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THE HARVARD CLASSICS

The Five-Foot Shelf of Books

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Great-heart
"The Interpreter then called for a
Man-servant of his, one Great-heart'*

— Page 311

THE HARVARD CLASSICS
EDITED BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LL.D.

The Pilgrim's Progress

By John Bunyan

The Lives 0/ John Donne
anc/ George Herbert

By Izaak Walton

W/M Introductions and ^otes
Volume 15

P. F, Collier & Son Corporation

NEW YORK

Copyright. 1909
By p. F. Collier & Son

UANUFACnmKO IN U. S. A.

CONTENTS

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
THE FIRST PART

PACB

The Author's Apology 5

The Pilgrim's Progress, in the Similititde of a Dream . . 13
The Conclusion 166

THE SECOND PART

The Author's Apology 169

The Pilgrim's Progress, in the Similitude of a Dream . . 177
The Author's Vindication of his Pilgrim, Found at the

End of his Holy War 319

THE LIFE OF DR. DONNE 321

THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE HERBERT 371

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

John Bunyan was born at Elstow, Bedfordshire, England, in Novem-
ber, 1628. His father was a maker and mender of pots and kettles, and
the son followed the same trade. Though he is usually called a tinker,
Bunyan had a setded home and place of business. He had little schooling,
and he describes his early surroundings as poor and mean. When he was
not yet sixteen his mother died; in two months his father married again;
and the son enlisted as a soldier in the Civil War in November, 1644,
though whether on the Parliamentary or Royalist side is not certain. The
armies were disbanded in 1646, and about two years later Bunyan mar-
ried a wife whose piety redeemed him from his delight in rural sport
and the habit of profane swearing. He became much interested in
religion, but it was only after a tremendous spiritual conflict, lasting three
or four years, that he found peace. His struggles are related with extra-
ordinary vividness and intensity in his "Grace Abounding to the Chief
of Sinners." In 1655, the year in which he lost his wife, he began to
exhort, and two years later he became a regular Non<onformist preacher,
continuing, however, to practise his trade. His success as a preacher
roused opposition among the regular clergy, and in 1658 he was indicted
at the assizes. His writing began with a controversy against the Quakers,
and shows from the first the command of a homely but vigorous style.

With the reenactment of the laws against non-conformity at the
Restoration, Bunyan became subject to more severe persecution, and with
a short intermission he was confined to prison from 1660 till 1672. Again
and again he might have been released, but he refused to promise to
desist from preaching, and there was no alternative for the justices but
to keep him in confinement. Sometimes lax jailers permitted him to
preach at church meetings; he frequently ministered to his fellow-
prisoners; and he supported his family, now looked after by a second
wife, by making laces. He had apparently abundant leisure, for he wrote
in prison a large number of books, the first one of importance being that
already mentioned, "Grace Abounding" (1666). "The Pilgrim's Prog-
ress" was also written in jail, but probably during a later confinement of
six months in 1675.

In 1672 Charles II suspended the laws against Non<onformists and
Roman Catholics, and Bunyan was released. He was called to be min-
ister to a Non-conformist congregation in Bedford, and preached in the
barn which served them as a church. But his ministrations were not

4 INTRODUCTORY NOTE

confined to Bedford. He made preaching tours over a wide district, and
even to London, and attracted great crowds of listeners. Meanwhile he
continued to write. The first edition of "The Pilgrim's Progress" in 1678
was followed by others with additions, and in 1684 by the second part.
"The Life and Death of Mr. Badman" appeared in 1680; "The Holy
War made by Shaddai upon Diabolus" in 1682. If the works left in
manuscript at his death be included, the total of his books amounts to
nearly sixty. He died in 1688, leaving a widow and six children, and a
personal estate of less than ;Cioo. "The Pilgrim's Progress" became at
once popular, and has continued to be by far the most widely read of all
his works, and one of the most universally known of English books.
Though in the form of an allegory, the narrative interest is so powerful,
the drawing of jDermanent types of human character is so vigorous, and
the style is so simple and direct that it takes rank as a great work of
fiction. The best sides of English Puritanism have here their most ade-
quate and characteristic expression, while the intensity of Bunyan's
religious fervor and the universality of the spiritual problems with which
he deals, raise the work to a place among the great religious classics of
the world.

THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY

FOR HIS BOOK

When at the first I too/(^ my Pen in hand
Thus for to write; I did not understand
That I at all should mal{e a little Boo\
In such a mode; Nay, I had undertool^
To mal{e another, which when almost done.
Before I was aware I this begun.

And thus it was: I was writing of the Way
And Race of Saints, in this our Gospel-day,
Fell suddenly into an Allegory
About their fourney, and the way to Glory,
In more than twenty things which I set down:
This done, I twenty more had in my Crown,
And they again began to multiply.
Like spares that from the coals of fire do fly.
Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast,
I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last
Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out
The Book '^"^ ^ already am about.

Well, so I did; but yet I did not think
To shew to all this World my Pen and Ink
In such a mode; I only thought to make
I /^nf«/ not what: nor did I undertake
Thereby to please my Neighbor; no not I;
I did it mine own self to gratifie.

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend
In this my Scribble; nor did I intend
But to divert myself in doing this
From worser thoughts which make me do amiss.

