“But the mother, yea, and that also in good earnest:  ’Peace, son,’ saith she, ‘I think he be some of the Ambassadors’ fools.’

“Some found fault with their golden chains, as to no use nor purpose; being so small and weak, that a bondman might easily break them; and again so wide and large that, when it pleased him, he might cast them off, and run away at liberty whither he would.

“But when the Ambassadors had been there a day or two, and saw so great abundance of gold so lightly esteemed, yea, in no less reproach than it was with them in honour; and, besides that, more gold in the chains and gyves of one fugitive bondman, than all the costly ornaments of their three was worth; then began a-bate their courage, and for very shame laid away all that gorgeous array whereof they were so proud; and especially when they had talked familiarly with the Utopians, and had learned all their fashions and opinions.  For they marvel that any man be so foolish as to have delight and pleasure in the glistering of a little trifling stone, which may behold any of the stars, or else the sun itself; or that any man is so mad as to count himself the nobler for the smaller or finer thread of wool, which self-same wool (be it now in never so fine a spun thread) did once a sheep wear, and yet was she all that time no other thing than a sheep.”

Chapter XXXVIII THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS MORE

THERE is much that is quaint, much that is deeply wise, in More’s Utopia, still no one is likely to agree with all he says, or to think that we could all be happy in a world such as he describes.  For one thing, to those of us who love color it would seem a dull world indeed were we all forced to dress in coarse-spun, undyed sheep’s wool, and if jewels and gold with all their lovely lights and gleamings were but the signs of degradation.  Each one who reads it may find something in the Utopia that he would rather have otherwise.  But each one, too, will find something to make him think.

More was not the first to write about a happy land where every one lived in peace and where only justice reigned.  And if he got some of his ideas of the island from the discoveries of the New World, he got many more from the New Learning.  For long before, Plato, a Greek writer, had told of a land very like Utopia in his book called the Republic.  And the New Learning had made that book known to the people of England.

We think of the Utopia as English Literature, yet we must remember that More wrote it in Latin, and it was not translated into English until several years after his death.  The first English translation was made by Ralph Robinson, and although since then there have been other translation which in some ways are more correct, there has never been one with more charm.  For Robinson’s quaint English keeps for us something of the spirit of More’s time and of More’s self in a way no modern and more perfect translation can.