"My mynde to me a kyngdome is,

Suche preasente joyes therin I fynde,

That it excells all other blisse,

That earth affordes or growes by kynde;

Thoughe muche I wante which moste would have,

Yet still my mynde forbiddes to crave.

"No princely pompe, no wealthy store,

No force to winne the victorye,

No wilye witt to salve a sore,

No shape to feade a loving eye;