Thus I set Pen to Pape. with delight.
And quickly had my thoughts in black and white.
For having now my Method by the end.
Still as I pull'd, it came; and so I penn'd
5

THE AUTHORS APOLOGY

// down, until it came at last to be

For length and breadth the bigness which you see.

Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,
I shew'd them others, that I might see whether
They would condemn them, or them justifie:
And some said. Let them live; some. Let them die;
Some said, John, print it; others said, Not so:
Some said. It might do good; others said. No.

Now was I in a straight, and did not see
Which was the best thing to be done by me:
At last I thought, Since you are thus divided,
I print it will, and so the case decided.

For, thought I, some I see would have it done.
Though others in that Channel do not run.
To prove then who advised for the best.
Thus I thought fit to put it to the test.

I further thought, if now I did deny
Those that would have it thus, to gratifie,
I did not }(now but hinder them I might
Of that which would to them be great delight.

For those which were not for its coming forth
I said to them. Offend you I am loth.
Yet since your Brethren pleased with it be.
Forbear to judge till you do further see.

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone;
Some love the meat, some love to picl(^ the bone:
Yea, that I might them better palliate,
I did too with them thus Exposttdate:

May I not write in such a stile as this?
In such a method loo, and yet not miss
Mine end, thy good? why may it not be done?
Dar\ Clouds bring Waters, when the bright bring none.
Yea, darl^ or bright, if they their Silver drops
Cause to descend, the Earth, by yielding Crops,
Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either.
But treasures up the Fruit they yield together;
Yea, so commixes both, that in her Fruit
None can distinguish this from that: they suit
Her well, when hungry; but, if she be full.
She spues out both, and makes their blessings null.

THE AUTHORS APOLOGY

You see the ways the Fisher-man doth taXe
To catch the Fish; tvhat Engines doth he tna/^e?
Behold how he engageth all his Wits,
Also his Snares, Lines, Angles, Hoo/^s, and Nets.
Yet Fish there be, that neither Hook^, nor Line,
Nor Snare, nor Net, nor Engine can ma^e thine;
They must be grop'd for, and be tic/(led too.
Or they will not be catch' d, whate'er you do.

How doth the Fowler see\ to catch his Game
By divers means, all which one cannot name?
His Gun, his Nets, his Lime-twigs, Light, and Bell;
He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea who can tell
Of all his postures? Yet there's none of these
Will mat{e him master of what Fowls he please.
Yea, he must Pipe and Whistle to catch this;
Yet if he does so, that Bird he will miss.

If that a Pearl may in a Toad's head dwell.
And may be found too in an Oyster-shell;
If things that promise nothing do contain
What better is than Gold; who will disdain,
That have an in/^ling of it, there to loo/(^.
That they may find it? Now my little Bool(
( Though void of all those Paintings that may mal(e
It with this or the other man to tal(e)
Is not without those things that do excel
What do in brave, but empty notions dwell.

Well, yet I am not fully satisfied.
That this your Bool( will stand, when soundly try'd.

Why, what's the matter? It is dar]{. What tho?
But it is feigned: What of that I tro?
Some men, by feigning words as darl(^ as mine,
Mal{e truth to spangle, and its rays to shine.
But they want solidness. Speal{ man thy mind.
They drownd the weal(; Metaphors ma^e us blind.

Solidity indeed becomes the Pen
Of him that writeth things Divine to men;
But must I needs want solidness, because
By Metaphors I speal(? Were not God's Laws,
His Gospel-Laws, in olden time held forth
By Types, Shadows, and Metaphors? Yet loth

8 THE AUTHORS APOLOGY

Will any sober man be to find fault
With them, lest he be found for to assault
The highest Wisdom. No, he rather stoops.
And seeks to find out what by Pins and Loops,
By Calves, and Sheep, by Heifers, and by Rams,
By Birds, and Herbs, and by the blood of Lambs,
God speal(eth to him. And happy is he
That finds the light and grace that in them be.

Be not too forward therefore to conclude
That I want solidness, that I am rude:
All things solid in shew not solid be;
All things in Parables despise not we;
Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive.
And things that good are, of our souls bereave.

My dar/(^ and cloudy words they do but hold
The Truth, as Cabinets inclose the Gold.

The Prophets used much by Metaphors
To set forth Truth; yea, whoso considers
Christ, his Apostles too, shall plainly see.
That Truths to this day in such Mantles be.

Am I afraid to say that Holy Writ,
Which for its Stile and Phrase puts down all Wit,
Is everywhere so full of all these things,
Dar/(^ Figures, Allegories? Yet there springs
From that same Bool^ that lustre, and those rays
Of light, that turns our darl^est nights to days.

Come, let my Carper to his Life now lool(.
And find there darl^er lines than in my Boo^
He findeth any; Yea, and let him ^now.
That in his best things there are worse lines too.

May we but stand before impartial men.
To his poor One I dare adventure Ten,
That they will ta\e my meaning in these lines
Far better than his lies in Silver Shrines.
Come, Truth, although in Swaddling-clouts, I find.
Informs the fudgment, rectifies the Mind,
Pleases the Understanding, ma\es the Will
Submit; the Memory too it doth fill
With what doth our Imagination please;
Likewise it tends our troubles to appease.

THE author's apology

Sound words I ^now Timothy is to use.
And old Wives' Fables he is to refuse;
But yet grave Paul him nowhere doth forbid
The use of Parables; in which lay hid
That Gold, those Pearls, and precious stones that were
Worth digging for, and that with greatest care.

