SONG

Echo, tell me, while I wander O'er this fairy plain to prove him, If my shepherd still grows fonder, Ought I in return to love him?

Echo: Love him, love him!

If he loves, as is the fashion, Should I churlishly forsake him?

Or in pity to his pa.s.sion, Fondly to my bosom take him?

Echo: Take him, take him!

Thy advice then, I'll adhere to, Since in Cupid's chains I've led him; And with Henry shall not fear to Marry, if you answer, "Wed him!"

Echo: Wed him, wed him!

_Joseph Addison._

A GENTLE ECHO ON WOMAN

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 pa.s.sion 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.

_Dean Swift._

LAY OF ANCIENT ROME

Oh, the Roman was a rogue, He erat was, you bettum; He ran his automobilus And smoked his cigarettum.

He wore a diamond studibus And elegant cravattum, A maxima c.u.m laude shirt And such a stylish hattum!

He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc, And bet on games and equi; At times he won at others though, He got it in the nequi; He winked, (quo usque tandem?) at Puellas on the Forum, And sometimes, too, he even made Those goo-goo oculorum!

He frequently was seen At combats gladiatorial And ate enough to feed Ten boarders at Memorial; He often went on sprees And said, on starting homus, "Hic labour--opus est, Oh, where's my hic--hic--domus?"

Although he lived in Rome,-- Of all the arts the middle-- He was, (excuse the phrase,) A horrid individ'l; Ah, what a different thing Was the h.o.m.o (dative, hominy) Of far away B. C.

From us of Anno Domini.

_Thomas R. Ybarra._

A NEW SONG

OF NEW SIMILES

My pa.s.sion is as mustard strong; I sit all sober sad; Drunk as a piper all day long, Or like a March-hare mad.

Round as a hoop the b.u.mpers flow; I drink, yet can't forget her; For though as drunk as David's sow I love her still the better.

Pert as a pear-monger I'd be, If Molly were but kind; Cool as a cuc.u.mber could see The rest of womankind.

Like a stuck pig I gaping stare, And eye her o'er and o'er; Lean as a rake, with sighs and care, Sleek as a mouse before.

Plump as a partridge was I known, And soft as silk my skin; My cheeks as fat as b.u.t.ter grown, But as a goat now thin!