Canto Quinto.

A Daie, a night, an houre of sweete content,
Is worth a world consum'd in fretfull care,
Vnequall Gods in your Arbitrement
To sort vs daies whose sorrowes endles are,
And yet what were it? as a fading flower;
To swim in blisse, a daie, a night an hower.

VVhat plague is greater than the griefe of minde,
The griefe of minde that eates in euerie vaine,
In euerie vaine that leaues such clods behind
Such clods behind as breed such bitter paine,
So bitter paine that none shall euer finde,
What plague is greater than the griefe of minde.

Doth sorrowe fret thy soule? ô direfull spirit,
Doth pleasure feede thy heart? ô blessed man:
Hast thou bin happie once? ô heauie plight:
Are thy mishaps forepast? ô happie than:
Or hast thou blisse in eld? ô blisse too late:
But hast thou blisse in youth? ô sweete estate.