“A GENTLE KNIGHT was pricking on the plain,
Yelad in mighty arms and silver shield,
Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain,
The cruel marks of many a bloody field;
Yet arms till that time did he never wield.
His angry steed did chide his foaming bit,
As much disdaining to the curb to yield:
Full jolly knight he seem’d, and fair did sit,
As one for knightly jousts and fierce encounters fit.
But on his breast a bloody cross he bore,
The dear remembrance of his dying Lord,
For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore,
And dead as living ever him ador’d;
Upon his shield the like was also scor’d.
For soveraine hope, which in his helpe he had:
Right faithful true he was in deed and word,
But of his cheer did seem too solemne sad;
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.
— Edmund Spenser, The Faery Queen
