Content

MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOME IS.

FROM PERCY'S RELIQUES.

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 pomp, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,
No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's 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 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.

I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine;
No worldly wave my mind can tosse,
I brooke that is another's bane:
I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;
I lothe 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 fortune's 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 plain, I clime no hill;

In greatest storms 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 break no sleep to winne my will;
I wayte not at the mightie's gate;
I scorn no poore, I feare no rich;
I feel 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 welth is like a quiet minde.

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

I never seek 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!

Contentment gives a crown,
Where fortune hath deny'd it.

Thomas Ford.

THE QUIET MIND.

BY JOHN CLARE.

THOUGH low my lot, my wish is won,
My hopes are few and staid;
All I thought life would do, is done,
The last request is made:

If I have foes, no foes I fear;
To fate I live resign'd:

I have a friend I value here-
And that's a quiet mind.

I wish not it was mine to wear
Flushed honour's sunny crown:
I wish not I was fortune's heir,
She frowns, and let her frown:
I have no taste for pomp and strife,
Which others love to find:

I only wish the bliss of life-
A pure and quiet mind.

The trumpet's taunt in battle field,
The great man's pedigree-

What peace can all their honours yield,

And what are they to me?

Though praise and pomp, to me the strife Rave like a mighty wind

What are they to the calm of life-
A still and quiet mind?

I mourn not that my lot is low,
I wish no higher state;
I sigh not that fate made me so,
Nor tease her to be great:
I am content, for well I see,

What all at least shall find,
That life's worst lot the best shall be
And that's a quiet mind.

I see the great pass heedless by,
And pride above me tower;
It costs me not a single sigh

For either wealth or power:
They are but men, and I'm a man
Of quite as great a kind,
Proud too, that life gives all she can
A calm and quiet mind.

I never mock'd at beauty's shrine,
To stain her lips with lies;

No knighthood's fame, or luck was mine,

To win love's richest prize:

And yet I found in russet weed,

What all will wish to find.

True love, and comfort's prize indeed
A glad and quiet mind.