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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. i.

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 despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,

I little have, yet scek 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.

I laugh not at anothers losse,

I grudge not at anothers gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse, I brooke that is anothers bane:

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;
I loth not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse,

I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is;

I feare not fortunes fatall law:
My mind is such as may not move
For beautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seeke for more;
I like the plaine, I clime no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore,
And laugh at them that toile in vaine
To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate;
I breake no sleep to winne my will;

I wayte not at the mighties gate;
I scorne no poore, I feare no rich;
I feele no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cart, I like, ne loath;

Extreames are counted worst of all:
The golden meane betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall:
This is my choyce, for why I finde,
No wealth is like a quiet minde.

My welth is health, and perfect ease; My conscience clere my chiefe de fence:

I never seeke by brybes to please,

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

VI. THE PATIENT COUNTESS.

THE subject of this tale is taken from an entertaining colloquy of Erasmus. The following stanzas are extracted from William Warner's poem, entitled Albion's England. Warner is said to have been a Warwickshire man, and to have been educated in Oxford at Magdalen Hall. He died in 1608-1609, at Amwell in Hertfordshire. He held a fair rank as poet in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and was by profession an "attorney of the Common Pleas."

IMPATIENCE chaungeth smoke to flame,
But jelousie is hell;

Some wives by patience have reduc'd

Ill husbands to live well:

As did the ladie of an earle,

Of whom I now shall tell.

An earle "there was " had wedded, lov'd;

Was lov'd, and lived long
Full true to his fayre countesse; yet
At last he did her wrong.

Once hunted he untill the chace,

Long fasting, and the heat

Did house him in a peakish graunge

Within a forest great.

Where knowne and welcom'd (as the place
And persons might afforde)

Browne bread, whig, bacon, curds and
milke

Were set him on the borde.

A cushion made of lists, a stoole
Halfe backed with a hoope
Were brought him, and he sitteth down
Besides a sorry coupe.

The poore old couple wisht their bread
Were wheat, their whig were perry,
Their bacon beefe, their milke and curds
Were creame, to make him merry.

Mean while (in russet neatly clad,

With linen white as swanne,

Herselfe more white, save rosie where
The ruddy colour ranne :

Whome naked nature, not the aydes
Of arte made to excell),

The good man's daughter sturres to see
That all were feat and well;
The earle did marke her, and admire
Such beautie there to dwell.

Yet fals he to their homely fare,
And held him at a feast:

But as his hunger slaked, so

An amorous heat increast.

When this repast was past, and thanks,
And welcome too; he sayd
Unto his host and hostesse, in

The hearing of the mayd :

Yee know, quoth he, that I am lord
Of this, and many townes;
I also know that you be poore,

And I can spare you pownes.

Soe will I, so yee will consent,
That yonder lasse and I

May bargaine for her love; at least,

Doe give me leave to trye.
Who needs to know it? nay who dares
Into my doings pry?

First they mislike, yet at the length
For lucre were misled;

And then the gamesome earle did wowe
The damsell for his bed.

He took her in his armes, as yet

So coyish to be kist,

As mayds that know themselves belov'd,
And yieldingly resist.

In few, his offers were so large

She lastly did consent;

With whom he lodged all that night, And early home he went.

He tooke occasion oftentimes

In such a sort to hunt.
Whom when his lady often mist,
Contrary to his wont,

And lastly was informed of

His amorous haunt elsewhere; It greev'd her not a little, though She seem'd it well to beare.

And thus she reasons with herselfe,

Some fault perhaps in me;
Somewhat is done, that soe he doth :
Alas! what may it be?

How may I winne him to myself?
He is a man, and men
Have imperfections; it behooves
Me pardon nature then.

To checke him were to make him checke,*

Although hee now were chaste;

A man controuled of his wife,

To her makes lesser haste.

If duty then, or daliance may
Prevayle to alter him ;

I will be dutifull, and make
My selfe for daliance trim.

So was she, and so lovingly

Did entertaine her lord, As fairer, or more faultles none Could be for bed or bord.

Yet still he loves his leiman, and

Did still pursue that game, Suspecting nothing less, than that His lady knew the same:

To check is a term in falconry, applied when a hawk stops and turns away from his proper pursuit; to check also signifies to reprove or chide. It is in this verse used in both senses.

Wherefore to make him know she knew,

She this devise did frame:

When long she had been wrong'd, and sought

The foresayd meanes in vaine, She rideth to the simple graunge

But with a slender traine.

She lighteth, entreth, greets them well,
And then did looke about her:
The guiltie houshold knowing her,

Did wish themselves without her;
Yet, for she looked merily,

The lesse they did misdoubt her.

When she had seen the beauteous wench
(Then blushing fairnes fairer),
Such beauty made the countesse hold
Them both excus'd the rather.

Who would not bite at such a bait?

Thought she; and who (though loth) So poore a wench, but gold might tempt? Sweet errors lead them both.

Scarse one in twenty that had bragg'd

Of proffer'd gold denied,

Or of such yeelding beautie baulkt,
But, tenne to one, had lied.

Thus thought she and she thus declares
Her cause of coming thether;
My lord, oft hunting in these partes,
Through travel, night or wether,

Hath often lodged in your house;
I thanke you for the same;
For why? it doth him jolly ease
To lie so neare his game.
But, for you have not furniture
Beseeming such a guest,

I bring his owne, and come myselfe
To see his lodging drest.

