Boy, Mom, did Jeff ever describe me aright!

A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man,
That fro the tyme that he first bigan
To riden out, he loved chivalrie,
Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie.
Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,
And therto hadde he riden, no man ferre,
As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse,
And evere honoured for his worthynesse....
And though that he were worthy, he was wys,
And of his port as meeke as is a mayde;
He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde
In al his lyf unto no maner wight;
He was a verray parfit gentil knyght.

I remember when Jeff wrote that, Mom. We were sitting around the Tabard in Southwark, drinking ale and telling lies when Jeff says to me, "In all seriousness, I'm going to put you into my new poems about pilgrims to Canterbury. I'll call you a knight, for you embody all of the good knights are supposed to have and none of the vices to which they are prone."