| 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. | |
ECHO ON WOMAN.
In the Doric manner.
These verses of Dean Swift were supposed, by the late Mr. Reed, to have been written either in imitation of Lord Stirling’s Aurora, or of a scene of Robert Taylor’s old play, entitled The Hog has lost his Pearl.
| Shepherd. | Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply, | |
| And quaintly answer questions. Shall I try? | ||
| Echo. | Try. | |
| Shep. | What must we do our passion to express? | |
| Echo. | Press. | |
| Shep. | How shall I please her who ne’er loved before? | |
| Echo. | Be fore. | |
| Shep. | What most moves women when we them address? | |
| Echo. | A dress. | |
| Shep. | Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore? | |
| Echo. | A door. | |
| Shep. | If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre. | |
| Echo. | Liar. | |
| Shep. | Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her? | |
| Echo. | Buy her. | |
| Shep. | When bought, no question I shall be her dear. | |
| Echo. | Her deer. | |
| Shep. | But deer have horns: how must I keep her under? | |
| Echo. | Keep her under. | |
| Shep. | But what can glad me when she’s laid on bier? | |
| Echo. | Beer. | |
| Shep. | What, must I do when women will be kind? | |
| Echo. | Be kind. | |
| Shep. | What must I do when women will be cross? | |
| Echo. | Be cross. | |
| Shep. | Lord! what is she that can so turn and wind? | |
| Echo. | Wind. | |
| Shep. | If she be wind, what stills her when she blows? | |
| Echo. | Blows. | |
| Shep. | But if she bang again, still should I bang her? | |
| Echo. | Bang her. | |
| Shep. | Is there no way to moderate her anger? | |
| Echo. | Hang her. | |
| Shep. | Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell | |
| What woman is, and how to guard her well. | ||
| Echo. | Guard her well. | |
BONAPARTE AND THE ECHO.
The original publication of the following exposed the publisher, Palm, of Nuremberg, to trial by court-martial. He was sentenced to be shot at Braunau in 1807,—a severe retribution for a few lines of poetry.
Bona.—Alone I am in this sequestered spot, not overheard.
Echo.—Heard.
Bona.—’Sdeath! Who answers me? What being is there nigh?