Читать книгу A Satire Anthology - Wells Carolyn - Страница 55

I  AM a friar of orders gray,

And down in the valleys I take my way;

I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip;

Good store of venison fills my scrip;

My long bead-roll I merrily chant;

Where’er I walk no money I want;

And why I’m so plump the reason I tell:

Who leads a good life is sure to live well.

What baron or squire,

Or knight of the shire,

Lives half so well as a holy friar?

After supper, of heaven I dream,

But that is a pullet and clouted cream;

Myself by denial I mortify —

With a dainty bit of a warden-pie;

I’m clothed in sackcloth for my sin —

With old sack wine I’m lined within;

A chirping cup is my matin song,

And the vesper’s bell is my bowl, ding-dong.

What baron or squire,

Or knight of the shire,

Lives half so well as a holy friar?