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"At length they chanced to meet upon the way An aged sire, in long black weeds yelad, His feet all bare, his beard all hoary grey, And by his belt his book he hanging had, Sober he seemed, and very sagely sad, And to the ground his eyes were lowly bent, Simple in show, and void of malice bad, And all the way he prayed, as he went, And often knocked his breast, as one that did repent."
These terrible shapes, half goat, half human, struck her dumb with horror: "Ne word to peak, ne joint to move she had." "The savage nation feel her secret smart And read her sorrow in her count'nance sad; Their frowning foreheads with rough horns yelad, And rustic horror all aside do lay, And gently grinning shew a semblance glad To comfort her, and feat to put away."
He begins: "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.
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