now refer to either.

The following copy is from a cotemporary MS. containing many of
the poems of Sir Edward Dyer, Edward Earl of Oxford, and their
cotemporaries, several of which have never been published. The
collection appears to have been made by Robert Mills, of Cambridge.
Dr. Rimbault will, no doubt, be glad to compare this text with
Breton's. It is, at least, much more genuine than the _composite_
one given by Bishop Percy.

"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;
To none of these I yielde as thrall,
For why? my mynde dothe serve for all.

"I see howe plenty suffers ofte,
And hasty clymers sone do fall,
I see that those which are alofte
Mishapp dothe threaten moste of all;
They get with toyle, they keepe with feare,
Suche cares my mynde coulde never beare.