Ulysses

Fair nymph, if fame or honour were
To be attained with ease,

Then would I come and rest with thee
And leave such toils as these.

But here it dwells, and here must I

With danger seek it forth :

To spend the time luxuriously
Becomes not men of worth.

Siren

Ulysses, O be not deceived
With that unreal name;
This honour is a thing conceiv'd
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 our 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.

1

Sonnets to Delia'

(1) UNTO the boundless ocean of thy beauty Runs this poor river, charged with streams of zeal, Returning thee the tribute of my duty, Which here my love, my youth, my plaints reveal.. Here I unclasp the book of my charged soul, e Where I have cast th' accounts of all my care ; Here have I summed my sighs; here I enroll How they were spent for thee ;-look what they

are. Look on the dear expenses of my youth, And see how just I reckon with thine eyes ; Examine well thy beauty with my truth, And cross my cares, ere greater sums arise : Read it, sweet maid, though it be done but slightly ; Who can show all his love, doth love but lightly.

(vi) Fair is my Love, and cruel as she's fair; Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are

(xix)
Restore thy tresses to the golden ore ;
Yield Cytherea's son those arcs of love ;
Bequeath the heavens the stars that I adore,
And to the orient do thy pearls remove ;
Yield thy hands' pride unto the ivory white;
To Arabian odours give thy breathing sweet ;
Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright ;
To Thetis give the honour of thy feet;
Let Venus have thy graces her resigned,
And thy sweet voice give back unto the spheres ;
But yet restore thy fierce and cruel mind
To Hyrean tigers and to ruthless bears ;
Yield to the marble thy hard heart again :
So shalt thou cease to plague, and I to pain.

T

(XXXIV)
Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,
(The image of thy blush and summer's honour)
Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose
That full of beauty Time bestows upon her.
No sooner spreads her glory in the air,
But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline ;
She then is scorned that late adorned the fair.
So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine ;
No April can revive thy withered flowers,
Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now :
Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours,
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain,
But love whilst that thou may'st be loved again.

(XXXV)
But love while that thou may'st be loved again !
Now whilst thy May hath filled thy lap with flow'rs ;
Now whilst thy beauty bears without a stain ;
Now use the summer smiles ere winter low'rs.
And whilst thou spread'st unto the rising sun
The fairest flower that ever saw the light,

Now 'joy thy time before thy sweet be done ;
And, Delia, think thy morning must have night,
And that thy brightness sets at length to west
When thou wilt close up that which now thou show'st;
And think the same becomes thy fading best,
Which then shall most enveil and shadow most.
Men do not weigh the stalk for that it was,
When once they find her flow'r, her glory, pass.

T

(XLV)
Beauty, sweet Love, is like the morning đew,
Whose short refresh upon the tender green
Cheers for a time—but till the sun doth shew-
And straight 'tis gone as it had never been.
Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish;
Short is the glory of the blushing rose :
The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish,
Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose.
When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years,
Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth,
And that, in Beauty's lease expired, appears
The Date of Age, the Kalends of our Death,-
But ah, no more !--this must not be foretold ;
For women grieve to think they must be old.

(xLvI)
I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read
Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile ;
Flowers have a time before they come to seed,
And she is young, and now must sport the while.
And sport, sweet Maid, in season of these years,
And learn to gather flowers before they wither ;
And where the sweetest blossom first appears.
Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither.
Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air
And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise :
Pity and smiles do best become the fair ;
Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.
Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone,
Happy the heart that sighed for such a one.