The following song was written by Addison : Echo, tell me, while I wander O'er this fairy plain to prove him, Echo.-Love him, love him. If he loves, as is the fashion, 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, PASQUINADE. The following squib, cited by Mr. Motley in his Dutch Republic, from a MS. collection of pasquilles, shows the prevalent opinion in the Netherlands concerning the parentage of Don John of Austria and the position of Barbara Blomberg : -sed at Austriacum nostrum redeamus-camus Hunc Cesaris filium esse satis est notum-notum Multi tamen de ejus patre dubitavere-vere Verum mater satis est nota in nostra republica-publica Imo hactenus egit in Brabantiâ ter voere-hoere Crimen est ne frui amplexu unius Cesaris tam generosi-osi Seu post Cesaris congressum non vere ante-ante Tace garrula ne tale quippiam loquare-quare? Nescis quâ poena afficiendum dixerit Belgium insigne-igne, &c. THE GOSPEL ECHO. Found in a pew in a church in Scotland, written in a female hand. Must I my faith in Jesus constant show, When men conspire to hate and treat me ill, If they my failings causelessly reveal, But if my name and character they tear, Why, Echo, how is this? Thou'rt sure à dove: Amen, with all my heart, then be it so; This path be mine; and, let who will reject, Henceforth on him I'll cast my every care, These verses of Dean Swift were supposed, by the late Mr. Reed, to have been written either. in imitation of Lord Stirling's Aurora, or of a scene of Robert Taylor's old play, entitled The Hog has lost his Pearl. SHEPHERD.-Echo, I ween, will in the woods reply, And quaintly answer questions. Shall I try? Be fore. SHEP.-How shall I please her who ne'er loved before? SHEP.-Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore? SHEP. If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre. Liar. Есно.- Her deer. Beer. SHEP.-But what can glad me when she's laid on bier? Bang her. SHEP.-If she be wind, what stills her when she blows? Есно. Guard her well. BONAPARTE AND THE ECHO. The original publication of the following exposed the publisher, Palm, of Nuremberg, to trial by court-martial. He was sentenced to be shot at Braunau in 1807,—a severe retribution for a few lines of poetry. BONA.-Alone I am in this sequestered spot, not overheard. Eсnо.-Heard. BONA.-'Sdeath! Who answers me? What being is there nigh? BONA. Now I guess! To report my accents Echo has made her task. BONA.-Knowest thou whether London will henceforth continue to resist? BONA.-Whether Vienna and other courts will oppose me always? BONA.-Oh, Heaven! what must I expect after so many reverses? BONA.-What! should I, like coward vile, to compound be reduced? BONA. After so many bright exploits be forced to restitution? ECHO. Restitution. BONA.-Restitution of what I've got by true heroic feats and martial ECHO.--Yes. address? BONA. What will be the end of so much toil and trouble? Echo.-Trouble. BONA.-What will become of my people, already too unhappy? BONA.-What should I then be that I think myself immortal? BONA. The whole world is filled with the glory of my name, you know. BONA. Formerly its fame struck the vast globe with terror. ECHO.-Error. BONA.-Sad Echo, begone! I grow infuriate! I die! ECHо.-Die! Napoleon himself, (Voice from St. Helena,) when asked about the execution of Palm, said, "All that I recollect is, that Palm was arrested by order of Davoust, and, I believe, tried, condemned, and shot, for having, while the country was in possession of the French and under military occupation, not only excited rebellion among the inhabitants and urged them to rise and massacre the soldiers, but also attempted to instigate the soldiers themselves to refuse obedience to their orders and to mutiny against their generals. I believe that he met with a fair trial." DIALOGUE BETWEEN A GLUTTON AND ECHO. GLUT.-My belly I do deify. ECHо.-Fie. GLUT. Who curbs his appetite's a fool. Eсно.-Ah, fool! GLUT.-I do not like this abstinence. ECHо.-Hence. GLUT.-My joy's a feast, my wish is wine. ECHо.-Swine! GLUT. We epicures are happy, truly. GLUT. Who's that which giveth me the lie? GLUT.-What! Echo, thou that mock'st a voice? GLUT.-Will't hurt me if I drink too much? Ecno.-Much. GLUT.-Thou mock'st me, Nymph; I'll not believe it. GLUT.-Dost thou condemn, then, what I do? |