I travell'd on, seeing a hill, where lay
My expectation.
A long it was and weary way.
The gloomy cave of Desparation
I left on th'one, and on the other side
The rock of Pride.
And so I came to Fancy's meadow strow'd
With many a flower:
Fair would I here have made abode,
But I was quicken'd by my hour.
So to Care's copse I came, and there got through
With much ado.
That led me to the wild of Passion, which
Some call the wold:
A wasted place, but sometimes rich.
Here I was robb'd of all my gold,
Save one good Angel, which a friend had ti'd
Close by my side.
At length I got unto the gladsome hill,
Where lay my hope,
Where lay my heart; and climbing still,
When I had gain'd the brow and top,
A lake of brackish water on the ground
Was all I found.
With that abash'd and struck with many a sting
Of swarming fears,
I fell, and cried, Alas my King;
Can both the way and end be tears?
Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd
I was deceiv'd:
My hill was further: so I flung away,
Yet heard a cry
Just as I went, None goes that way
And lives: If that be all, said I,
After so foul a journey death is fair,
And but a chair.
Notes:
'Angel' - a gold coin in 17th century England, bearing an image of an angel
'Chair' - could also mean a carriage, so the chariot (like Elijah in 2 Kings 2: 11) will transport the pilgrim to heaven
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