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 lion 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.