A Gentle Echo on Woman. (IN THE DORIC MANNER.) 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.Before.
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 dear.
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. | 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 ere you saw
So sweet a girl as Phoebe Shaw?
Echo.Pshaw!
Lover. Say what will turn that frisking coney
Into the toils of matrimony?
Echo.Money!
Lover. Has Phoebe not a heavenly brow?
Is not her bosom white 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 canst deceive me.
Echo.Leave me.
Lover. But come, thou saucy, pert romancer,
Who is as fair as Phoebe? Answer!
Echo.Ann, sir. | The latest good verses of this class are attributed to an echo that haunts the Sultan’s palace at Constantinople. Abdul Hamid is supposed to question it as to the intentions of the European powers and his own resources: “L’Angleterre?
Erre.
L’Autriche?
Triche.
La Prusse?
Russe.
Mes principautÉs?
OtÉes.
Mes cuirasses?
Assez.
Mes Pashas?
Achats.
Et Suleiman?
Ment.”
—The AthenÆum. |
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