Sinopsis

Go, idle Boy! I quit thy pow'r; Thy couch of many a thorn and flow'r; Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen, Deceitful Beauty's timid mien; The feign'd surprize, the roguish leer, The tender smile, the thrilling tear, Have now no pangs, no joys for me, So fare thee well, for I am free! Then flutter hence on wanton wing, Or lave thee in yon lucid spring, Or take thy bev'rage from the rose, Or on Louisa's breast repose: I wish thee well for pleasures past, Yet bless the hour, I'm free at last.