Greyhounds he had as swift as fowls in flight;
Of riding and of hunting for the hare
Was his delight, for no cost would he spare.
* * * * * *
He was not pale as a tormented ghost,
A fat swan loved he best of any roast.
Chaucer’s friar was likewise a wanton and merry man, who knew the taverns well in every town.
His tippet was aye stuffèd full of knives,
And pins also, fit for to give fair wives.
And certainly he had a merry note,