'Tis honour is a thing conceived, And rests on others fame. Begotten only to molest Our peace, and to beguile, The best thing of our life, our rest, ULYSSES. Delicious nymph, suppose there were Nor 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 forego 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, Which makes us many other laws No widows wail for our delights, ULYSSES. But yet the state of things require And these great spirits of high desire To purge the mischiefs that increase, And all good order mar, For oft we see a wicked peace SIREN. Well, well, Ulysses, then I see, I shall not have thee here: And therefore I will come to thee, And take my fortune there. I must be won that cannot win, Yet lost were I not won, For beauty hath created been To undo, or be undone. XXVIII. CHRISTOPHER Marlowe, 1564-1593. C SONG. OME live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, Where we will sit on rising rocks, Pleased will I make thee beds of roses, A jaunty gown of finest wool, |