Let me add one word more. O man of God,
Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had
Put forth my matter in another dress.
Or that I had in things been more express?
Three things let me propound, then I submit
To those that are my betters, as is fit.

1. / find not that I am denied the use
Of this my method, so 1 no abuse

Put on the Words, Things, Readers; or be rude
In handling Figure or Similitude,
In application; but, all that I may,
Seel^ the advance of Truth this or that way.
Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave,
{Example too, and that from them that have
God better pleased, by their words or ways.
Than any man that breatheth now a-days)
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare
Things unto thee, that excellentest are.

2. I find that men {as high as Trees') will write
Dialogue-wise; yet no man doth them slight

For writing so; Indeed if they abuse
Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use
To that intent; but yet let Truth be free
To mal(e her sallies upon thee and me.
Which way it pleases God. For who t{nows how.
Better than he that taught us first to Plow,
To guide our Mind and Pens for his Design?
And he mal{es base things usher in Divine.

3. / find that Holy Writ in many places

Hath semblance with this method, where the cases
Do call for one thing, to set forth another;
Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother
Truth's golden Beams: nay, by this method may
Ma\e it cast forth its rays as light as day.

10 THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY

And now, before I do put up my Pen,
I'll shew the profit of my Boo^, and then
Commit both thee and it unto that hand
That pulls the strong down, and ma/^es weal(^ ones stand.

This Bool{^ it chall{eth out before thine eyes
The man that see^s the everlasting Prize;
It shews you whence he comes, whither he goes.
What he leaves undone, also what he does;
It also shews you how he runs and runs.
Till he unto the Gate of Glory comes.

It shews too, who set out for life amain.
As if the lasting Crown they would obtain;
Here also you may see the reason why
They lose their labour, and li^e Fools do die.

This Bool^ will mal^e a Traveller of thee.
If by its Counsel thou wilt ruled be;
It will direct thee to the Holy Land,
If thou wilt its directions understand:
Yea, it will ma^e the slothful active be;
The blind also delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare and profitable?
Wouldest thou see a Truth within a Fable?
Art thou forgetful? Wouldest thou remember
From New-year's-day to the last of December?
Then read my Fancies, they will stic^ li/^e Burrs,
And may be to the Helpless, Comforters.

This Bool(^ is writ in such a Dialect
As may the minds of listless men a^ect:
It seems a novelty, and yet contains
Nothing but sound and honest Gospel strains.

Would'st thou divert thyself from Melancholy?
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
Would'st thou read Riddles, and their Explanation?
Or else be drowned in thy Contemplation?
Dost thou love pic}(ing meat? Or would'st thou see
A man i' th' Clouds, and hear him spea\ to thee?
Would'st thou be in a Dream, and yet not sleep?
Or would'st thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldest thou lose thyself, and catch no harm.
And find thyself again without a charm?

THE AUTHORS APOLOGY II

Would'st read thyself, and read thou \noiv'st not what.
And yet /{now whether thou art blest or not,
By reading the same lines? O then come hither.
And lay my Boo/{, thy Head, and Heart together.

JOHN BUNYAN.

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM

THE FIRST PART

AS I walk'd through the wilderness of this world,
/-\ I lighted on a certain place where was a Den, "^^ !»»•
JL .X. and I laid me down in that place to sleep; and as
I slept, I dreamed a Dream. I dreamed, and behold I
saw a Man cloathed with Rags, standing in a certain
place, with his face from his own house, a Book in his
hand, and a great Burden upon his back. I looked, and
saw him open the Book, and read therein; and as he read,
he wept and trembled; and not being able longer to con-
tain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying What His outcry
shall I do?

In this plight therefore he went home, and refrained
himself as long as he could, that his Wife and Children
should not perceive his distress, but he could not be
silent long, because that his trouble increased: Where-
fore at length he brake his mind to his Wife and Chil-
dren; and thus he began to talk to them: O my dear Wife,
said he, and you the Children of my bowels, I your dear
friend, am in myself undone by reason of a Burden that
lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am for certain informed This world
that this our City will be burned with fire from Heaven;
in which fearful overthrow, both myself, with thee my
Wife, and you my sweet Babes, shall miserably come to
ruine, except {the which yet I see not) some way of
escape can be found, whereby we may be delivered. At He knows
this his Relations were sore amazed; not for that they e^apc'^ °
believed that what he had said to them was true, but " >='
because they thought that some frenzy distemper had got

»3

14 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

into his head; therefore, it drawing towards night, and
they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all
haste they got him to bed: But the night was as trouble-
some to him as the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping,
he spent it in sighs and tears. So, when the morning was
come, they would know how he did; He told them.
Worse and worse: he also set to talking to them again.
Carnal but they began to be hardened: they also thought to

skk'soul"' ^ drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages
to him; sometimes they would deride, sometimes they
would chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect
him: Wherefore he began to retire himself to his cham-
ber, to pray for and pity them, and also to condole his
own misery; he would also walk solitarily in the fields,
sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: and thus
for some days he spent his time.

Now, I saw upon a time, when he was walking in
the fields, that he was, as he was wont, reading in his
Book, and greatly distressed in his mind; and as he read,
he burst out, as he had done before, crying. What shall
1 do to be saved?

