Our Monk set but little store by the strict regulations of the good old saints; holding rather with modern opinions. For instance, he cared not the value of a straw for that one which denies that a monk can be a hunter and at the same time a holy man; or, that out of his cloister he is like a fish out of water. And, indeed, there is some reason in his objection; for, as he would say, 'Why should he pore all day over his books till his brain is turned, or apply himself to handicraft labour as St. Augustin ordains? Let St. Augustin stick to his day-labour!' For himself, he was a good hard rider outright, and kept his greyhounds, which were as swift as swallows before rain. Coursing was his sole pleasure, and to gratify it he spared no cost.
I noticed that his sleeves were embroidered with the finest grey fur; and his hood fastened under his chin with a curiously chased gold
horses' bridles. In the Faery Queene the caparison of a lady's steed is thus described:
With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,
Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.'
F
