Silent were the knights, and in that happy meditative mood,
Which an ample meal induces, each his brother warriors viewed,
Thus they sat, and each upon the table laid his brawny hand,
Idly musing, till Sir Tor, the youngest of the mighty band,
Crying, "Why, the table's moving!" pressed against Sir Dinadan
Sitting next him, and impelled him gently towards the good King Ban.
Ban on Bors, and Bors on Pelles, Pelles on Sir Gareth leant;
Gareth, bending over Gawain, Gawain over Tristrem bent;
Thus as each, from each escaping, other upon other drove,
All, in what logicians call a vicious circle, 'gan to rove,