A gentle knight was pricking on the plain;
He rode to battle with a sword and shield.
The Faerie Queene was left in lots of pain;
He carried more than arms onto the field...
Her cross was one more weapon he could wield.
The wind and rain deterred him not one bit;
To any foe he knew he would not yield,
So upright in the saddle he did sit.
Alas, by death's dark arrow he was hit.