I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay

My expectation.

A long it was and weary way.

The gloomy cave of Desperation

I left on th’ one, and on the other side

The rock of Pride.

And so I came to phansies medow strow'd

With many a flower:

Fain would I here have made abode,

But I was quicken'd by my houre.

So to cares cops I came, and there got through

With much ado.

That led me to the wilde 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 Angell, which a friend had ti'd

Close to 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 waters on the ground

Was all I found.

With that abash'd and struck with many a sting

Of swarming fears,

I fell, and cry'd, 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 crie

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.