I always want to cry when I get to this part.

In May, whan every harte floryshyth and burgenyth (for, as the season ys lusty to beholde and comfortable, so man and woman rejoysyth and gladith of somer commynge with his freyshe floures, for wynter wyth hys rowghe wyndis and blastis causyth lusty men and women to cowre and to syt by fyres), so thys season hit befelle in the moneth of May a grete angur and unhapp that stynted nat tylle the floure of chyvalry of [alle] the worlde was destroyed and slayne.

Sir Thomas Malory, The Most Piteous Tale of the Morte Arthur, ed. by Eugène Vinaver from the Winchester MS