And for he was a knight auntrous,
He nolde slepen in non hous,
But liggen in his hode;
His brighte helm was his wonger,
And by him baiteth his dextrer
Of herbes fyne and gode.
On the way he lived like a tramp,
Stopping each night to set up camp,
Instead of sleeping in a bed.
The ground gave him quite a cramp,
Did he complain? No, he was a champ,
As long as he was well fed.
Him-self drank water of the wel,
As did the knight sir Percivel,
So worthy under wede,
Til on a day——
He would drink water from a well,
As knights do in the tales they tell,
About Sir Percival.
It just so happened—