Chapter 11

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…