Who would true Valour see Let him come hither; One here will Constant be, Come Wind, come Weather. There's no Discouragement, Shall make him once Relent, His first avowed Intent, To be a Pilgrim. Who so beset him round, With dismal Stories, Do but themselves Confound; His Strength the more is. No Lyon can him fright, He'll with a Giant Fight, But he will have a right, To be a Pilgrim. Hobgoblin, nor foul Fiend, Can daunt his Spirit: He knows, he at the end, Shall Life Inherit. Then Fancies fly away, He'll fear not what men say, He'll labour Night and Day, To be a Pilgrim.