I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if
he would run; yet he stood still, because, as I perceived,
he could not tell which way to go. I looked then, and
saw a man named Evangelist, coming to him, and asked.
Wherefore dost thou cry?

He answered. Sir, I perceive by the Book in my hand,
that I am condemned to die, and after that to come to
Judgment, and I find that I am not willing to do the first,
nor able to do the second.

Christian no sooner leaves the World but meets
Evangelist, who lovingly him greets
With tidings of another: and doth shew
Him how to mount to that from this below.

Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since this
life is attended with so many evils ? The Man answered.
Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 15

will sink me lower than the Grave, and I shall fall into
Tophet. And, Sir, if I be not fit to go to Prison, I am not
fit to go to Judgment, and from thence to Execution; and
the thoughts of these things make me cry.

Then said Evangelist, If this be thy condition, why Convictiop
standest thou still? He answered. Because I know not necessity
whither to go. Then he gave him a Parchment-roll, and °' ^>''"8
there was written within. Fly from the wrath to come.

The Man therefore read it, and looking upon Evangelist
very carefully, said, Whither must I fly? Then said
Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide
field. Do you see yonder Wicket-gate? The Man said, Chr>st. and
No. Then said the other. Do you see yonder shining him cannot
Light? He said, I think I do. Then said £fa«^<r/«/. Keep ^j/j,''^"JJ'',he
that Light in your eye, and go up directly thereto: so Word
shalt thou see the Gate; at which, when thou knockest,
it shall be told thee what thou shalt do.

So I saw in my Dream that the Man began to run. "J'^^v 'h*'

Now he had not run far from his own door, but his ^rath to
Wife and Children, perceiving it, began to cry after him come are a
to return; but the Man out his fingers in his ears, and ,„ ^^ v,oM
ran on, crying Life! Life! Eternal Life! So he looked
not behind him, but fled towards the middle of the Plain.

The Neighbors also came out to see him run; and as
he ran, some mocked, others threatened, and some cried
after him to return; and among those that did so, there
were two that resolved to fetch him back by force. The
name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the Obstinate
other Pliable. Now by this time the Man was got a good foUow him
distance from them; but however they were resolved to
pursue him, which they did, and in a litde time they
overtook him. Then said the Man, Neighbors, where-
fore are you come? They said, To persuade you to go
back with us. But he said, That can by no means be;
you dwell, said he, in the City of Destruction, the place
also where I was born, I see it to be so; and dying there,
sooner or later, you will sink lower than the Grave, into

i6

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

a place that burns with Fire and Brimstone: be content,
good Neighbors, and go along with me.

Obst. What, said Obstinate, and leave our friends and
our comforts behind us!

Chr. Yes, said Christian, for that was his name, because
that all which you shall forsake is not worthy to be com-
pared with a little of that that 1 am seeking to enjoy; and
if you will go along with me and hold it, you shall fare
as I myself; for there where I go, is enough and to spare:
Come away, and prove my words.

Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave all
the world to find them ?

Chr. I seek an Inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and
that fadeth not away, and it is laid up in Heaven, and
safe there, to be bestowed at the time appointed, on
them that diligently seek it. Read it so, if you will, in
my Book.

Obst. Tush, said Obstinate, away with your Book; will
you go back with us or no ?

Chr. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my
hand to the Plow.

Obst. Come then, Neighbor Pliable, let us turn again,
and go home without him; there is a company of these
craz'd-headed coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy
by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven men
that can render a reason.

Pli. Then said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good
Christian says is true, the things he looks after are better
than ours; my heart inclines to go with my Neighbor.

Obst. What! more fools still? Be ruled by me, and go
back; who knows whither such a brain-sick fellow will
lead you ? Go back, go back, and be wise.

Chr. Come with me, Neighbor Pliable; there are such
things to be had which I spoke of, and many more
Pliable's soul Glories besides. If you believe not me, read here in this
Book; and for the truth of what is exprest therein, behold,
all is confirmed by the blood of Him that made it.

christian
and Obsti-
nate pull fok'

PILGRIM S PROGRESS IJ

Pit. Well, Neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin to Pliable

, . , , .... J contented

come to a point: 1 intend to go along with this good man, ,„ go „,t^^
and to cast in my lot with him : but, my good companion, Christian
do you know the way to this desired place.?

C/ir. I am directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist,
to speed me to a little Gate that is before us, where we
shall receive instructions about the way.

Pli. Come then, good Neighbor, let us be going. Then
they went both together.

Obst. And I will go back to my place, said Obstinate; Obstinate
I will be no companion of such mis-led, fantastical fellows, tack

Now I saw in my Dream, that when Obstinate was
gone back. Christian and Pliable went talking over the ^*"'

° 1111 1 • J- between

Plain; and thus they began their discourse. christian

Chr. Come Neighbor Pliable, how do you do? I am and Pliable

glad you are persuaded to go along with me: Had even

Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the powers

and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not thus

lightly have given us the back.
Pli. Come, Neighbor Christian, since there are none

but us two here, tell me now further what the things are,

and how to be enjoyed, whither we are going.?
Chr. I can better conceive of them with my Mind, than G«l's ^^'"^

, r 1 -I -r 1 ■ unspeakable

speak or them with my longue: but yet, since you are
desirous to know, I will read of them in my Book.

Pli. And do you think that the words of your Book are
certainly true?

