Sidor som bilder
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ake that your brydle be wight, my lord, And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea: oke that your spurres be bright and sharpe, That you may pricke her while she'll away.



What needeth this, Douglas? he sayth;
What needest thou to flyte with mee?

For I was counted a horseman good
Before that ever I mett with thee.


A false Hector hath my horse,

Who dealt with mee so treacherouslie:

A false Armstrong he hath my spurres,
And all the geere belongs to mee.


When they had sayled other fifty mile,
Other fifty mile upon the sea:
They landed low by Berwicke side,

A deputed 'laird' landed Lord Percye.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye,
It was, alas! a sorrowful sight:
Thus they betrayed that noble earle,
Who ever was a gallant wight.

V. 224. fol. MS. reads land, and has not the following stanza.



Wy Wind to me a Kingdom is.

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 edition 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 Mind 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.

My minde to me a kingdome is;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,

That God or nature hath assignde:

Though much I want, that most would have,




Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice:
I presse to beare no haughtie sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies.
Loe! thus I triumph like a king,

Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall:

I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all:

These get with toile, and keep with feare:
Such cares my mind could never beare.

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 dispiseth 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.

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