A Fellow of Oxford, was there also,
Who had started his studies long ago.
His horse was as thin as a rake I swear
And as for him there was little fat there.
He had a hollow, grave look about him.
His over-cloak was all threadbare and thin
Since he hadn't yet found a curacy,
And in worldly affairs was all at sea.
For he would much rather have by his bed,
Twenty good books, all bound in black or red,
Of Aristotle and his philosophy,
Than rich robes, or fiddle, or gay psaltery.
A metaphysician not alchemist,
With not much gold to be seen in his chest,
Since all that he was given by his friends
He spent on books, on paper and on pens
And then would earnestly begin to pray
For those who helped him on his learned way.
Nothing was more important than learning.
His speech was a short and elegant thing,
For he used as few words as would suffice
Being brief and pithy and always wise.
His discourse was filled with moral virtue,
He loved to study, and loved teaching too.
A Clerk ther was of Oxenford also,
That unto logyk hadde longe ygo.
As leene was his hors as is a rake
And he nas nat right fat, I undertake.
But looked holwe and therto sobrely.
Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy;
For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice,
Ne was so worldly for to have office.
For hym was levere have at his beddes heed
Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed,
Of Aristotle and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie.
But al be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre
But al that he myghte of his freendes hente,
On bookes and on lernynge he it spente,
And bisily gan for the soules preye
Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye.
Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede.
Noght o word spak he moore than was neede,
And that was seyd in forme and reverence,
And short and quyk, and ful of hy sentence;
Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.