Original Text

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A MONK ther was, a fair for the maistrye

An out-rydere, that lovede venerye;
A manly man, to been an abbot able.
Ful many a deyntee hors hadde he in stable:
And, whan he rood, men mighte his brydel here
Ginglen in a whistling wind as clere,
And eek as loude as dooth the chapel-belle,
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle.
The reule of seint Maure or of seint Beneit,
By-cause that it was old and som-del streit,
This ilke monk leet olde thinges pace,
And held after the newe world the space.
He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,
That seith, that hunters been nat holy men;
Ne that a monk, whan he is cloisterlees,
Is lykned til a fish that is waterlees;
This is to seyn, a monk out of his cloistre.
But thilke text held he nat worth an oistre;
And I seyde, his opinioun was good.
What sholde he studie, and make him-selven wood,
Upon a book in cloistre alwey to poure,
Or swinken with his handes, and laboure,
As Austin bit? How shal the world be served?
Lat Austin have his swink to him reserved.
Therfore he was a pricasour aright;
Grehoundes he hadde, as swifte as fowel in flight;
Of priking and of hunting for the hare
Was al his lust, for no cost wolde he spare.
I seigh his sleves purfiled at the hond
With grys, and that the fyneste of a lond;
And, for to festne his hood under his chin,
He hadde of gold y-wroght a curious pin:
A love-knotte in the gretter ende ther was.
His heed was balled, that shoon as any glas,
And eek his face, as he had been anoint.
He was a lord ful fat and in good point;
His eyen stepe, and rollinge in his heed,
That stemed as a forneys of a leed;
His botes souple, his hors in greet estat.
Now certeinly he was a fair prelat;
He was nat pale as a for-pyned goost.
A fat swan loved he best of any roost.
His palfrey was as broun as is a berye.

Modern Text
There was also a MONK, a splendid chap,
who inspected his monasterys lands. He
was a mans man who loved to hunt and
who might one day become the head of his
monastery. He kept many elegant horses,
and when he rode them you could hear
their bridle bells jingle as clearly as the
bells of his monastery. He liked all things
modern and new and didnt care for old
things, especially St. Benedicts rule that
monks should live simply and devote
themselves to prayer and work. He didnt
give a damn for the notion that says monks
cant be hunters or anything but
churchmen. I myself agreed with him. Why
should he drive himself crazy reading
books and working inside all the time?
How is that going to accomplish anything
useful? To hell with St. Augustines stupid
rules. Instead, the monk was a horseman,
and he kept fast greyhounds. He loved to
go hunting, and his favorite catch was a
fine fat swan. He spared no expense
pursuing this hobby. It was therefore no
surprise to see that the finest fur lined the
cuffs of his sleeves or that he used a fancy
golden pin to fasten his hood. In fact, it
appeared to be a love knot, a symbol of
enduring love. He had a shiny bald head
and his face seemed to glisten. His eyes
rolled about in his head and seemed to burn
like fire. His brown horse was well
groomed, his boots were well worn, and his
skin looked healthy, not pale like a ghosts.
Indeed, he was a fine-looking churchman.