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LVI

THE PILGRIMAGE

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 the one, and on the other side

The rock of Pride.

And so I came to Fancy's meadow, strow'd

With many a flower:

Fain 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 angel6767angel, also a coin, which a friend had tied

Close to my side.

42

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 cried, 'Alas, my King,

Can both the way and end be tears?'

Yet taking heart, I rose, and then perceived

I was deceived.

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 chair6868chair, presumably, a restful litter.'


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