povc2008


THE FORMER AGE	THE FORMER AGE
Geoffrey Chaucer	trans. Peter Dean
A blisful lyf, a paisible and a swete Ledden the peples in the former age; They helde hem payed of fruites, that they ete, Which that the feldes yave hem by usage; They ne were nat forpampred with outrage; Unknowen was the quern and eek the melle; They eten mast, hawes, and swich poundage, And dronken water of the colde well. Yit nas the ground nat wounded with the plough, But corn up-sprong, unsowe of mannes hond, The which they guiden, and eete nat halfe y-nogh. No man yit knew the forwes of his lond; No man the fyr out of the flint yit fond; Un-korven and un-grobbed lay the vyne; No man yit in the morter spyces grond To clarre, ne to sause of galantyne. No mader, welde, or wood no litestere Ne knew; the flees was of his former hewe; No flesh ne wiste offence of egge or spere; No coyn ne knew man which was fals or trewe; No ship yit karf the wawes grene and blewe; No marchaunt yit ne fette outlandish ware; No trompes for the werres folk ne knewe, No toures heye, and walles rounde or square. What sholde it han avayled to werrye? Ther lay no profit, there was no richesse, But cursed was the tyme, I dar wel seye, That men first dide hir swety bysinesse To grobbe up metal, lurkinge in darknesse, And in the riveres first gemmes soghte. Allas! than sprong up al the cursednesse Of covetyse, that first our sorwe broghte! Thise tyraunts putte hem gladly nat in pres, No wildnesse, ne no busshes for to winne Ther poverte is, as seith Diogenes, Ther as vitaile is eek so skars and thinne That noght but mast or apples in therinne. But ther as bagges been and fat vitaile, Ther wol they gon, and spare for no sinne With al hir ost the cite for t’assaile. Yit were no paleis-chaumbres, ne non halles; In caves and in wodes softe and swete Slepten this blissed folk with-oute walles, On gras or leves in parfit quiete. No doun of fetheres, ne no bleched shete Was kid to hem, but in seurtee they slepte; Hir hertes were al oon, with-oute galles, Everich of hem his feith to other kepte. Unforged was the hauberk and the plate; The lambish peple, voyd of alle vyce, Hadden no fantasye to debate, But ech of hem wolde other wel cheryce; No pryde, non envye, non avaryce, No lord, no taylage by no tyrannye; Humblesse and pees, good feith, the emperice, Fulfilled erthe of olde curtesye. Yit was not Jupiter the likerous, That first was fader of delicacye, Come in this world; ne Nembrot, desirous To reynen, had nat maad his toures hye. Allas, allas! now may men wepe and crye! For in our dayes nis but covetyse And doublenesse, and tresoun and envye, Poysoun, manslauhtre, and mordre in sondry wyse.	A peaceful, safe, idyllic life, so sweet, The people led in that old former age; It was sufficient that the food to eat Was yielded by fields by custom at every stage; Excess was never a cause for any outrage; The grindstone was unknown, and the mill too; Such food as mast and haw-berries were the rage, And water from the cold well was their due. Then was the ground still untilled by the plough, Corn springing up, unsown by any hand, They rubbed for flour, and ate just anyhow. No man had yet driven furrows through his land; No man found fire from flint at his command; Untrimmed and unprepared still lay the vine; No man had yet crushed spices on demand To clear, nor to make sauce of galantyne. Of madder colour or mix or wode no dyer Knew anything; the fleece stayed natural hue; No creature feared attack whether by egg or spear; There was no spot that hid man false or true; No ship yet butted through waves green or blue; No merchants yet made their outlandish ware; No trumpet-calls to war the people knew, No massive towers with walls round or square. What profit could there ever have been in war? Nothing to gain there, there was no richness, But curséd was the time, let me aver, That men first set about their sweaty business Of grubbing up metals lurking in darkness, And in the flowing rivers sought for gems. Alas! Then sprang up all the wickedness Of covetousness from which our sorrow stems. These tyrants were by no means keen to see The wilderness, nor setting plants to win, As Diogenes said, in places of poverty Where drink and foodstuffs are so scarce and thin And nothing but mast or apples is therein. But where the sacks are full and food a-plenty That’s where they go, ready for any sin, With all their gang to rob the city empty. There were no palace chambers then, nor halls; In caves and forests that were soft and sweet These happy people slept without needing walls, On grass and leaves their quiet rest complete. No down of feathers, nor no white bleached sheet Wrapped them close, but securely still they slept; Their hearts were unified, beyond envy’s calls, Their trust unswerving in each other they kept. Unfashioned was both armour and coat of mail; The lamb-like people, free from any sin, Had no deep secret impulses to rail, But each would treat all others as his kin; No pride, no envy, no desire to win, No lording it, no taxing tyranny; Humility and peace, good faith, where rules begin, Brought earth its fill of ancient courtesy. This was before the lecherous god, Jove, Who gave the world a taste for luxury, Came into being; before Nembrot, who strove To take command, had built his towers high. Alas, alas! Now let men weep and cry! For in our day there’s naught but covetousness, Duplicity, treason and envy about us lie, Poison, manslaughter and murder in various dress.

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