112. Ulysses and the Siren

Siren.	COME, worthy Greek! Ulysses, come,
	Possess these shores with me:
	The winds and seas are troublesome,
	And here we may be free.
	Here may we sit and view their toil	5
	That travail in the deep,
	And joy the day in mirth the while,
	And spend the night in sleep.

Ulysses.	Fair Nymph, if fame or honour were
	To be attain’d with ease,	10
	Then would I come and rest me there,
	And leave such toils as these.
	But here it dwells, and here must I
	With danger seek it forth:
	To spend the time luxuriously	15
	Becomes not men of worth.

Siren.	Ulysses, O be not deceived
	With that unreal name;
	This honour is a thing conceived,
	And rests on others’ fame:	20
	Begotten only to molest
	Our peace, and to beguile
	The best thing of our life—our rest,
	And give us up to toil.

Ulysses.	Delicious Nymph, suppose there were	25
	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,	30
	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,	35
	And perish oft the while.
	Who may disport them diversely
	Find never tedious day,
	And ease may have variety
	As well as action may.	40

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	45
	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,	50
	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	55
	Receives more hurt than good.

Ulysses.	But yet the state of things require
	These motions of unrest:
	And these great Spirits of high desire
	Seem born to turn them best:	60
	To purge the mischiefs that increase
	And all good order mar:
	For oft we see a wicked peace
	To be well changed for war.

Siren.	Well, well, Ulysses, then I see	65
	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;	70
	For beauty hath created been
	T’ undo, or be undone.

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