MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

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 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 defence:

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!

INCE there's no help, come, let us kiss and part!
Nay, I have done; you get no more of me:
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever; cancel all our vows;
And, when we meet at any time again,

ф

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

Be it not seen, in either of our brows,
That we one jot of former love retain !
Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death;
And Innocence is closing up her eyes;

Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life, thou mightst him yet recover!

The Battle of Agincourt.

AIR stood the wind for France,

When we our sails advance,

Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;

But putting to the main

At Kause the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marched towards Agincourt
In happy hour.
Skirmishing day by day

With those that stopped his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay,
With all his power;

Which in his height of pride,

King Henry to deride,

His ransom to provide,

To the king sending;

Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile;

Yet, with an angry smile,
Their fall portending;

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT.

And, turning to his men,

Quoth our brave Henry then, "Though they to one be ten, Be not amazèd :

Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won

Have ever to the sun

By fame been raisèd.

"And for myself," quoth he,
"This my full rest shall be,-
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me:

Victor I will remain,

Or on this earth lie slain;

Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

"Poitiers and Cressy tell

When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell:

No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great,
Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopped the French lilies."

The Duke of York so dread
The eager vaward led;
With the main Henry sped,

Amongst his henchmen;
Excester had the rear,-

A braver man not there :

O LORD! how hot they were
On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone;

Armour on armour shone;

Drum now to drum did groan,—
To hear was wonder;