Stay, gentle Echo

Stay, gentle Echo, dear Nymph, stay,

With love's sad language thou can'st play;

The last of my discourse retort,

Love, once thy grief, is now thy sport.

Echo

: Thy sport.

My sport, fair nymph? No, 'tis my pain

To love, and not find love again.

Echo

: Again!

Cruel, thus to increase my care,

Is love a cordial for despair?

Echo

: Or despair.

Love or despair! what dost thou mean,

Would'st have me suffer both again?

Echo

: Both again.

And what reward shall I e're find?

Will fair Clarissa be still unkind?

Echo

: Still unkind.

When Passion strains his voice most high,

Will she, like thee, farther fly?

Echo

: Farther fly.

Shall I in vain my sighs repeat,

Since Cupid's grown so great a cheat?

Tell me, dear Echo, how I may

Chase this intruding guest away,

And break that bow, whose pow'r most strange,

Thy substance to a voice did change?

Echo

: Change.

Ah no, my fate I cannot fly!

'Tis harder far to change than die.

Echo

: Than die.

Ah! what, does this Echo say die?

Echo

: Ah! die!

Is this the counsel I implore?

Hence, hence, bubbling air, I will no more.

Echo

: I'll no more.

Be ill no more? That I believe,

He can't be ill that does not live.

When Titan's weary car once more

Has trac'd the spacious heav'ns o're,

Near to this happy fountain set,

I'll call thee with my flagelet:

Fail not to hast and know my will.

Echo

: I will.