§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?