Lover. Echo, thou liest, but can't deceive me.

Echo.           Leave me!

Lover. But come, thou saucy, pert romancer, Who is as fair as Phœbe? Answer!

Echo.           Ann, sir.

ANONYMOUS.

ECHO.

I asked of Echo, t' other day, (Whose words are few and often funny,) What to a novice she could say Of courtship, love, and matrimony. Quoth Echo, plainly,—"Matter-o'-money!"

Whom should I marry?—should it be A dashing damsel, gay and pert, A pattern of inconstancy; Or selfish, mercenary flirt? Quoth Echo, sharply,—"Nary flirt!"

What if, aweary of the strife That long has lured the dear deceiver, She promise to amend her life, And sin no more; can I believe her? Quoth Echo, very promptly,—"Leave her!"

But if some maiden with a heart On me should venture to bestow it, Pray, should I act the wiser part To take the treasure or forego it? Quoth Echo, with decision,—"Go it!"