Shakespeare.
One chill December morning, as certain lay brothers of the monastery of Crowland were engaged gathering faggots in the woods to feed the fires of the Abbey, they came across a strange-looking figure, sitting on a fallen tree and leaning heavily against another. His cheeks were blanched like the snow, and his long red hair and beard was falling unkempt and matted over his shoulders and chest. He seemed sadly worn and helpless, with strength utterly exhausted; but beneath his shaggy eyebrows his eyes glowed with a strange, unnatural light. Beside him sat a half-starved hound whining piteously, and licking the cold and emaciated fingers of his master. The churls gazed upon the stranger in abject terror, thinking him to be some satyr or spirit of the wood, who would surely work them ill; but as the figure beckoned them feebly to approach nearer, with much trembling and irresolution they drew near enough to hear his voice.
"Can you tell me if I am near the monastery of Crowland?" said he feebly.
"You are not many bowshots from thence," they replied.
"Can you tell me whether Ethel the Saxon, daughter of Beowulf, dwells there?"
"Torfrida, wife of Hereward, and Godiva, wife of Leofric, are here; and there is a younger one called Ethel, with the flaxen hair. She is a holy woman, much given to penances and fasting, and she is very good to the poor; is it her you seek?"
"I have come a long way to seek this Ethel, and I am sorely wounded and very faint. Could ye, for love or charity, carry me in your bullock cart, for I have no further strength, and must perish shortly if ye leave me here."
So, assured by the evident helplessness of this strange being, the churls came a little nearer, and asked him some further questions concerning his strange quest. Eventually, they unloaded their rude cart of its burden of wood; then they hastily pulled some tall grass, and scraped together some dead leaves. Of these they made a rough sort of bed to ease the jolting of the rude cart over the rough ground. With much difficulty they lifted the stranger in, for he was of burly build, though sorely wasted. Then, slowly and tediously, through the windings of the forest, they returned to the Abbey. Nourishments and cordials were administered to him, his untended wounds were washed and dressed, and he was put to bed.
"Ye are very kind to me, but have ye not a maiden called Ethel here? Let me but speak with Ethel, daughter of the Saxon thane, Beowulf," pleaded the stranger.