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These dayes example hath deep written here Deep written in my heart with yron pen, That Blisse may not abide in state of mortall men. Ed. Spencer.
Doth sorrow fret thy soule? ô direfull spirit, Doth pleasure feed thy heart? ô blessed man. Hast thou bene happie once? ô heauy 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 sweet estate. E. of O.
—Hard it is To immitate a false and forged blisse, Ill may a sad mind forge a mery face, Nor hath constrained laughter any grace. G. Chapman.
—Blisse not in height doth dwell. Idem.
—Quiet Blisse in no state lasteth long. Assailed still by mischiefe many waies, Whose spoyling battery glowing hote and strong, No flowing wealth, no force nor wisdome staies. Her smoakelesse powder, beaten souldiers slaies. By open force, foule mischiefe oft preuailes: By secret sleight, she sild her purpose failes. I. H. of Magist.
Blessed the man that well can vse his blisse. Ed. Spencer.
We think no greater blisse, then such to be, as be we would, When blessed none, but such as be, the same, as be they should▪ ƲƲ. ƲƲarner.
Our blisse consists not in possessions, But in commaunding our affections. In vertues choyce, and vices needfull chace, Far from our harts for staining of our face. Tho. Kid.