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XVIII.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[What is a day, what is a yeere]

What is a day, what is a yeere
Of vaine delight and pleasure?
Like to a dreame it endlesse dies,
And from us like a vapour flies:
And this is all the fruit that we finde,
Which glorie in worldly treasure.
He that will hope for true delight
With vertue must be graced;
Sweet follie yeelds a bitter tast,
Which ever will appeare at last:
But if we still in vertue delight,
Our soules are in heaven placed.