"In Praise of a Contented Mind" by Edward De Vere (poetry reading)

In Elizabethan times, this poem was all the rage. They thought it portrayed an exemplary attitude to life. It was set to music by William Byrd.

At one time it was thought that Sir Edward Dyer wrote it, who was a chum of Sir Philip Sidney. Now it's thought to be by Edward de Vere.

It bears a marked similarity to John Byrom's poem that starts "I am content, I do not care". Byrom lived a few decades later but he would have been aware of this poem and it probably influenced him.

Edward de Vere is the most popular contender as the real author of Shakespeare's works, among those who think that Shakespeare's beginnings were too humble for him to have created such great stuff.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_d...

The model of Edward de Vere shown at the beginning and end is at Hedingham Castle.

My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find
That it excels all other bliss
That world affords or grows by kind.
Though much I want which most men have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely pomp, no wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,
No shape to feed each gazing eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall.
For why my mind doth serve for all.

I see how plenty suffers oft,
How hasty climbers soon do fall;
I see that those that are aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all;
They get with toil, they keep with fear.
Such cares my mind could never bear.

Content I live, this is my stay;
I see no more than may suffice;
I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look what I lack my mind supplies;
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

Some have too much, yet still do crave;
I little have, and seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little store.
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss;
I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss;
My state at one doth still remain.
I fear no foe, nor fawning friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will,
Their treasure is their only trust;
And cloaked craft their store of skill.
But all the pleasure that I find
Is to maintain a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defense;
I neither seek by bribes to please,
Nor by deceit to breed offense.
Thus do I live; thus will I die.
Would all did so as well as I!