Woe unto hym that seeketh a path, Yet fyndeth but shadowes and digitale wrath. The knyght doth ride where no page doth dwell, A queste wythout end, in a web wythout spell. The treës they bowe, yet gyve no clue, The forest ys vast, the traille untrewe. O noble knyght, thy queste ys not vayne, For honour ys borne in the searchëd payne. Though links be broken, and pathways be lost, Thy journey hath worthe, whate’er the cost.