"If you'll give me no trust, my lord,
Nor unto mee no credence yield;
Yet step one moment here aside,
Ile showe you all your foes in field."

"Lady, I never loved witchcraft,
Never dealt in privy wyle;
But evermore held the high-waye

Of truth and honour, free from guile."

"If you'll not come yourselfe, my lorde,
Yet send your chamberlaine with mee;
Let me but speak three words with him,
And he shall come again to thee."

James Swynard with that lady went,

She showed him through the weme of her ring
How many English lords there were
Waiting for his master and him.

"And who walkes yonder, my good lady,
So royallyè on yonder greene?"
"O, yonder is the lord Hunsdèn : *

Alas! he'll doe you drie and teene."

"And who beth yonder, thou gay ladye,
That walkes so proudly him beside?"
"That is Sir William Drury," + shee sayd,
"A keene captàine hee is and tryde."

"How many miles is itt, madàme,

Betwixt yond English lords and mee?" "Marry, it is thrice fifty miles,

To saile to them upon the sea.

I never was on English ground,
Ne never sawe it with mine eye,
But as my book it sheweth mee,
And through my ring I may descrye.

The Lord Warden of the East marches.
† Governor of Berwick.

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130

My mother shee was a witch ladye,

And of her skille she learned mee; She wold let me see out of Lough-leven What they did in London citie."

"But who is yond, thou lady faire,

That looketh with sic an austerne face?" "Yonder is Sir John Foster," * quoth shee, "Alas! he'll do ye sore disgrace."

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,
I may not believe that witch ladìe:
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,
Yett have I never had noe outrake,
Ne no good games that I cold see.

Therefore I'll to yond shooting wend,
As to the Douglas I have hight:
Betide me weale, betide me woe,

He ne'er shall find my promise light."

He writhe a gold ring from his finger,
And gave itt to that gay ladìe:
Sayes, "It was all that I cold save,

In Harley woods where I cold bee." †

"And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord?
Then farewell truth and honestìe!
And farewell heart, and farewell hand!
For never more I shall thee see.”

* Warden of the Middle-march.
† i. e. Where I was. An ancient Idiom.

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The wind was faire, the boatmen call'd,
And all the saylors were on borde;
Then William Douglas took to his boat,
And with him went that noble lord.

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,
"A sickness hath taken yond faire ladìe;

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:
There's ladyes enow in Lough-leven
For to cheere that gay ladie."

"If you'll not turne yourself, my lord,
Let me goe with my chamberlaine ;
We will but comfort that faire lady,

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 fifty myle,
Now fifty mile upon the sea;
Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas,
When they shold that shooting see,

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"Faire words," quoth he, "they make fooles faine,
And that by thee and thy lord is seen:
You may hap to thinke itt soone enough,
Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.'

195

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."

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,

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 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.

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225

Ver. 224. Fol. MS. reads "land," and has not the following stanza.

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, A. i. Sc. i. where an impatient person says,

"I am no such pil'd cynique to believe
That beggery is the onely happinesse,
Or, with a number of these patient fooles,
To sing, My minde to me a kingdome is,'

When the lanke hungrie belly barkes for foode."

It is here chiefly printed from a thin quarto Music book, intitled, "Psalmes, Sonets, and Songs of sadnes 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 edit. 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 Minde 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
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:

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