Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, And is brought home at evensong prick’d through with a spear; I confess him in haste⁠—for his lady desires No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s.

Your monarch?⁠—Pshaw! many a prince has been known To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown, But which of us e’er felt the idle desire To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!

The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone, The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own; He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires, For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s.

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums; For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.