'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,
And give us up to toil.

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,
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

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,
That grove or valley, hill or field,
Or wood and steepy mountain yield.

Where we will sit on rising rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

Pleased will I make thee beds of roses,
And twine a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and rural kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.

A jaunty gown of finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
And shoes lined choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs ;
If these, these pleasures can thee move,
To live with me, and be my love.

RHEAD