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From Legends and Satires From Mediæval Literature, edited by Martha Hale Shackford; Ginn and Company; Boston; 1913; pp. 128-130.
Far in the sea west of Spain is a land called Cockaygne. There is no land except the kingdom of heaven its equal in happiness and goodness; though paradise is joyful and bright, Cockaygne is still fairer. What is there in paradise but grass and flowers and green branches? Though joy and great pleasure are in paradise, yet there is no food but fruit; there is no hall, no bower, no bench, and nothing but water to quench one’s thirst. Only two men live there, Enoch and Elias; a wretched life must they lead where no other men dwell.
In Cockaygne is meat and drink, without care or trouble or toil. The meat is dainty; the drink is pure wine at noon and at supper. This land has no peer on earth; verily there is no place under heaven so full of joy and bliss.
In that land is many a sweet sight; it is always day and never night; there is no strife nor quarrel; there is no death, but only lasting life; there is no lack of food nor dress; there is no angry man nor woman; there is no serpent, wolf, nor fox, horse nor colt, ox nor cow; there is no sheep nor swine nor goat nor steed nor stables. There are no flies nor fleas nor other insects in town or bed or house, no serpents nor snails, nor is there thunder, sleet, nor hail, storm, rain, nor wind; there is no blind man nor woman, but everywhere is jest and joy and glee. Well fares it with him who there may dwell.
129Rivers flow there, wide and fair, of oil, of milk, of honey, and of wine. Water serves only two uses, — to look at, and to use for washing. There are many kinds of fruit, and everywhere is solace and delight.
There is a fair abbey of white monks and of gray; there are bowers and halls; the walls are all of pasties, of flesh, of fish, and of rich meats, — the very best a man may eat. Flour cakes are the shingles of church, cloister, bower, and hall. The pinnacles are fat puddings, rich food for princes and kings; men may eat as much as they please, without any danger. All things are in common to both old and young, to strong and weak, to meek and bold.
There is a cloister fair and light, broad and long and beautiful. All the pillars of that cloister are of crystal, with bases and capitals of green jasper and red coral. In the meadow is a tree, most pleasing to the sight. The root is ginger and galingale; the shoots are all of zedoary; the finest maces are the flowers; the rind is sweet smelling cinnamon; and the fruit is clove of goodly taste. Cubebs are not lacking, either. There are roses red of hue, and lilies, also, fair to see. They never fade by day nor by night, this should be a pleasant sight. There are four wells in the abbey, made of triacle and aromatic plants, of balm and also of spiced wine, ever fed by underground streams. Precious stones and gold are there, sapphire, pearl, carbuncle, astrion, emerald, liguros and chrysoprase, beryl, onyx and topaz, amethyst and chrysolite, chalcedony and epetite. There are many birds, — the throstle, thrush, and nightingale, the lark and the woodpecker, and other birds without number, that never cease singing merrily day nor night.
130More, however, there is to tell you; geese roasted on the spit fly to that abbey and cry: “Geese, all hot, all hot.” They bring plenty of garlick, the best you could ever look for. The larks, that are familiar food, light in a man’s mouth, all stewed daintily and powdered with clove and cinnamon. There is never any question of drink, but every one takes enough, yet does not toil.
When the monks go to mass, all the glass windows turn to bright crystal, to give the monks more light. When the masses are all said, the crystal turns again to glass, in the state that it was before. . . . [The rest of the poem satirizes the morals of the monks.]
The meaning of Cockaygne is usually understood to be “cookery.” This satire upon the mediæval monks was probably derived from a French original. It illustrates the contemptuous tolerance of that day for the greed, the gluttony, the slothfulness, and the immorality of the inmates of the monastery. The satire directed against literary conventions of the day is particularly amusing, if we notice how the various catalogues of animals, birds, spices, flowers, jewels, and food parody similar catalogues in the romances and in the poems describing paradise. The poem was written, in the short couplet, about the middle of the thirteenth century. It is printed in E. Maetzner’s “Altenglische Sprachproben,” I, 148. Berlin, 1867. Wright’s “St. Patrick’s Purgatory,” London, 1844, contains an interesting chapter on this and similar burlesques.