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“I never was on English ground,
130 But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.
And of her skille she learned mee;
That looketh with sic an austerne face ?" “ Yonder is Sir John Foster," 8 quoth shee, “ Alas ! he'll do ye sore disgrace.”
140 He pulled his hatt down over his browe;
He wept, in his heart he was full of woe;
Those sorrowful tidings him to show.
I may not believe that witch ladie;
And they can ne'er prove false to mee.
150 Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.
As to the Douglas I have hight:
And gave itt to that gay ladie :
160 “ And wilt thou goe, thou noble Lord ?
Then farewell truth and honestie,
For never more I shall thee see.” & Warden of the middle March. o i. e. Where I was: an ancient idiom. 165
The wind was faire, the boatmen callid,
And all the saylors were on borde;
And with him went that noble lord.
Then he cast up a silver wand,
Says, “Gentle lady, fare thee well!”
And in a dead swoone down shee fell.
“Now let us goe back, Douglas,” he sayd,
“A sickness hath taken yond faire ladie; If ought befall yond lady but good,
Then blamed for ever I shall bee.”
“ Come on, come on, my Lord,” he sayes,
“Come on, come on, and let her bee;
For to cheere that gay ladie.”
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ;
And wee will return to you againe.”
- Come on, come on, my Lord,” he sayes,
“Come on, come on, and let her bee; My sister is craftye, and wold beguile
A thousand such as you and mee.”
When they had sayled 1 fifty myle,
190 Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see.
And that by thee and thy lord is seen ;
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween."
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,
He thought his lord then was betray'd; And he is to Erle Percy againe,
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."
Other fifty mile upon the sea,
Sayd, “ What wilt thou nowe doe with mee ?” “Looke that your brydle be wight, my Lord,
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;
6 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.” 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
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 beliere
That beggery is the onely happinesse,
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;
Such perfect joy therein I finde
That God or nature hath assignde :
I seek no more than may suffice;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies.
And hastie clymbers soonest fall;
Mishap doth threaten most of all;
These get with toile, and keep with feare;
No force to winne the victorie,
No shape to winne a lovers eye;
I little have, yet seek no more :
And I am rich with little store.
I grudge not at anothers gaine;
I brooke that is anothers bane.
I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw;
I feare not fortunes fatall law.
I wander not to seeke for more ;
In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,
I faine not love where most I hate;
I wayte not at the mighties gate;
I feele no want, nor have too much.