Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/181

 Ulysses. Delicious Nymph, suppose there were No honour nor report, Yet manliness would scorn to wear The time in idle sport: For toil doth give a better touch To make us feel our joy, And ease finds tediousness as much As labour yields annoy.

Siren. Then pleasure likewise seems the shore Whereto tends all your toil, Which you forgo to make it more, And perish oft the while. Who may disport them diversely Find never tedious day, And ease may have variety As well as action may.

Ulysses. But natures of the noblest frame These toils and dangers please; And they take comfort in the same As much as you in ease; And with the thought of actions past Are recreated still: When Pleasure leaves a touch at last To show that it was ill.

Siren. That doth Opinion only cause That's out of Custom bred, Which makes us many other laws Than ever Nature did. No widows wail for our delights, Our sports are without blood; The world we see by warlike wights Receives more hurt than good.