Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Charles Brockden Brown (1771–1810). Edgar Huntley; or, Memoirs of a Sleep-Walker. 1857.

The Minor Poems

IX. The Former Age

A BLISFUL lyf, a paisible and a sweteLedden 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 pounage,And dronken water of the colde welle.Yit nas the ground nat wounded with the plough,But corn up-sprong, unsowe of mannes hond,The which they gniden, and eete nat half y-nough.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 grondTo clarre, ne to sause of galantyne.No mader, welde, or wood no litestereNe 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 werreye?Ther lay no profit, ther was no richesse,But cursed was the tyme, I dar wel seye,That men first dide hir swety bysinesseTo grobbe up metal, lurkinge in darknesse,And in the riveres first gemmes soghte.Allas! than sprong up al the cursednesseOf covetyse, that first our sorwe broghte!Thise tyraunts putte hem gladly nat in pres,No wildnesse, ne no busshes for to winneTher poverte is, as seith Diogenes,Ther as vitaile is eek so skars and thinneThat noght but mast or apples is ther-inne.But, ther as bagges been and fat vitaile,Ther wol they gon, and spare for no sinneWith al hir ost the cite for tassaile.Yit were no paleis-chaumbres, ne non halles;In caves and [in] wodes softe and sweteSlepten this blissed folk with-oute walles,On gras or leves in parfit quiete.No doun of fetheres, ne no bleched sheteWas 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 Iupiter the likerous,That first was fader of delicacye,Come in this world; ne Nembrot, desirousTo 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.