A

Gentle ECHO on WOMAN.

In the Dorick Manner.

Shepherd,

ECHO, I ween, will in the woods reply,

And quaintly answer questions: shall

I try?

Shepherd,

Echo, Try.

What must we do our paffion to express ?

Shepherd,

Echo, Prefs.

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

Shepherd,

Echo, Before.

What most moves women, when we them

addrefs?

Shepherd,

Echo, Adrefs.

Say, what can keep her chafte, whom I adore?

Echo, A door.

Shepherd, If mufick foftens rocks, love tunes my lyre.

Shepherd,

Echo, Lyar.

Then teach me, echo, how fhall I come by

her?

Echo, Buy her.

Shepherd,

Shepherd,

When bought, no queftion, I fhall be her

dear?

Shepherd,

Echo, Her deer.

But deer have horns; how muft I keep her

under?

Shepherd,

Echo, Keep her under.

How shall I hold her ne'er to part afunder ?

Shepherd,

Echo, A--fe under.

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

Echo, Beer.

Shepherd, What must I do, when woman will be kind?

Echo, Be kind.

Shepherd, What muft I do, when woman will be cross?

Echo, Be cross.

Shepherd, Lord! what is fhe that can fo turn and wind?

Echo, Wind.

Shepherd, If fhe be wind, what ftills her when the blows?

Shepherd,

Echo, Blows.

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

Echo, Bang ber.

Shepherd,

Shepherd,

Is there no way to moderate her anger?

Shepherd,

Echo, Hang her.

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.

WH

1721.

HO dares affirm this is no pious age, When charity begins to tread the stage ?

b

When actors, who at best are hardly favers,
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 fermons or at pray❜rs.

Dr. William King, archbishop of Dublin.

Under

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 dress 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 fhall court her in ratteen.
In blue fballoon fhall Hannibal be clad,
And Scipio trail an Irish purple plad.
In drugget dreft, of thirteen pence a yard,
See Philip's fon amidft his Perfian guard:
And proud Roxana, fir'd with jealous rage,
With fifty yards of crape fhall fweep the
stage.

In short 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, Though money's fcarce, we should have trade enough:

But chints, brocades, and lace take all away, And scarce a crown is left to fee a play.

Aftreet in Dublin famous for woollen manufactures.

Perhaps

Perhaps you wonder whence this friendship fprings

Between the weavers, and us play-house kings:

But wit and weaving had the fame beginning,
Pallas firft taught us poetry and spinning.
And next obferve how this alliance fits,
For weavers now are just as poor as wits:
Their brother quill-men, workers for the
ftage,

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 dressing.

EPITAPH on a MISER.

BENEATH this verdant hillock lies
Demar, the wealthy and the wife.

His heirs, that he might safely reft,
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.

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