_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. _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: 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 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 T’ undo, or be undone. _113._ _Beauty, Time, and Love_ SONNETS. I Fair is my Love and cruel as she’s fair; Her brow-shades frown, although her eyes are sunny, Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair, And her disdains are gall, her favours honey: A modest maid, deck’d with a blush of honour, Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; The wonder of all eyes that look upon her, Sacred on earth, design’d a Saint above. Chastity and Beauty, which were deadly foes, Live reconcilèd friends within her brow; And had she Pity to conjoin with those, Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind. II