"And Jankin oure clerk was on of tho: As helpe me God, whan that I saw him go Aftir the bere, me thought he had a paire Of legges and of feet, so clene and faire, That all my herte I yave unto his hold. He was, I trow, a twenty winter old, And I was fourty, if I shal say soth.... As helpe me God, I was a lusty on, And faire, and riche, and yonge, and well begon."[224] "Yonge," what a word! Was human delusion ever more happily painted? How life-like is all, and how easy the tone. It is the satire of marriage. You will find it twenty times in Chaucer. Nothing more is wanted to exhaust the two subjects of French mockery than to unite with the satire of marriage the satire of religion. We find it here; and Rabelais is not more bitter. The monk whom Chaucer paints is a hypocrite, a jolly fellow, who knows good inns and jovial hosts better than the poor and the hospitals: "A Frere there was, a wanton and a mery... Ful wel beloved, and familier was he With frankeleins over all in his contree, And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun... Full swetely herde he confession, And pleasant was his absolution. He was an esy man to give penance, Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance: For unto a poure ordre for to give Is signe that a man is wel yshrive.... And knew wel the tavernes in every toun, And every hosteler and gay tapstere, Better than a lazar and a beggere.... It is not honest, it may not avance, As for to delen with no swich pouraille, But all with riche and sellers of vitaille.... For many a man so hard is of his herte, He may not wepe, although him sore smerte. Therfore in stede of weping and praieres, Men mote give silver to the poure freres."[225] This lively irony had an exponent before in Jean de Meung. But Chaucer pushes it further, and gives it life and motion. His monk begs from house to house, holding out his wallet: "In every hous he gan to pore and prie, And begged mele and chese, or elles corn.... 'Yeve us a bushel whete, or malt, or reye, A Goddes kichel, or a trippe of chese, Or elles what you list, we may not chese; A Goddes halfpeny, or a masse peny; Or yeve us of your braun, if ye have any, A dagon of your blanket, leve dame, Our suster dere (lo here I write your name).'... And whan that he was out at dore, anon, He planed away the names everich on."[226] He has kept for the end of his circuit, Thomas, one of his most liberal clients. He finds him in bed, and ill; here is excellent fruit to suck and squeeze: "'God wot,' quod he, 'laboured have I ful sore. And specially for thy salvation, Have I sayd many a precious orison.... I have this day ben at your chirche at messe... And ther I saw our dame, a, wher is she?'"[227] The dame enters: "This frere ariseth up ful curtisly, And hire embraceth in his armes narwe, And kisseth hire swete and chirketh as a sparwe."[228]... Then, in his sweetest and most caressing voice, he compliments her, and says: