And down in the valleys I take my way,
I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip,
Good store of venison fills my scrip;
My long bead roll I merrily chaunt,
Wherever I walk no money I want;
And why I’m so plump the reason I’ll tell—
Who leads a good life is sure to live well.
What baron or squire,
Or knight of the shire,
Lives half so well as a holy friar.