O noble knyght of digitale lande, Why dost thou search, thy mappe in hande? The trees do bend, they sygnes do skew, Yet thyn herte remayneth trewe. No page doth lye in this darkë woode, But courage spredeth wher knyghtes have stood. For every questioun, lost or stray’d, Ys the seed of valour lay’d. Rydë thou on, o knyght so fayre, For truth and honoure are ever thyne ayre.