Chr, Yes, verily; for it was made by him that cannot
lye.

Pli. Well said; what things are they?

Chr. There is an endless Kingdom to be inhabited, and
everlasting Life to be given us, that we may inhabit that
Kingdom for ever.

Pli. Well said; and what else?

Chr. There are Crowns of glory to be given us, and
Garments that will make us shine like the Sun in the
firmament of Heaven.

i8 pilgrim's progress

Pit. This is excellent; and what else?

Chr. There shall be no more crying, nor sorrow, for
He that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from
our eyes.

Pli. And what company shall we have there?

Chr. There we shall be with Seraphims and Cherubins,
creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them:
There also you shall meet with thousands and ten thou-
sands that have gone before us to that place; none of
them are hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walking
in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with
acceptance for ever. In a word, there we shall see the
Elders with their golden Crowns, there we shall see the
Holy Virgins with their golden Harps, there we shall
see men that by the World were cut in pieces, burnt in
flames, eaten of beasts, drowned in the seas, for the love
that they bare to the Lord of the place, all well, and
doathed with Immortality as with a garment.

Pli. The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart;
but are these things to be enjoyed ? How shall we get to
be sharers hereof?

Chr. The Lord, the Governor of the country, hath
recorded that in this Book; the substance of which is. If
we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon
us freely.

Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of
these things; come on, let us mend our pace.

Chr. I cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this
Burden that is upon my back.

Now I saw in my Dream, that just as they had ended
this talk, they drew near to a very miry Slough, that was
in the midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did
The Slough both fall Suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough
was Dispond. Here therefore they wallowed for a time,
being grievously bedaubed with the dirt; and Christian,
because of the Burdea that was on his back, began to
sink in the mire.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I9

Pit. Then said Pliable, Ah Neighbor Christian, where
are you now?

Chr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know.

Pli. At that Pliable began to be offended, and angerly '* « n"*
said to his fellow. Is this the happiness you have told me pliable
all this while of? If we have such ill speed at our first
setting out, what may we expect 'twixt this and our
Journey's end? May I get out again with my life, you
shall possess the brave Country alone for me. And with
that he gave a desperate struggle or two, and got out of
the mire on that side of the Slough which was next to
his own house: so away he went, and Christian saw him
no more.

Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough Christian in
of Dispond alone; but still he endeavoured to struggle still to get
to that side of the Slough that was still further from his i^n\\et from
own house, and next to the Wicket-gate; the which he house
did, but could not get out, because of the Burden that
was upon his back: But I beheld in my Dream, that a
man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked him.
What he did there?

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I was bid go this way by a
man called Evangelist, who directed me also to yonder
Gate, that I might escape the wrath to come; and as I was
going thither, I fell in here.

Help. But why did you not look for the steps? Theprom-

Chr. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, "*'
and fell in.

Help. Then said he, Give me thy hand: so he gave Help lifts
him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him upon
sound ground, and bid him go on his way.

Then I stepped to him that pluckt him out, and said.
Sir, wherefore, since over this place is the way from the
City of Destruction to yonder Gate, is it that this plat
is not mended, that poor travellers might go thither with
more security ? And he said unto me. This miry Slough W''" make*
is such a place as cannot be mended; it is the descent of ^Dispond

20

The prom-
ises of for-
giveness
and accept-
ance to life
by faith in
Christ

Pliable got
home, and is
visited of his
neighbors

His enter-
tainment by
them at his
return

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin
doth continually run, and therefore it is called the Slough
of Dispond; for still as the sinner is awakened about his
lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears and
doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of
them get together, and settle in this place: And this is
the reason of the badness of this ground.

It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should
remain so bad. His labourers also have, by the direction
of His Majesties Surveyors, been for above these sixteen
hundred years imployed about this patch of ground, if
perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and to my
knowledge, said he, here hath been swallowed up at least
twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions of wholesome
instructions, that have at all seasons been brought from
all places of the King's dominions (and they that can
tell say they are the best materials to make good ground
of the place), if so be it might have been mended, but
it is the Slough of Dispond still, and so will be when
they have done what they can.

True, there are by the direction of the Lawgiver, certain
good and substantial steps, placed even through the very
midst of this Slough; but at such time as this place doth
much spue out its fiith, as it doth against change of
weather, these steps are hardly seen; or if they be, men
through the dizziness of their heads, step besides; and
then they are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the
steps be there; but the ground is good when they are
once got in at the Gate.

Now I saw in my Dream, that by this time Pliable was
got home to his house again. So his Neighbors came
to visit him: and some of them called him wise man
for coming back, and some called him fool for hazarding
himself with Christian: others again did mock at his
cowardliness; saying, Surely since you began to venture,
I would not have been so base to have given out for a
few difficulties. So Pliable sat sneaking among them. But

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 21

at last he got more confidence, and then they all turned
their tales, and began to deride poor Christian behind
his back. And thus much concerning Pliable.

Now as Christian was walking solitary by himself, he
espied one afar off come crossing over the field to meet
him; and their hap was to meet just as they were crossing
the way of each other. The gentleman's name that met
him was Mr Worldly Wiseman: he dwelt in the Town Mr Worldly
of Carnal Policy, a very great Town, and also hard by meets with
from whence Christian came. This man then meeting Christian
with Christian, and having some inkling of him, — for
Christian s setting forth from the City of Destruction
was much noised abroad, not only in the Town where
he dwelt, but also it began to be the town-talk in some
other places, — Master Worldly Wiseman therefore, hav- Talk *«'*«'
ing some guess of him, by beholding his laborious going, wiseman
by observing his sighs and groans, and the like, began "J^. .
thus to enter into some talk with Christian.

