Phil. No, with barnacles encrusted,
There each foundered treasure lies.
Syren. Every costly jewel twinkles
In the ocean's caverns green.
Phil. No, there's naught but weeds and winkles
On those rocks that I have seen.
Syren. Daintiest food, my mortal lover,
I will bring thee with this hand.
Phil. No, I fear I should discover
'Midst the viands too much sand.