Chapter 3 3

A monk ther was, a fayre for the maistríe,[59]

An outrider, that loved venerie;[60]

A manly man, to ben an abbot able.

Ful many a deintè[61] hors hadde he in stable:

And whan he rode, men might his bridel here

[007] Gingeling in a whistling wind as clere,

And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle,

Ther as this lord was keeper of the celle.

The reule of Seint Maure and of Seint Beneit,

Because that it was olde and somdele streit,

This ilkè monk lette oldè thingès pace,[62]

And held after the newè world the space.

He yaf not of the text a pulled hen,[63]

That saith, that hunters ben not holy men;

Ne that a monk, whan he is reckèles,[64]

Is like to a fish that is waterles;

That is to say, a monk out of his cloistre.

This ilkè text held he not worth an oistre.

And I say his opinion was good.

What? shulde he studie, and make himselven wood[65]

Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore,

Or swinken[66] with his hondès, and laboùre,

As Austin bit?[67] how shal the world be served?

Let Austin have his swink to him reserved.

Therfore he was a prickasoure[68] a right:

Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight:

Of pricking[69] and of hunting for the hare

Was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.

I saw his sleves purfiled[70] at the hond

With gris,[71] and that the finest of the lond.

And for to fasten his hood under his chinne,

He hadde of gold ywrought a curious pinne;

A love-knotte in the greter end ther was.

His hed was balled,[72] and shone as any glas,

And eke his face, as it hadde ben anoint.

He was a lord ful fat and in good point.

[008] His eyen stepe,[73] and rolling in his hed,

That stemed as a forneis of led.[74]

His bootès souple, his hors in gret estat:

Now certainly he was a fayre prelát.

He was not pale as a forpined[75] gost.

A fat swan loved he best of any rost,

His palfrey was as broune as is a bery.