Certaine small poems lately printed with the tragedie of Philotas. Written by Samuel Daniel.

Vlisses and the Syren.

Syren.

COme worthy Greeke, Vlisses come Possesse these shores with me: The windes and Seas are troublesome, And heere we may be free. Here may we sit, and view their toile That trauaile in the deepe, And ioy the day in mirth the while, And spend the night in sleepe.

Vlis.

Faire Nimph, if fame, or honor were To be attaynd with case Then would I come, and rest with thee, And leaue such toyles as these. But here it dwels, and here must I With danger seeke it forth, To spend the time luxuriously Becomes not men of worth.

Syr. Vlisses,

O be not deceiu'd With that vnreall name: This honour is a thing conceiu'd, And rests on others fame. Begotten onely to molest Our peace, and to beguile (The best thing of our life) our rest, And giue vs vp to toile.

Vlis.

Delicious Nimph, suppose there were Nor honour, nor report, Yet manlines would scorne to weare The time in idle sport. For toyle doth giue a better touch, To make vs feele our ioy; And case findes tediousnesse as much As labour yeelds annoy.

Syr.

Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore, Whereto tends all your toyle, Which you forgo to make it more, And perish oft the while. Who may disporte them diuersly, Finde neuer tedious day, And ease may haue varietie, As well as action may.

Vlis.

But natures of the noblest frame These toyles, 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 leaues a touch at las••, To shew that it was ill.

Sy.

That doth opinion onely cause, That's out of custome bred, Which makes vs many other lawes Then euer Nature did.

No widdowes waile for our delights, Our sportes are without bloud, The world we see by warlike wights. Receiues more hurt then good.

Vlis.

But yet the state of things require These motions of vnrest, And these great Spirits of high desire, Seeme borne to turne them best. To purge the mischiefes that increase, And all good order mar: For oft we see a wicked peace To be well chang'd for war.

Sy.

Well, well Vlisses then I see, I shall not haue thee heere, And therefore I will come to thee, And take my fortunes there. I must be wonne that cannot win, Yet lost were I not wonne: For beauty hath created bin, T'vndoo, or be vndonne.

FINIS.