World. How now, good fellow, whither away after
this burdened manner ?

Chr. A burdened manner indeed, as ever I think poor
creature had. And whereas you ask me, Whither away?
I tell you. Sir, I am going to yonder Wicket-gate before
me; for there, as I am informed, I shall be put into a way
to be rid of my heavy Burden.

World. Hast thou a Wife and Children ?

Chr. Yes, but I am so laden with this Burden, that I
cannot take that pleasure in them as formerly; methinks
I am as if I had none.

World. Wilt thou hearken to me if I give thee counsel ?

Chr. If it be good, I will; for I stand in need of good
counsel.

World. I would advise thee then, that thou with all Mr Worldly
speed get thyself rid of thy Burden; for thou wilt never counsel to
be settled in thy mind till then; nor canst thou enjoy the christian
benefits of the blessing which God hath bestowed upon
thee till then.

22

Mr Worldly

Wiseman

condemned

Evangelist's

counsel

The frame
of the heart
of a young
Christian

Worldly
Wiseman
does not
like that
men should
be serious
in reading
the Bible

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Chr. That is that which I seek for, even to be rid of
this heavy Burden; but get it off myself, I cannot; nor
is there any man in our country that can take it off my
shoulders; therefore am I going this way, as I told you,
that I may be rid of my Burden.

World. Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy
Burden ?

Chr. A man that appeared to me to be a very great and
honorable person; his name as I remember is Evangelist.

World. I beshrew him for his counsel; there is not a
more dangerous and troublesome way in the world than
is that unto which he hath directed thee; and that thou
shalt find, if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou
hast met with something (as I perceive) already; for I
see the dirt of the Slough of Dispond is upon thee; but
that Slough is the beginning of the sorrows that do
attend those that go on in that way: Hear me, I am
older than thou; thou art like to meet with, in the way
which thou goest, Wearisomeness, Painfulness, Hunger,
Perils, Nakedness, Sword, Lions, Dragons, Darkness,
and in a word. Death, and what not! These things are
certainly true, having been confirmed by many testi-
monies. And why should a man so carelessly cast away
himself, by giving heed to a stranger?

Chr. Why, Sir, this Burden upon my back is more
terrible to me than are all these things which you have
mentioned; nay, methinks I care not what I meet with
in the way, so be I can also meet with deliverance from
my Burden.

World. How camest thou by thy Burden at first?

Chr. By reading this Book in my hand.

World. I thought so; and it is happened unto thee as
to other weak men, who meddling with things too high
for them, do suddenly fall into thy distractions; which
distractions do not only unman men (as thine I perceive
has done thee), but they run them upon desperate ven-
tures, to obtain they know not what.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 23

Chr. I know what I would obtain; it is ease for my
heavy burden.

World. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, seeing Whether Mr
so many dangers attend it? Especially, since (hadst thou \vL;man
but patience to hear me) I could direct thee to the obtain- prefers
ing of what thou desirest, without the dangers that thou before the
in this way wilt run thyself into; yea, and the remedy is strait g»te
at hand. Besides, I will add, that instead of those dangers,
thou shalt meet with much safety, friendship, and con-
tent.

Chr. Pray Sir, open this secret to me.

World. Why in yonder Village (the village is named
Morality) there dwells a Gentleman whose name is
Legality, a very judicious man, and a man of very good
name, that has skill to help men off with such burdens
as thine are from their shoulders: yea, to my knowledge
he hath done a great deal of good this way; ay, and be-
sides, he hath skill to cure those that are somewhat crazed
in their wits with their burdens. To him, as I said, thou
mayest go, and be helped presently. His house is not
quite a mile from this place, and if he should not be at
home himself, he hath a pretty young man to his Son,
whose name is Civility, that can do it (to speak on) as
well as the old Gentleman himself; there, I say, thou
mayest be eased of thy Burden; and if thou art not
minded to go back to thy former habitation, as indeed
I would not wish thee, thou mayest send for thy Wife
and Children to thee to this village, where there are
houses now stand empty, one of which thou mayest have
at reasonable rates; Provision is there also cheap and
good; and that which will make thy life the more happy
is, to be sure there thou shalt live by honest Neighbors,
in credit and good fashion.

Now was Christian somewhat at a stand, but presendy Christian
he concluded. If this be true which this Gentleman hath woHdly^
said, my wisest course is to take his advice; and with Wiseman's
that he thus farther spoke. *°

24

Mount Sinai

Christian
afraid that
Mount Sinai
would fall
on his head

Evangelist
findcth
Christian
under

Mount Sinai,
and looketh
severely
upon him

Evangelist
reasons
afresh with
Christian

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chr. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's
house?

World. Do you see yonder high Hill ?

Chr. Yes, very well.

World. By that Hill you must go, and the first house
you come at is his.

So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr Legal-
ity's house for help; but behold, when he was got now
hard by the Hill, it seemed so high, and also that side of
it that was next the wayside, did hang so much over,
that Christian was afraid to venture further, lest the Hill
should fall on his head; wherefore there he stood still,
and he wot not what to do. Also his Burden now seemed
heavier to him than while he was in his way. There came
also flashes of fire out of the Hill, that made Christian
afraid that he should be burned. Here therefore he sweat
and did quake for fear.

