ECHO AND THE LOVER.

Lover.
Echo! mysterious nymph, declare
Of what you’re made and what you are.
Echo.
Air!
Lover.
Mid airy cliffs and places high,
Sweet Echo! listening, love, you lie—
Echo.
You lie!
Lover.
Thou dost resuscitate dead sounds—
Hark! how my voice revives, resounds!
Echo.
Zounds!
Lover.
I’ll question thee before I go—
Come, answer me more apropos!
Echo.
Poh! poh!
Lover.
Tell me, fair nymph, if e’er you saw
So sweet a girl as Phœbe Shaw?
Echo.
Pshaw!
Lover.
Say, what will turn that frisking coney
Into the toils of matrimony?
Echo.
Money!
Lover.
Has Phœbe not a heavenly brow?
Is it not white as pearl—as snow?
Echo.
Ass! no!
Lover.
Her eyes! Was ever such a pair?
Are the stars brighter than they are?
Echo.
They are!
Lover.
Echo, thou liest, but can’t deceive me;
Her eyes eclipse the stars, believe me—
Echo.
Leave me!
Lover.
But come, thou saucy, pert romancer,
Who is as fair as Phœbe? answer!
Echo.
Ann, sir.