And thus, while the people were becoming more clamorous for instruction, and while Wiclif was meditating the great boon of a translated Bible, which, like a noonday sun, should irradiate the dark places and disclose the loathsome groups and filthy manifestations of cell and cloister, Chaucer was administering the wholesome medicine of satire and contempt.

He displays the typical monk given up to every luxury, the costly black dress with fine fur edgings, the love-knot which fastens his hood, and his preference for pricking and hunting the hare, over poring into a stupid book in a cloister.
THE FRIAR AND THE SOMPNOUR .-- His satire extends also to the friar, who has not even that semblance of virtue which is the tribute of the hypocrite to our holy faith.

He is not even the demure rascal conceived by Thomson in his Castle of Indolence: ...

the first amid the fry, * * * * * A little round, fat, oily man of God, Who had a roguish twinkle in his eye, When a tight maiden chanced to trippen by, * * * * * Which when observed, he shrunk into his mew, And straight would recollect his piety anew.
But Chaucer's friar is a wanton and merry scoundrel, taking every license, kissing the wives and talking love-talk to the girls in his wanderings, as he begs for his Church and his order.

His hood is stuffed with trinkets to give them; he is worthily known as the best beggar of his house; his eyes alight with wine, he strikes his little harp, trolls out funny songs and love-ditties.