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10

CANTO QUINTO.

A daie, a night, an houre of sweete content
Is worth a world consum'd in fretfull care.
Unequall Gods, in your Arbitrement
To sort us daies whose sorrowes endles are!
And yet what were it? as a fading flower:
To swim in blisse a daie, a night, an hower.
What plague is greater than the griefe of minde?
The griefe of minde that eates in everie vaine,
In everie vaine that leaves such clods behind,
Such clods behind as breed such bitter paine,
So bitter paine that none shall ever finde
What plague is greater than the griefe of minde.
Doth sorrowe fret thy soule? o direfull spirit!
Doth pleasure feede thy heart? o blessed man!
Hast thou bin happie once? o heavie plight!
Are thy mishaps forepast? o happie than!
Or hast thou blisse in eld? o blisse too late!
But hast thou blisse in youth? o sweete estate!
Finis.
CONTENT.