[From _The Poets and Poetry of the West_, edited by W. T.
Coggeshall (Columbus, Ohio, 1860)]
_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._ You but resuscitate dead sounds--
Hark! how my voice revives, resounds!
_Echo._ "Zounds!"
_Lover._ I'll question you 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 Phoebe Shaw!
_Echo._ "Pshaw!"
_Lover._ Say, what will win that frisking coney
Into the toils of matrimony!
_Echo._ "Money!"
_Lover._ Has Phoebe 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, you lie, but can't deceive me;
Her eyes eclipse the stars, believe me--
_Echo._ "Leave me!"
_Lover._ But come, you saucy, pert romancer,
Who is as fair as Phoebe? Answer.
_Echo._ "Ann, sir!"