When Christians unto Carnal Men give ear,
Out of their way they go, and pay for 't dear;
For Master Worldly Wiseman can but shew
A Saint the way to Bondage and to Wo.

And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr
Worldly Wiseman's counsel. And with that he saw
Evangelist coming to meet him; at the sight also of whom
he began to blush for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer
and nearer; and coming up to him, he looked upon him
with a severe and dreadful countenance, and thus began
to reason with Christian.

Evan. What doest thou here, Christian? said he: at
which words Christian knew not what to answer; where-
fore at present he stood speechless before him. Then said
Evangelist farther. Art not thou the man that I found
crying without the walls of the City of Destruction?

Chr. Yes, dear Sir, I am the man.

Evan. Did not I direct thee the way to the little Wicket-
gate?

Chr. Yes, dear Sir, said Christian.

pilgrim's progress 25

Efan, How is it then that thou art so quickly turned
aside? for thou art now out of the way.

Chr. I met with a Gentleman so soon as I had got over
the Slough of Dispond, who persuaded me that I might,
in the village before me, find a man that could take off
my Burden.

Evan. What was he?

Chr. He looked like a Gentleman, and talked much to
me, and got me at last to yield; so I came hither: but
when I beheld this Hill, and how it hangs over the way,
I suddenly made a stand, lest it should fall on my head.

Evan. What said that Gentleman to you?

Chr. Why, he asked me whither I was going; and I
told him.

Evan. And what said he then?

Chr. He asked me if I had a family; and I told him.
But, said I, I am so loaden with the Burden that is on my
back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as formerly.

Evan. And what said he then ?

Chr. He bid me with speed get rid of my Burden; and
I told him 'twas ease that I sought. And, said I, I am
therefore going to yonder Gate, to receive further direc-
tion how I may get to the place of deliverance. So he
said that he would shew me a better way, and short, not
so attended with difHculties as the way, Sir, that you set
me; which way, said he, will direct you to a Gentleman's
house that hath skill to take off these Burdens: So I
believed him, and turned out of that way into this, if
haply I might be soon eased of my Burden. But when
I came to this place, and beheld things as they are, I
stopped for fear (as I said) of danger: but I now know
not what to do.

Evan. Then, said Evangelist, stand still a little, that I
may shew thee the words of God. So he stood trembling.
Then said Evangelist, See that ye refuse not him that
speaketh; for if they escaped not who refused him that
spake on Earth, much more shall not we escape, if we

26 pilgrim's progress

turn away from him that speaketh from Heaven. He said

moreover, Now the just shall live by faith: but if any

man draws back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him.

He also did thus apply them. Thou art the man that art

running into this misery, thou hast begun to reject the

counsel of the Most High, and to draw back thy foot

from the way of peace, even almost to the hazarding of

thy {perdition.

Evangelist Then Christian fell down at his foot as dead, crying,

Oirilxb" of ^° " "*'• /"'' ^ '"" ""'/oBf ; At the sight of which, Evan-

his error geUst caught him by the right hand, saying, All manner

of sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto men; be

not faithless, but believing. Then did Christian again a

little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first, before

Evangelist.

Mr Worldly Then Evangelist proceeded, saying. Give more earnest

dc^ibed by ^^^^ to the things that I shall tell thee of. I will now shew

Evangelist thee who it was that deluded thee, and who it was also

to whom he sent thee. The man that met thee is one

Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is he so called: partly

because he savoureth only the doctrine of this world,

Evangelist (therefore he always goes to the Town of Morality to

the deceit of church); and partly because he loveth that doctrine best,

Mr Worldly for it saveth him from the Cross. And because he is of

this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to prevent my

ways, though right. Now there are three things in this

man's counsel that thou must utterly abhor.

1. His turning thee out of the way.

2. His labouring to render the Cross odious to thee.

3. And his setting thy feet in that way that leadeth
unto the administration of Death.

First, Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the
way; yea, and thine own consenting thereto, because this
is to reject the counsel of God for the sake of the counsel
of a Worldly Wiseman. The Lord says. Strive to enter
in at the strait gate, the gate to which I sent thee; for
strait is the gate that leadeth unto life, and few there be

PILGRIM S PROGRESS VJ

that find it. From this little Wicket-gate, and from the
way thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the
bringing of thee almost to destruction; hate therefore his
turning thee out of the way, and abhor thyself for heark-
ening to him.

Secondly, Thou must abhor his labouring to render the
Cross odious unto thee; for thou art to prefer it before
the treasures of Egypt. Besides, the King of Glory hath
told thee, that he that will save his life shall lose it: and
He that comes after him, and hates not his father, and
mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters,
yea and his own life also, he cannot be my Disciple. I
say therefore, for a man to labour to persuade thee, that
that shall be thy death, without which, the Truth hath
said, thou canst not have eternal life; This doctrine thou
must abhor.

Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the
way that leadeth to the ministration of death. And for
this thou must consider to whom he sent thee, and also
how unable that person was to deliver thee from thy
Burden.

