The Friar of Orders Grey

I am the Friar of Orders gray,

And down in the valley I take my way,

I pull not blackberry, haw, nor hip,

God store of venison does fill my scrip;

My long bead roll I merrily chant,

Where-ever I walk no money I want.

And why I'm so plump, the reason I'll 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 heav'n I dream,

But that is fat pullets and clouted cream;

Myself by denial I mortify,

With a dainty bit of warden pye;

I'm cloth'd in sackcloth for my sin,

With old sackwine I'm lined within.

A chirping cup is my matin song,

And the Wesper bell is bowl, ding, dong.

What Baron, or Squire, or Knight of the Shire,

Lives half so well as a holy Friar.