIO.

BY NICHOLAS ROWE.

(From the "Fair Penitent.")

[NICHOLAS ROWE, poet and playwright, one of the Queen Anne group, friend of Addison and Steele, was born in 1673; wrote plays, of which “The Fair Penitent" is a permanent classic from the character of Lothario, which has made that name the common term for a successful libertine, and was the model of Lovelace in "Clarissa Harlowe." His best work, however, is the translation of Lucan's "Pharsalia," which in force and fire is equal to the original. Rowe was also the first editor of Shakespeare, and poet laureate succeeding Nahum Tate. He died in 1718, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.]

I liked her, would have married ner,
But that it pleased her father to refuse me,
To make this honorable fool her husband:
For which, if I forget him, may the shame
I mean to brand his name with, stick on mine.
Rossano

She, gentle soul, was kinder than her father.
Lothario-

She was, and oft in private gave me hearing;

Till, by long listening to the soothing tale,
At length her easy heart was wholly mine.
Rossano -

I've heard you oft describe her, haughty, insolent,
And fierce with high disdain; it moves my wonder,
That virtue, thus defended, should be yielded
A prey to loose desires.

Lothario

Hear then, I'll tell thee:

Once in a lone and secret hour of night,
When every eye was closed, and the pale moon
And stars alone shone conscious of the theft,
Hot with the Tuscan grape, and high in blood,
Haply I stole unheeded to her chamber.

Rossano

That minute sure was lucky.

Lothario

Oh, 'twas great!

I found the fond, believing, love-sick maid,
Loose, unattired, warm, tender, full of wishes;
Fierceness and pride, the guardians of her honor,
Were charmed to rest, and love alone was waking.
Within her rising bosom all was calm

As peaceful seas, that know no storm, and only
Are gently lifted up and down by tides.
I snatched the glorious golden opportunity
And with prevailing, youthful ardor pressed her,
Till with short sighs, and murmuring reluctance,
The yielding fair one gave me perfect happiness.
Ev'n all the livelong night we passed in bliss,
In ecstasies too fierce to last forever;

At length the morn and cold indifference came;
When, fully sated with the luscious banquet,
I hastily took leave and left the nymph
To think on what was past, and sigh alone.
Rossano

You saw her soon again?

Lothario

Too soon I saw her:

For, oh! that meeting was not like the former:
I found my heart no more beat high with transport,
No more I sighed, and languished for enjoyment;
'Twas past, and reason took her turn to reign,
While every weakness fell before her throne.

Rossano

What of the lady?

Lothario

With uneasy fondness
She hung upon me, wept, and sighed, and swore
She was undone; talked of a priest, and marriage;
Of flying with me from her father's pow'r;
Called every saint and blessed angel down,
To witness for her that she was my wife.
I started at that name.

Rossano

Lothario

What answer made you

None; but pretending sudden pain and illness,
Escaped the persecution. Two nights since,
By message urged, and frequent importunity,
Again I saw her. Straight with tears and sighs,

With swelling breasts, with swooning, with distraction,
With all the subtleties and powerful arts

Of willful woman lab'ring for her purpose,

Again she told me the same dull nauseous tale.

Unmoved, I begged her spare the ungrateful subject,

Since I resolved, that love and peace of mind

Might flourish long inviolate betwixt us,
Never to load it with the marriage chain;
That I would still retain her in my heart,
My ever gentle mistress and my friend!
But for those other names of wife and husband,
They only meant ill nature, cares, and quarrels.

Rossano

How bore she this reply?

Lothario

Ev'n as the earth,
When, winds pent up, or eating fires beneath,
Shaking the mass, she labors with destruction.
At first her rage was dumb, and wanted words;
But when the storm found way, 'twas wild and loud.
Mad as the priestess of the Delphic god,
Enthusiastic passion swelled her breast,
Enlarged her voice, and ruffled all her form.
Proud and disdainful of the love I proffered,

She called me Villain! Monster! Base Betrayer!

At last, in very bitterness of soul,

With deadly imprecations on herself,

She vowed severely ne'er to see me more;

Then bid me fly that minute: I obeyed,
And, bowing, left her to grow cool at leisure.

Rossano

She has relented since, else why this message,
To meet the keeper of her secrets here
This morning?

Lothario

See the person who

Enter LUCILLA.

you named!

Well, my ambassadress, what must we treat of?
Come you to menace war, and proud defiance,
Or does the peaceful olive grace your message?
Is your
fair mistress calmer? Does she soften?
And must we love again? Perhaps she means
To treat in juncture with her new ally

And make her husband party to the agreement.

Lucilla

Is this well done, my lord?

All sense of human nature?

Have you put off
Keep a little,

A little pity, to distinguish manhood,

Lest other men, though cruel, should disclaim you,
And judge you to be numbered with the brutes.

I've learnt to weep;

That lesson my sad mistress often gives me;
By day she seeks some melancholy shade,
To hide her sorrows from the prying world;
At night she watches all the long, long hours,
And listens to the winds and beating rain,
With sighs as loud, and tears that fall as fast.
Then, ever and anon, she wrings her hands,
And cries, false, false Lothario.

Lothario

Lucilla

Oh, no more!

I swear thou'lt spoil thy pretty face with crying,
And thou hast beauty that may make thy fortune:
Some keeping cardinal shall doat upon thee,
And barter his church treasure for thy freshness.

What! shall I sell my innocence and youth,
For wealth or titles, to perfidious man!
To man, who makes his mirth of our undoing!

The base, professed betrayer of our sex!
Let me grow old in misfortunes else,
Rather than know the sorrows of Calista!

Lothario

Lucilla

Does she send thee to chide in her behalf?
I swear thou dost it with so good a grace,
That I could almost love thee for thy frowning.

Read there, my lord, there, in her own sad lines,

[Giving a letter.

Which best can tell the story of her woes,
That grief of heart which your unkindness gives her.
Lothario [reads]-

Lucilla

Your cruelty Obedience to my father - give my hand
to Altamont.

By Heaven, 'tis well! such ever be the gifts
With which I greet the man whom my soul hates.

But to go on!

Wish-Heart- Honor-too faithless -
Weakness-to-morrow last trouble lost Calista.
Woman, I see, can change as well as man.

She writes me here, forsaken as I am,

That I should bind my brows with mournful willow,
For she has given her hand to Altamont:

Yet, tell the fair inconstant

Lothario

Lucilla

How, my lord!

Nay, no more angry words: say to Calista,
The humblest of her slaves shall wait her pleasure;
If she can leave her happy husband's arms,
To think upon so lost a thing as I am.

Alas! for pity, come with gentler looks:

Wound not her heart with this unmanly triumph;
And, though you love her not, yet swear you do,
So shall dissembling once be virtuous in you.

[Aside.

The bridegroom's friend, Horatio.
To-morrow early