My mind to me a kingdom is;

Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far exceeds all earthly bliss,

That God or nature hath assign'd:
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 press to bear no haughty sway;
Look what I lack, my mind supplies.
Lo! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.
VOL. II.
H

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall

I see that such as sit aloft

1;

Mishap doth threaten most of all: These get with toil, and keep with fear Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp, nor wealthy store
No force to win a victory;

No wily wit to salve a sore,
No shape to win a lover's eye;
To none of these I yield 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 poor, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store:

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain ;
No worldly wave my mind can toss,
I brook that is another's bane:
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loath not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defence:

I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence : Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I.

I joy not in no earthly bliss;

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is ;

I fear not fortune's fatal law:
My mind is such as may not move
For beauty bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate
I break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate ;
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like ne loath;

Extremes are counted worst of all:
The golden mean betwixt them both,
Doth surest sit, and fears no fall;
This is my choice, for why? I find
No wealth is like a quiet mind.*

;

V.O.

[In an early manuscript copy of this celebrated song, among Rawlinson's MSS. in the Bodleian library, Oxford, it is ascribed to Sir Edward Dyer, a poetical friend of Sir Philip Sidney. That manuscript contains the following stanza, neither printed here by Rit son, nor by Dr. Percy in his Reliques. (See vol. i. p. 309.)

SONG II.

BY THE COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA.

WOULD we attain the happiest state,
That is design'd us here;
No joy a rapture must create,
No grief beget despair.

No injury fierce anger raise,
No honour tempt to pride;
No vain desires of empty praise
Must in the soul abide.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will;

Their treasure is their only trust,

A cloaked craft their store of skill:

But all the pleasure that I find,

Js to maintain a quiet mind.

In Byrd's 'Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of Sadness and Pietie,' 1589, the second stanza was thus printed :

I press to bear no haughty sway,

I wish no more than may suffice;

I do no more than well I may;

Look what I want, my mind supplies.

Lo! thus I triumph like a king,

My mind content with any thing.

The old copies contain many other variations from the reprints.]

No charms of youth or beauty move
The constant settled breast:
Who leaves a passage free to love,
Shall let in all the rest.

In such a heart soft peace will live,
Where none of these abound;
The greatest blessing Heaven does give,
Or can on earth be found.

SONG III.

BY MR. W. BEDINGFIELD.

To hug yourself in perfect ease,

What would you wish for more than these?

A healthy, clean, paternal seat,

Well shaded from the summer's heat.

A little parlour stove, to hold

A constant fire from winter's cold,
Where you may sit, and think, and sing,
Far off from court, God bless the king!

Safe from the harpies of the law,

From party-rage, and great man's paw; Have choice few friends of your own taste; A wife agreeable and chaste.

An open, but yet cautious mind,

Where guilty cares no entrance find;
Nor miser's fears, nor envy's spite,
To break the sabbath of the night.