A Gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine. - Edmund Spenser

Lo I the man, whose Muse whilome did maske, As time her taught in lowly Shepheards weeds, Am now enforst a far vnfitter taske, For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds, And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds; Whose prayses hauing slept in silence long, Me, all too meane, the sacred Muse areeds To blazon broad emongst her learned throng: Fierce warres and faithfull loues shall moralize my song. 2 Helpe then, ô holy Virgin chiefe of nine, Thy weaker Nouice to performe thy will,

But Justice, though her dome [doom] she doe prolong, Yet at the last she will her owne cause right.

Deare knight, as deare, as euer knight was deare,
That all these sorrowes suffer for my sake,
High heuen behold the tedious toyle, ye for me take . . .