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.