"OH! what hath caus'd my killing miseries ?” "EYES," Echo said. "What hath detain'd my ease ?” "EASE," ftraight the reasonable nymph replies. "That nothing can my troubled mind appease ?” "PEACE," Echo anfwers. "What, is any nigh?” "Philetus faid, fhe quickly utters, "I."

II.

"Is 't Echo anfwers? tell me then thy will :" "I WILL," fhe faid, "What fhall I get," fays he, "By loving ftill?" To which the answers, "ILL." "Ill! Shall I void of wish'd-for pleasures die ?" "I." "Shall not I, who toil in ceaseless pain, "Some pleasure know?" No," fhe replies again. III.

"Falfe and inconftant nymph, thou lyeft!" faid he; "THOU LYEST,” she said; "And I deferv'd her hate, "If I fhould thee believe." "BELIEVE," faith fhe. "For why? thy idle words are of no weight."

"WEIGHT," she answers. "Therefore I 'll depart." To which refounding Echo anfwers, "PART."

THEN from the woods with wounded heart he goes,
Filling with legions of fresh thoughts his mind.
He quarrels with himself, because his woes
Spring from himself, yet can no medicine find:
He weeps to quench the fires that burn in him,
But tears do fall to th' earth, flames are within.

No morning-banish'd darkness, nor black night
By her alternate course expell'd the day,
In which Philetus by a conftant rite

At Cupid's altars did not weep and pray ;
And yet he nothing reap'd for all his pain,
But care and forrow was his only gain.
But

now at last the pitying God, o'ercome
By constant votes and tears, fix'd in her heart
A golden fhaft, and fhe is now become
A fuppliant to Love, that with like dart

He'd wound Philetus; does with tears implore
Aid from that power fhe fo much fcorn'd before.
Little fhe thinks he kept Philetus' heart
In her fcorch'd breaft, because her own she gave
To him. Since either fuffers equal fmart,

And a like measure in their torments have :

His foul, his griefs, his fires, now her's are grown:
Her heart, her mind, her love, is his alone.

Whilft thoughts 'gainst thoughts rife up in mutiny,
She took a lute (being far from any ears)
And tun'd this fong, pofing that harmony
Which poets attribute to heavenly spheres.

Thus had the fung when her dear love was flain,
She'd furely call'd him back from Styx again.

THE

THE SONG.

I.

TO whom fhall I my forrows show?
Not to Love, for he is blind :
And my Philetus doth not know

The inward torment of my mind.
And all the fenfelefs walls, which are
Now round about me, cannot hear;.
II.

For, if they could, they fure would weep,
And with my griefs relent:
Unless their willing tears they keep,

Till I from earth am fent.

Then I believe they 'll all deplore
My fate, fince I taught them before.
III.

I willingly would weep my ftore,

If th' flood would land thy love,
My dear Philetus, on the shore

Of my heart; but, should'st, thou prove
Afraid of flames, know the fires are
But bonfires for thy coming there..

THEN tears in envy of her speech did flow
From her fair eyes, as if it seem'd that there
Her burning flame had melted hills of snow,
And fo diffoly'd them into many a tear;
Which, Nilus-like, did quickly overflow,
And quickly caus'd new ferpent griefs to grow.
D 3

Here

Here ftay, my Mufe; for if I fhould recite
Her mournful language, I should make you weep
Like her, a flood, and fo not fee to write
Such lines as I, and th' age requires, to keep
Me from stern death, or with victorious rhyme
Revenge their master's death, and conquer Time.
By this time, chance and his own industry
Had help'd Philetus forward, that he grew
Acquainted with her brother, fo that he
Might, by this means, his bright Conftantia view
And, as time serv'd, shew'd her his mifery :
This was the first act in his tragedy.

Thus to himself, footh'd by his flattering state,
He faid; "How fhall I thank thee for this gain,
"O Cupid! or reward my helping fate,
"Which sweetens all my forrows, all my pain?

"What husbandman would any pains refuse, "To reap at last such fruit, his labour's use ?” But, when he wifely weigh'd his doubtful state, Seeing his griefs link'd like an endless chain To following woes, he would when 'twas too late Quench his hot flames, and idle love difdain.

But Cupid, when his heart was fet on fire,
Had burnt his wings, who could not then retire.

The wounded youth and kind Philocrates
(So was her brother call'd) grew foon fo dear,
So true and conftant in their amities,

And in that league so strictly joined were,
That death itself could not their friendship fever,
But, as they liv'd in love, they died together.

If one be melancholy, th' other's fad ;
If one be fick, the other 's furely ill;
And if Philetus any forrow had,
Philocrates was partner in it still:

Pylades' foul, and mad Oreftes', was
In these, if we believe Pythagoras.

Oft in the woods Philetus walks, and there
Exclaims against his fate, fate too unkind :
With speaking tears his griefs he doth declare,
And with fad fighs inftructs the angry wind
To figh; and did ev'n upon that prevail;
It groan'd to hear Philetus' mournful tale.

The crystal brooks, which gently run between
The fhadowing trees, and, as they through them pass,
Water the earth and keep the meadows green,
Giving a colour to the verdant grass,

Hearing Philetus tell his woeful state,
In fhew of grief run murmuring at his fate.
Philomel anfwers kim again, and fhews,
In her beft language, her fad hiftory,
And in a mournful fweetnefs tells her woes,
Denying to be pos'd in mifery:

Conftantia he, fhe Tereus, Tereus, cries;
With him both grief, and grief's expreffion, vies.

Philocrates must needs his fadness know,

Willing in ills, as well as joys, to share,

Nor will on them the name of friends bestow,
Who in light fport, not forrow, partners are.

Who leaves to guide the fhip when storms arife,
Is guilty both of fin and cowardice.