"Sir," saith Lancelot, "it is no long time agone sithence I saw him in the house of the good King Hermit, that hath tended me and healed me right sweetly of the wounds that the knight gave me."
"And is the knight healed, then?" saith the hermit.
"Yea, Sir," saith Lancelot, "Whereof is right great joy. And wherefore do you ask me?"
"Well ought I to ask it," saith the hermit, "For my father is King Pelles, and his mother is my father's own sister."
"Ha, Sir, then is the King Hermit your father?"
"Yea, Sir, certes."
"Thereof do I love you the better," saith Lancelot, "For never found I any man that hath done me so much of love as hath he. And what, Sir, is your name?"
"Sir," saith he, "My name is Joseus, and yours, what?"
"Sir," saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake."
"Sir," saith the hermit, "Right close are we akin, I and you."