The monk wanted to stroll,
Strike out down alleyways,
Then through streets, yes, out to the wide ones.

Meeting, greeting the monk came a group of three,
All old women, those old women,
Who bowed low to him.

His black cowl 
He pulled over his eyes. Nonny, nonny,
Pulled down low: “It’s not my business
To want to marry,
 My job is salvation.”

Meeting the monk came a group of three,
A group of three younger women.
From the black cowl’s rim
He peeked a little.

Meeting, greeting the monk came a group of three, 
Three young girls, wow such girls!
The black cowl
He threw on the ground. Nonny, nonny,
Threw on the ground. “I’ve had my fill
Of monkdom, prayers to God,
Isn’t it time for a good young fellow to get married?
Isn’t it time to get married?
Isn’t it time for a good young fellow to get married?
Me to a darling, to a red-cheeked, to a girl?
Nonny, nonny, to a girl? Hey!