Therewith to catch the litel midge' or fly.
The cushat crouds and pykkis on the rise,'
The sterling changes divers steunnys nise,'
The sparrow chirpis in the walles cleft,
Goldspink and linnet fordynnand the lyft.'
The cuckow galis," and so twitteris the quail,
While rivers reirdit; schaws and every dale,
And tender twistis tremble on the trees,
For birdes song and bemyng of the bees.
And all small fowlis singin on the spray,
"Welcome thou lord of light, and lampe of day,
Welcome thou fosterer of herbis grene,
Welcome quickener of freshest flouris shene,
Welcome support of every root and vein,
Welcome comfort of al kind frute and grein,
Welcome depainter of the blooming meads,
Welcome the life of every thing that spreads,
Welcome restorer of all kind bestial,
Welcome be thy bright bemes gladding all."
The following "Story of Cockagne" is quoted to substantiate the text, which favors the idea that the monks of the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries were, as a body, idle, luxurious and unchaste. And also as a refutation, by contemporaneous testimony, of an attempt by a recent writer to prove that the mediæval world was greatly "indebted to the Monastic Orders," not merely because they were safe repositories for manuscripts and
the centres for diffusing very imperfect learning; but as "places where (it may be imperfectly, yet better than elsewhere) God was worshipped-and as a shelter of respectful sympathy for the orphan maiden and the desolate widow."
FAR in sea, by West Spain
Is a land ihote Cokaygne,
There n'is land under heaven rich
Of wel of goodness it ylike.
Though Paradise be merry and bright,
Cokaygne is of fairer sight.
What is there in Paradise
But grass, and flower, and green-rise ?"
Though there be joy and great dute
There n'is meat but fruit.
There n'is hall, bure' no bench;
But water, man-is thirst to quench.
Beth there no men but two,
Hely and Enoch also.
Clinglich may they go'
Where there wonneth no men mo,
In Cokaygne is meat and drink,
Without care, how" and swink."
The meat is trie," the drink so clear,
To noon, russin," and suppere;
I sigge" (for sooth both were1)
There n'is land on earth its peer.
1 "The Dark Ages," by Rev. S. R. Maitland.
9 "The sense seems to be," says Ellis, "it is easy for them to be clean
and of pure heart, because they are only two."
13 A meal between dinner and supper.
Under heaven n'is land I wis
Of so mochil joy and bliss.
There is many swete sight:
All is day, n'is there no night;
There n'is baret' nother strife,
N'is there no death ac2 ever life.
There n'is lack of meat nor cloth ;
There n'is man nor woman wroth;
There n'is serpent, wolf, no fox,
Horse nor capil,' cow nor ox;
There n'is sheep, nor swine, nor goat;
Nor none horwyla, God it wot,
Nother harate,' nother stud:
The land is full of other good.
N'is there fly, flea, nor louse,
In cloth, town, bed nor house.
There n'is dunnir, sleet, nor hail;
Nor none vile worm, nor snail :
Nor none storm, rain, nor wind:
There n'is man nor woman blind:
Ok' all is game, joy and glee.
Well is him that there may be!
There beth rivers, great and fine,
Of oil, milk, honey, and wine.
Water serveth there to no thing
But to siyt" and to washing.
There is al manner fruit:
All of pasties beth the walls,
Of flesh, of fish, and a rich meat,
The likefullest that man may eat.
Flouren-cakes beth the shingles all
Of church, cloister, bowers, and hall.
The pinnes' beth fat puddings,
Rich meat to princes and kings.
Man may there of eat enoy,
All with riyt, and nought with woy."
All is common to young and old,
To stout and stern, meek and bold.
There beth birdes many and fele,'
Throstle, thrush, and nightingale,
Chalandre and wood-wale,*
And other birdes without tale,
That stinteth never by har might
Merry to sing day and night.
Yet I do you mo to wit,
The geese yroasted on the spit
Flee to that abbey, God it wot
And gredith," Geese all hot! all hot!"
N'is no speech of no drink;
2 At the right of all and not weighed. 4 Gold-finch and wood-lark. 5 Crieth.
Than the monkes, high of mood,
With hir sleeves and hir hood.
Whan the abbot seeth ham flee
That he holds for much glee.
Ac natheless, all there among,
He biddeth ham light to eve song.
The monkes lighteth nought adown,
Ac far fleth into randun ;'
Whan the abbot him yseeth
That his monkes from him fleeth,
He taketh maiden of the route,
And turneth up her white toute ;'
And beateth the tabor with his hand,
To make his monkes light to land.
When his monkes that yseeth
To the maid down hi' fleeth,
And goeth the wench all aboute
And thwacketh all her white toute;
And sith after hir swink,
Wendeth meekly home to drink.
Another abbey is thereby,
Forsooth a fair great nunnery:
Up a river of sweet milk
Where is plenty great of silk.
When the summer's day is hote,
The young nunnes taketh a boat,
And doth hem forth in that rivere
Both with oares and with steer.
When hi beth far from the abbey
Hi maketh ham naked for to play,
2 An equivocal gong, but as persuasive to the young monks, as the modern dinner gong is to the epicure.
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