And therein stick’d a lily flow’r; God shield his corse from shand! 3922 And, for he was a knight auntroús, 3923 He wouldë sleepen in none house, But liggen 3924 in his hood, His brightë helm was his wangér, 3925 And by him baited his destrér 3926 Of herbës fine and good. Himself drank water of the well, As did the knight Sir Percivel, 3927 So worthy under weed; Till on a day⁠— ⋮