With that two sumpters were discharg'd,
In which were hangings brave,
Silke coverings, curtens, carpets, plate,
And al such turn should have,

When all was handsomly dispos'd,
She prayes them to have care
That nothing hap in their default,
That might his health impair:

And, Damsell, quoth shee, for it seemes
This houshold is but three,
And for thy parents age, that this
Shall chiefely rest on thee;

Do me that good, else would to God
He hither come no more.

So tooke she horse, and ere she went
Bestowed gould good store.

Full little thought the countie that
His countesse had done so ;
Who now return'd from far affaires
Did to his sweet-heart go.

No sooner sat he foote within

'The late deformed cote,

But that the formall change of things

His wondring eies did note.

But when he knew those goods to be

His proper goods; though late, Scarce taking leave, he home returnes The matter to debate.

The countesse was a-bed, and he
With her his lodging tooke;

Sir, welcome home (quoth shee); this

night

For you I did not looke.

Then did he question her of such
His stuffe bestowed soe.
Forsooth, quoth she, because I did
Your love and lodging knowe :

Your love to be a proper wench,
Your lodging nothing lesse ;
I held it for your health, the house
More decently to dresse.

Well wot I, notwithstanding her,

Your lordship loveth me;
And greater hope to hold you such
By quiet, then brawles, you see.

Then for my duty, your delight,
And to retaine your favour,
All done I did, and patiently

Expect your wonted 'haviour.

Her patience, witte and answer wrought
His gentle teares to fall :

When (kissing her a score of times)

Amend, sweet wife, I shall :

He said, and did it; "so each wife
Her husband may" recall.

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VII.-DOWSABELL.

THE following stanzas were written by Michael Drayton,* a poet of some eminence in the reigns of Queen Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I. They are inserted in one of his pastorals, and are inscribed with the author's name at length, "To the noble

· and valerous gentleman master Robert Dudley," etc.

FARRE in the countrey of Arden,
There won'd a knight, hight Cassemen,

As bolde as Isenbras:

Fell was he, and eger bent,
In battell and in tournament,

As was the good Sir Topas.

He had, as antique stories tell,
A daughter cleaped Dowsabel,
A mayden fayre and free:
And for she was her fathers heire,
Full well she was y-cond the leyre
Of mickle curtesie.

* Drayton was born in 1563, and died in 1631.

K

The silke well couth she twist and twine, And make the fine march-pine,

And with the needle werke:

And she couth helpe the priest to say
His mattins on a holy-day,

And sing a psalme in kirke.

She ware a frock of frolicke greene,
Might well beseeme a mayden queene,
Which seemly was to see ;

A hood to that so neat and fine,
In colour like the colombine,
Y-wrought full featously.

Her features all as fresh above,

As is the grasse that growes by Dove ;
And lyth as lasse of Kent.

Her skin as soft as Lemster wooll,
As white as snow on Peakish Hull,

Or swanne that swims in Trent.

This mayden in a morne betime
Went forth, when May was in her prime,
To get sweete cetywall,
The honey-suckle, the harlocke,
The lilly and the lady-smocke,

To deck her summer hall.

Thus, as she wandred here and there, Y-picking of the bloomed breere,

She chanced to espie

A shepheard sitting on a bancke,
Like chanteclere he crowed crancke,
And pip'd full merrilie.

He lear'd his sheepe as he him list,
When he would whistle in his fist,

To feede about him round; Whilst he full many a carroll sung, Untill the fields and medowes rung, And all the woods did sound.

In favour this same shepheards swayne Was like the bedlam Tamburlayne,*

Which helde prowd kings in awe :

*Alluding to Tamburlaine the Great, or the Scythian Shepheard, 1590, 8vo, an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe.

But meeke he was as lamb mought be; An innocent of ill as he

Whom his lewd brother slaw.

The shepheard ware a sheepe-gray cloke, Which was of the finest loke,

That could be cut with sheere: His mittens were of bauzens skinne, His cockers were of cordiwin,

His hood of meniveere.

His aule and lingell in a thong,
His tar-boxe on his broad belt hong,
His breech of coyntrie blewe:
Full crispe and curled were his lockes,
His browes as white as Albion rocks:
So like a lover true,

And pyping still he spent the day,
So merry as the popingay;

Which liked Dowsabel :

That would she ought, or would she nought, This lad would never from her thought;

She in love-longing fell.

At length she tucked up her frocke,
White as a lilly was her smocke,
She drew the shepheard nye;
But then the shepheard pyp'd a good,
That all his sheepe forsooke their foode,
To hear his melodye.

Thy sheepe, quoth she, cannot be leane,
That have a jolly shepheards swayne,

The which can pipe so well : Yea but, sayth he, their shepheard may, If pyping thus he pine away

In love of Dowsabel.

Of love, fond boy, take thou no keepe,
Quoth she; looke thou unto thy sheepe,
Lest they should hap to stray.
Quoth he, So had I done full well,
Had I not seen fayre Dowsabell

Come forth to gather maye.

With that she gan to vaile her head,
Her cheeks were like the roses red,
But not a word she sayd:

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