In digitale shadës, the knyght doth stray, Hys mappe wyth lies hath ledde astray. The linkes are loste, the sygnes be gone, Yet forth he rydes, wyth courage wonne. The treës do bowe in silent scorne, But knyghtes bewepe not pages forlorne. For honour ys borne in the seekynge of truth, And knyghtes endure wyth a herte of youth.