Wait a minute! Now, I thought, what did that remind me of?
I turned a few pages, and read.
A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine,
Y clad in mightie armes and siluer shielde,
Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain,
The cruell markes of many a bloudy fielde;
Yet armes till that time did he never wield:
His angry steede did chide his foming bitt,
As much disdaining to the curbe to yield:
Fully iolly knight he seemed, and fiare did sitt,
As one for knightly guists and fierce encounters fit.
A thrill of familiarity came to me, then. That odd spelling, that antiquated language, somehow very beautiful. And then I remembered—concupiscence!I read down, looking for the word. But instead I came to,
To winne him worship, and her grace to haue,
Which of all earthly things he most did craue;
And euer as he rode, his hart did earne
To proue his puissance in battel brave…