In a shady nook, with his learned book, The friar sat with a sanctified look; By his side was rod that was shaped like a crook, Tied to which was a line and a well-baited hook Which he dipped in the stream of a rippling brook. Now this friar, no doubt, is a lover of trout, For he chuckles with joy as he 's pulling them out; For this savoury fish makes a delicate dish, As nice as the greatest of monarchs could wish. But there 's one thing he fears-- It may come to the ears Of the Abbot severe, Who would make him pay dear For thus giving way to his base appetite! When he knows very well He should be in his cell, And not thus be staying The forest away in, In the hope that a nibble may end in a bite. For this Abbot was such a strict disciplinarian That roast beef he scorned as the foulest of carrion. His food was the coarsest of bread, and boil'd rice, And half-dirty water, which could not be nice. And had he but known that the friar ate trout, Would have made a most terrible riot and rout; And would not have been quiet Till he'd alter'd his diet, And promised he'd never go angling more. Which to one of his taste, you may be pretty sure, Would have been a great bother, a plague, and a bore. 'T was a morning in May, And a beautiful day, The little cock sparrows were chirping away, When the friar, awoke by the birds or the fleas, Quickly rose, gave a yawn, and a cough and a sneeze, And threw himself into his clothes with great ease. But as he was dressing in very great haste, Much time spent in washing he thought would be waste; So a lick and a promise was just to his taste. For he meant to have rose Ere the first of the crows From under her snug wing had popped out her nose. But to finish a dream he had slumb'ring kept, And thus, long past the hour he intended, had slept. So now from his chamber with speed forth he crept, And bent his course the forest through, Whose branches, spangled o'er with dew, Being shook, soon made him sparkle too. But nought would he heed were he wet to the skin; It is not for his outside he cares, but his in; And he thinks of the feast he shall have with a grin As he reaches the spot in the thick forest where The trees had been cut down and left a place bare. And soon his rod finds, which with excellent care He had hidden, lest others the sport too might share. As I told you before, by his side was a book; But not that within it he e'er wished to look, For his mind was in truth at the point of his hook. But, to form an excuse, It might be of great use If any should happen that part by to stray; For it then would appear Unto them very clear, He to study had fled from the world far away. Now, lest some fair reader be wishing to hear How he got his fish dress'd, I will pause awhile here