THIS excellent philosophical song appears to have been famous in the sixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson in his play of “Every Man out of his Humour," first acted in 1599, act. i. sc. 1. where an impatient person says,

"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe
That beggery is the onely happinesse,
Or, with a number of these patient fooles,
To sing, My minde to me a kingdome is,'
When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode.”

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, entitled, Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of sadnes and pietie, made into Musicke of five parts: &c. By William Byrd, one of the Gent. of the Queenes Majesties honorable Chappell.-Printed by Thomas East, &c." 4to. no date: but Ames in his Typog. has mentioned another edit. of the same book, dated 1588, which I take to have been later than this.

Some improvements, and an additional stanza (sc. the 5th.) were had from two other ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus inscribed, "A sweet and pleasant sonet, intitled, My Minde to me a Kingdom is.' To the tune of In Crete, &c."

Some of the stanzas in this poem were printed by Byrd separate from the rest: they are here given in what seemed the most natural order.

No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,
No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lovers eye;
To none of these I yeeld as thrall,
For why my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,
I little have, yet seek no more:
They are but poore, tho much they have;
And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at anothers losse,

I grudge not at anothers gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse, I brooke that is anothers bane:

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;

I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw ; For care, I care not what it is;

I feare not fortunes fatall law: My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright or force of love.

wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seeke for more;

I like the plaine, I clime no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe

Ver. 224, fol. MS. reads land, and has not the followin

stanza.

VI.

The subject of this tale is taken from that entertaining colloquy of Erasmus, entitled " Uxor Meμyauos. sive Conjugium :" which been agreeably modernized by the late Mr. Spence, in his little miscellaneous publication, entitled "Moralities, &c., by Sir Harry Beaumont," 1753, 8vo. pag. 42.

The following stanzas are extracted from an ancient poem entitled "Albion's England," written by W. Warner, a celebrated poet in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, though his name and works are Low equally forgotten. The reader will find some account of him in Series the Second, book ii. song 24. The following stanzas are printed from the author's improved edition of his work, printed in 1602, 4to; the third impression of which appeared so early as 1592, in bl. let. 4to.-The edition in 1602 is in thirteen books; and so it is reprinted in 1612, 4to; yet in 1606 was published "A Continuance of Albion's England, by the first author, W. W. Lond. 4to.:" this contains books xiv. xv. xvi. In Ames's Typography is preserved the memory of another publication of this writer's, entitled, "Warner's Poetry," printed in 1580, 12mo, and reprinted in 1602. There is also extant, under the name of Warner, "Syrinx, or seven fold Hist. pleasant and profitable, comical, and tragical." 4to.

It is proper to premise that the following lines were not written by the author in Stanzas, but in long Alexandrines of fourteen syllables: which the narrowness of our page made it here necessary to subdivide.

THE following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton, a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James I, and Charles I. They are inserted in one of his pastorals, the first edition of which bears this whimsical title. "Idea. The Shepheards Garland, fashioned in nine Eglogs." Rowland's Sacrifice to the Nine Muses. London, 1593." 4to. They are inscribed with the author's name at length “To the noble and valerous gentleman Master Robert Dudley, &c." It is very remarkable that when Drayton reprinted them in the first folio edit. of his works, 1619, he had given those ecologues so thorough a revisal, that there is hardly a line to be found the same as in the old edition. This poem had received the fewest corrections, and therefore is chiefly given from the ancient copy, where it is thus introduced by one of his shepherds:

Listen to mee, my lovely shepheards joye,

And thou shalt heare, with mirth and mickle glee, A pretie tale, which when I was a boy,

My toothles grandame oft hath tolde to me.

The author has professedly imitated the style and metre of some of the old metrical romances, particularly that of Sir Isenbrast (alluded to in v. 3), as the reader may judge from the following specimen :

Lordynges, lysten, and you shal here, &c.

Ye shall well heare of a knight,
That was in warre full wyght

And doughtye of his dede:

His name was Syr Isenbras,

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This ancient legend was printed in black-letter 4to, by William Copland; no date. In the Cotton Library (Calig. A. 2.) is a MS. copy of the same romance, containing the greatest variations. They are probably two different translations of some French original.

FARRE in the countrey of Arden,

There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen,

As bolde as Isenbras:
Fell was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,

As was the good Sir Topas.

He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel,

A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-cond the leyre
Of mickle courtesie.

The silke well couth she twist and twine,
And make the fine march-pine,

And with the needle werke:
And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,

And sing a psalme in kirke.

She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene,
Which seemly was to see;

A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.

Her features all as fresh above,

As is the grasse that growes by Dove;
And lyth as lasse of Kent.

Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,
Or swanne that swims in Trent.

The lilly and the lady smocke,

To deck her summer hall.

This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prine,
To get sweete cetywall,

The honey-suckle, the harlocke,

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