To one that painted Eccho

THou witles wight, what meanes this mad intēt
To draw my face & forme, vnknowne to thée?
What meanste thou so for to molesten mée?
Whom neuer Cie behelde, nor man coulde see?
Daughter to talking tongue, and Ayre am I,
My Mother is nothing when things are waide:
I am a voyce without the bodies aide.
When all the tale is tolde and sentence saide,
Then I recite the latter worde afreshe
In mocking sort and counterfayting wies:
Within your eares my chiefest harbour lies,
There doe I woonne, not seene with mortall eies.
And more to tell and farther to procéede,
I Eccho height of men below in grounde:
If thou wilt draw my Counterfait in déede,
Then must thou paint (O Painter) but a sound.