I taught Herbert today

he never gets old.

¶    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 th’ one, and on the other side
                                         The rock of Pride.

And so I came to phancies 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 cops1 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,2 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.