"" I never was on English ground, 130 And through my ring I may descrye. "My mother shee was a witch ladye, That looketh with sic an austerne face ?" 135 "Yonder is Sir John Foster," quoth shee, 140 He pulled his hatt down over his browe; He wept, in his heart he was full of woe; And he is gone to his noble lord, Those sorrowful tidings him to show. "Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd, 145 The Douglasses were ever true, And they can ne'er prove false to mee. "I have now in Lough-leven been The most part of these years three, He ne'er shall find my promise light." He writhe a gold ring from his finger, In Harley woods where I cold bee." 9 "And wilt thou goe, thou noble Lord? 150 155 160 8 Warden of the middle March. 9 i. e. Where I was: an ancient idiom. The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd, Then he cast up a silver wand, Says, "Gentle lady, fare thee well!" The lady fett a sigh soe deep, And in a dead swoone down shee fell. "Now let us goe back, Douglas," he sayd, "Come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes, "If you'll not turne yourself, my Lord, We will but comfort that faire lady, 165 170 175 180 "Come on, come on, my Lord," he sayes, 1 When they had sayled fifty myle, Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas, "Faire words," quoth he, "they make fooles faine, You may hap to think itt soon enough, 185 190 195 1 There is no navigable stream between Lough-leven and the sea: but a ballad-maker is not obliged to understand geography. Jamye his hatt pulled over his browe, To tell him what the Douglas sayd. "Hold upp thy head, man," quoth his lord, "Nor therefore lett thy courage fayle; He did it but to prove thy heart, To see if he cold make it quail." When they had other fifty sayld, Other fifty mile upon the sea, Lord Percy called to Douglas himselfe, Sayd, "What wilt thou nowe doe with mee ?” "Looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord, 200 205 And your horse goe swift as shipp att sea; Looke 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 treacherouslìe; A false Armstrong he hath my spurres, And all the geere belongs to mee.' دو When they had sayled other fifty mile, 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 210 215 220 225 V. My Mind 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 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 Sadness 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; That God or nature hath assignde : Though much I want, that most would have, 5 Yet still my mind forbids to crave. Content I live, this is my stay; I seek no more than I see how plentie surfets oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all; 10 15 These get with toile, and keep with feare; No princely pompe, nor welthie store, 20 No shape to winne a lovers eye; For why my mind dispiseth all. Some have too much, yet still they crave, 25 I little have, yet seek no more: They are but poore, tho' much they have; They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; 30 VOL. I. They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live. I grudge not at anothers gaine; I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw; I feare not fortunes fatall law. I wish but what I have at will; I like the plaine, I clime no hill; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, I kisse not where I wish to kill; I faine not love where most I hate; I wayte not at the mighties gate; |