Lord Percy call'd to the Douglas himselfe,
Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe with mee?

Looke that your bridle be wight, my lord,
And your horfe goe fwift as fhip at fea
Looke that your spurres be bright and sharp
That you may prick her while fhe'll away.

What needeth this, Douglas. he favd ?
What needeft thou to Byte with mee?
For I was counted a horfeman good
Before that ever I met with thee.

A falfe Hector he hath my horse,
Who dealt with mee fo treacherouflìe:
A false Armstrong he hath my fpurres,
And all the geere that belongs to mee.

When they had fayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the fea :
They landed him at Berwick towne,
The Douglas landed Lord Percìe.

210

215

220

This excellent philofophical fong appears to have been famous in the fixteenth century. It is quoted by Ben Jonson

in his play of "Every man out of his humour first acted in 1599. A. 1. Sc. 1. where an impatient person says

“I am no such pil'd cynique to beleeve
"That beggery is the onely happineße,

"Or, with a number of these patient fooles,
"To fing, "My minde to me a kingdome is
"When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode.„

It is printed from two ancient copies; one of them in black letter in the Pepys Collection, thus infcribed "A Sweet and pleasant fonet, entituled, "My Minde to me a King"dom is. To the tune of, In Crete, &c.,

My minde to me a kingdome is,

Such perfect joye therein I find,

As farre exceeds all earthly bliffe

That world affords, or growes by kind * :

Though much I want that most men have,
Yet doth my mind forbid me crave.

Content I live, this is my stay,

I feek no more than may fuffice,
I prefs to bear no haughty fway,

Looke what I lacke my mind fupplies;

Loe, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

I fee how plenty furfeits oft,

And hafty climbers oft do fall;

I fee how thofe that fit aloft,

Mifhap doth threaten moft of all;

* i. e. is bestowed by nature.

They get, they toyle, they spend with care,
Such cares my mind could never beare.

I laugh not at anothers loffe,

I grudge not at anothers gaine;
No worldly wave my mind can toffe,

I brooke that is anothers paine :
I feare no foe, I fcorne no friend,
I dread no death, I feare no end.

20

Some have too much, yet ftill they crave,

25

I little have, yet feek no more;

They are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little ftore:

* i. e. I endure what gives another pain.

The following tale is found in an ancient poem intitled ALBION'S ENGLAND, written by W. WARNER, a ce

lebrated

lebrated Poet in the reign of Q. Elizabeth, tho' his name

and works are now equally forgotten.

The reader will find

Some account of him in Vol. 2. p. 231, 232.

Altho' the following stanzas are printed from an edition in 1602, yett "The first and Second Parts of Albion's Encc gland, &'c. made their appearance in 1589, 4to; and were reprinted in 1597, under the title of "Albion's England; a continued historie of the fame kingdom, » &c. 4to. See Ames's Typograph. where is preserved the memory of another publication of this writer's, intitled, "WAR"NER'S POETRY, printed in 1536, 12mo. and reprinted in 1602.

It is proper to premife, that the following lines were not written by the Author in stanzas, but in long Alexandrines of 14 fyllables; which the narrowness of our page made it here necefary to subdivide,

Mpatience chaungeth fmoke to flame,

But jeloufie is hell;

Some wives by patience have reduc'd

Ill hufbands to live well:

As did the lady of an earle,

Of whom I now fhall tell.

An earle 'there was' had wedded, lov'd;
Was lov'd, and lived long

Full true to his fayre counteffe; yet

At laft he did her wrong.

Once hunted he untill the chace,

Long fafting, and the heat

Did houfe him in a peakish graunge

Within a foreft great.