*A Gentle ECHO on WOMAN. In the Dorick Manner.

Shepherd;

E

CHO, I ween, will in the Woods refly,

And quaintly answer Queftion: Shall I try?

Shepherd;

What must we do our Paffion to express?

Shepberd

Echo Try.

Echo; Prefs,

Echo: Before,

How fhall I please her who ne'er lov'd before?

Shepherd;

What most moves Women, when we them address ?

Shepherd;

Echo; A Drefs.

Say what can keep her chafte, whom I adore?

Shepherd;

Echo; A Door,

If Mufick foftens Rocks, Love tunes ny Lyre.

Shepherd;

Echo; Lyar!

Then teach me, Echo, how fhall I come by her?

Shepherd;

Echo; Buy her.

When bought, no question, I fhall be her Dear,

Echo; Her Deer,

Shepherd;

Shepherd;

But Deer have Horns; how must I keep her under?

Shepherd;

Echo; Keep ber under.

Echo; Afe under.

How fhall I hold her ne'er to part asunder ?

Shepherd;

But what can glad me when she's laid on Bier?

Shepherd;

Echo; Beer.

What must I do, when Woman will be kind?

Shepherd;

Echo; Be kind,

What must I do when Woman will be cross?

Shepherd;

Echo; Be cross.

Lord what is fhe that can fo turn and wind?

Shepherd;

If she be Wind, what ftills her when the blows?

Shepherd;

Echo; Blows.

But if the bang again, still fhou'd I bang her?

Shepherd;

Echo; Bange ber.

Echo; Hang ber..

Is there no Way to moderate her Anger?

Shepherd;

Thanks, gentle Echo, right thy Answers tell,
What Woman is, and how to guard her well.

Echo; Guard her well.

EPILOGUE to a Play, for the Benefit of the Weavers in Ireland.

WHO

HO dares affirm this is no pious Age,
When Charity begins to tread the Stage?
When Actors, who at best are hardly Savers,
Will give a Night of Benefit to Weavers ?
Stay, Let me fee, how finely will it found!
Imprimis, from his Grace, a hundred Pound.
Peers, Clergy, Gentry, all are Benefactors;
And then comes in the Item of the Actors.
Item, the Actors freely give a Day,-
The Poet had no more who made the Play.

BUT whence this wond'rous Charity in Play'rs ?
They learnt it not at Sermons, or at Pray'rs.
Under the Rofe, fince here are none but Friends,
(To own the Truth) we have fome private Ends,
Since Waiting-women, like exacting Jades,
Hold up the Prices of their old Brocades;
We'll drefs in Manufactures made at home,
Equip our Kings and Gen'rals at the Comb.
We'll rig in Meath-Street, Egypt's haughty Queen;
And Anthony hall court her in Ratteen.
In blue Shalloon fhall Hanibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish Purple Plad.

In Drugget dreft, of thirteen Pence a Yard,
See Phillip's Son amidft his Perfian Guard:

And

And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous Rage,
With fifty Yards of Crape fhall fweep the Stage.
In fhort, our Kings and Princeffes within,
Are all refolv'd the Project to begin;
And you, our Subjects, when you here refort,
Muft imitate the Fashions of the Court.

OH! cou'd I fee this Audience clad in Stuff, Tho' Money's fcarce, we fhou'd have Trade enough: But Chints, Brocades, and Lace take all away, And scarce a Crown is left to fee a Play; Perhaps you wonder whence this Friendship springs Between the Weavers, and us Play-House Kings; But Wit and Weaving had the fame Beginning: Pallas first taught us Poetry and Spinning; And next observe how this Alliance fits, For Weavers now are just as poor as Wits; Their Brother Quill-men, Workers for the Stage, For forry Stuff can get a Crown a Page; But Weavers will be kinder to the Players, And fell for Twenty-pence a Yard of theirs. And, to your Knowledge, there is often lefs in The Poet's Wit, than in the Player's Dreffing.

B

EPITAPH on a MISER.

ENEATH this verdant Hillock lies,
Demar, the Wealthy and the Wife.
VOL, IV.

P

His Heirs, that he might fafely rest,
Have put his Carcass in a Cheft:
The very Cheft, in which, they fay,
His other felf, his Money, lay.
And if his Heirs continue kind
To that dear Self he left behind,
I dare believe, that Four in Five
Will think his better Half alive.

To STELLA, who collected and tranfcribed his POEMS.

A

S when a lofty Pile is rais'd,

We never hear the Workmen prais'd,
Who bring the Lime, or place the Stones;
But all admire Inigo Jones:

So if this Pile of fcatter'd Rhymes
Shou'd be approv'd in After-times,
If it both pleases and endures,
The Merit and the Praise are yours.

THOU, Stella, wert no longer young,
When firft for thee my Harp I ftrung.
Without one Word of Cupid's Darts,
Of killing Eyes, or bleeding Hearts:
With Friendship and Efteem poffeft,
I ne'er admitted Love a Guest.

IN