Gentle Echo On Woman, A

                    IN THE DORIC MANNER


Shepherd.    Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply,
                And quaintly answer questions: shall I try?
Echo.                                Try.
Shepherd.    What must we do our passion to express?
Echo.                                Press.
Shepherd.    How shall I please her, who ne'er loved before?
Echo.                                Before.
Shepherd.    What most moves women when we them address?
Echo.                                A dress.
Shepherd.    Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
Echo.                                A door.
Shepherd.    If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
Echo.                                Liar.
Shepherd.    Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
Echo.                                Buy her.
Shepherd.    When bought, no question I shall be her dear?
Echo.                                Her deer.
Shepherd.    But deer have horns: how must I keep her under?
Echo.                                Keep her under.
Shepherd.    But what can glad me when she's laid on bier?
Echo.                                Beer.
Shepherd.    What must I do so women will be kind?
Echo.                                Be kind.
Shepherd.    What must I do when women will be cross?
Echo.                                Be cross.
Shepherd.    Lord, what is she that can so turn and wind?
Echo.                                Wind.
Shepherd.    If she be wind, what stills her when she blows?
Echo.                                Blows.
Shepherd.    But if she bang again, still should I bang her?
Echo.                                Bang her.
Shepherd.    Is there no way to moderate her anger?
Echo.                                Hang her.
Shepherd.    Thanks, gentle Echo! right thy answers tell
                What woman is and how to guard her well.
Echo.                                Guard her well.

Jonathan Swift

Jonathan Swift was an Anglo-Irish satirist, essayist, political pamphleteer, poet and cleric who became Dean of St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. Swift is remembered for works such as "A Tale of a Tub" (1704), "An Argument Against Abolishing Christianity" (1712), and "Gulliver's Travels" (1726). Swift originally published all of his works under pseudonyms—such as Lemuel Gulliver, Isaac Bickerstaff, Drapier's Letters as MB Drapier—and works were sometimes attributed to Anonymous.

Jonathan Swift

Parody On The Speech Of Dr. Benjamin Pratt,[1] Provost Of Trinity College To The Prince Of Wales

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

On A Circle

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

Verses Sent To The Dean On His Birth-Day, With Pine's Horace, Finely Bound. By Dr. J. Sican[1]

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

An Epistle To Mr. Gay[1]

Jonathan Swift, Simple Poetry

English

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The Furniture Of A Woman's Mind

A set of phrases learn'd by rote;
A passion for a scarlet coat;
When at a play, to laugh or cry,
Yet cannot tell the reason why;
Never to hold her tongue a minute,
While all she prates has nothing in it;
Whole hours can with a coxcomb sit,
And take his nonsense all for wit;
Her learning mounts to read a song,
But half the words pronouncing wrong;
Has every repartee in store
She spoke ten thousand times before;
Can ready compliments supply
On all occasions cut and dry;
Such hatred to a parson's gown,
The sight would put her in a swoon;
For conversation well endued,
She calls it witty to be rude;
And, placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greatest failing;
Nor make a scruple to expose
Your bandy leg, or crooked nose;
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Jonathan Swift

A Dialogue Between Two Shepherds

Uttered in a Pastoral Show at Wilton.

WILL.    Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a cheerful voice
Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.

DICK.    Ah Will, though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee,
With sight made dim with daily tears another's sport to see.
Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play,
To play when that their loved dams are stolen or gone astray?
If this in them be true, as true in men think I,
A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to cry.

WILL.    A time there is for all, my mother often says,
When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football plays
When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room:
Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.

DICK.    Wha...

Philip Sidney

An Echo

Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow,
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the lovesick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice:
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out:
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep...

Jonathan Swift

The Shepherd Lady.

I.

Who pipes upon the long green hill,
    Where meadow grass is deep?
The white lamb bleats but followeth on -
    Follow the clean white sheep.
The dear white lady in yon high tower,
    She hearkeneth in her sleep.

All in long grass the piper stands,
    Goodly and grave is he;
Outside the tower, at dawn of day,
    The notes of his pipe ring free.
A thought from his heart doth reach to hers:
    "Come down, O lady! to me."

She lifts her head, she dons her gown:
    Ah! the lady is fair;
She ties the girdle on her waist,
    And binds her flaxen hair,
And down she stealeth, down and down,
    Down the turret stair.

Behold him! With the flock he wons
    Along yon grassy lea.
"My shepherd lord, my shepherd lov...

Jean Ingelow

New-Fashioned Echoes.

Sir,--

Most of your readers are no doubt acquainted with the anecdote told of a certain not over-wise judge who, when in the act of delivering a charge in some country court-house, was interrupted by the braying of an ass at the door. "What noise is that?" asked the angry judge. "Only an extraordinary echo there is in court, my Lord," answered one of the counsel.

As there are a number of such "extraordinary echoes" abroad just now, you will not, perhaps, be unwilling, Mr. Editor, to receive the following few lines suggested by them.

Yours, etc. S.


        huc coeamus,^[1] ait; nullique libentius unquam responsura sono, coeamus, retulit echo.
        OVID.


There are echoes, we know, of all sorts,
    From the echo that "dies in the dale,"

Thomas Moore

Echo-Song

I

Who can say where Echo dwells?
In some mountain-cave, methinks,
Where the white owl sits and blinks;
Or in deep sequestered dells,
Where the foxglove hangs its bells,
Echo dwells.
Echo!
Echo!


II

Phantom of the crystal Air,
Daughter of sweet Mystery!
Here is one has need of thee;
Lead him to thy secret lair,
Myrtle brings he for thy hair--
Hear his prayer,
Echo!
Echo!


III

Echo, lift thy drowsy head,
And repeat each charmed word
Thou must needs have overheard
Yestere'en ere, rosy-red,
Daphne down the valley fled--
Words unsaid,
Echo!
Echo!


IV

Breathe the vows she since denies!
She hath broken every vow;
What she would she would not ...

Thomas Bailey Aldrich