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 morfify —
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?
(John O Keefe)
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Based on Topics: Life Poems, Heaven Poems, Dreams Poems, Sin Poems, Reasoning PoemsBased on Keywords: clouted, pullet, bead-roll