He to whom thou was sent for ease, being by name
Legality, is the Son of the Bond-woman which now is, ^''* '»'"'
and is in bondage with her children; and is in a mystery
this Mount Sinai, which thou hast feared will fall on thy
head. Now if she with her children are in bondage, how
canst thou expect by them to be made free ? This Legality
therefore is not able to set thee free from thy Burden.
No man was as yet ever rid of his Burden by him; no,
nor ever is like to be: ye cannot be justified by the Works
of the Law; for by the deeds of the Law no man living
can be rid of his Burden: therefore, Mr Worldly Wise-
man is an alien, and Mr Legality a cheat ; and for his son
Civility, notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but
a hypocrite and cannot help thee. BeLeve me, there is
nothing in all this noise, that thou hast heard of this sot-
tish man, but a design to beguile thee of thy Salvation,

28

christian
inquires if
he may yet
be happy

Evangelist

comforts

him

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

by turning thee from the way in which I had set thee.
After this Evangelist called aloud to the Heavens for
confirmation of what he had said; and with that there
came words and fire out of the Mountain under which
poor Christian stood, that made the hair of his flesh
stand. The words were thus pronounced, As many as are
the wor\s of the Law are under the curse; for it is written,
Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things
which are written in the Boof(^ of the Law to do them.

Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and be-
gan to cry out lamentably, even cursing the time in which
he met with Mr Worldly Wiseman, still calling himself
a thousand fools for hearkening to his counsel: he also
was greatly ashamed to think that this Gentleman's argu-
ments, flowing only from the flesh, should have that
prevalency with him as to cause him to forsake the right
way. This done, he applied himself again to Evangelist
in words and sense as follows.

Chr. Sir, what think you ? Is there hopes ? May I now
go back and go up to the Wicket -gate? Shall I not be
abandoned for this, and sent back from thence ashamed?
I am sorry I have hearkened to this man's counsel: But
may my sin be forgiven?

Evan. Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very
great, for by it thou hast committed two evils: thou hast
forsaken the way that is good, to tread in forbidden paths;
yet will the man at the Gate receive thee, for he has good-
will for men; only, said he, take heed that thou turn not
aside again, lest thou perish from the way, when his
wrath is kindled but a little. Then did Christian address
himself to go back; and Evangelist, after he had kissed
him, gave him one smile, and bid him God speed. So
he went on with haste, neither spake he to any man by
the way; nor if any man asked him, would he vouchsafe
them an answer. He went like one that was all the while
treading on forbidden ground, and could by no means
think himself safe, till again he was got into the way

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 29

which he left to follow Mr Worldly Wiseman's counsel.
So in process of time Christian got up to the Gate. Now
over the Gate there was written, Knocl^ and it shall be
opened unto you.

He that will enter in must first without

Stand knocking at the Gate, nor need he doubt

That is a knocker but to enter in,

For God can love him, and forgive his sin.

He knocked therefore more than once or twice, saying.

May I now enter here? Will he within
Open to sorry me, though I have been
An undeserving Rebel? Then shall I
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high.

At last there came a grave person to the gate named
Good-will, who asked Who was there? and whence he
came? and what he would have?

Chr. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from the
City of Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, that
I may be delivered from the wrath to come. I would The gate
therefore, Sir, since I am informed that by this Gate is opened to
the way thither, know if you are willing to let me in. broken-

Good-will. I am willing with all my heart, said he; skneri
and with that he opened the Gate.

So when Christian was stepping in, the other gave
him a pull. Then said Christian, What means that ? The
other told him, A little distance from this Gate, there is Satan
erected a strong Castle, of which Beelzebub is the Cap- th^'that
tain; from thence both he and they that are with him enter the
shoot arrows at those that come up to this Gate, if haply """ ^"'
they may die before they can enter in. Then said Chris- Christian
tian, I rejoice and tremble. So when he was got in, the ^",'5 with joy
man of the Gate asked him who directed him thither? »"<! 'rem-

Chr. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock (as I '"^
did); and he said that you. Sir, would tell me what I Talk

~..,i. J„ between

must do. Good-will

Good-will. An open door is set before thee, and no and

man can shut it.

Christian

30

A man may
have com-
pany when
he sets out
for heaven,
and yet go
thither alone

Christian
accuseth
himself
before the
man at the
gate

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Chr. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards.

Good-will. But how is it that you came alone ?

Chr. Because none of my Neighbors saw their danger,
as I saw mine.

Good-will. Did any of them know of your coming?

Chr. Yes, my Wife and Children saw me at the first,
and called after me to turn again; also some of my Neigh-
bors stood crying and calling after me to return; but I
put my fingers in my ears, and so came on my way.

Good-will. But did none of them follow you, to per-
suade you to go back ?

Chr. Yes, both Obstinate and Pliable; but when they
saw that they could not prevail. Obstinate went raiUng
back, but Pliable came with me a little way.

Good-will. But why did he not come through?

Chr. We indeed came both together, until we came
to the Slough of Dispond, into the which we also sud-
denly fell. And then was my Neighbor Pliable discour-
aged, and would not adventure further. Wherefore
getting out again on that side next to his own house, he
told me I should possess the brave country alone for him;
so he went his way, and I came mine: he after Obstinate,
and I to this Gate.

Good-will. Then said Good-will, Alas, poor man, is the
coelestial glory of so small esteem with him, that he count-
eth it not worth running the hazards of a few diflficulties
to obtain it ?

Chr. Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of
Pliable, and if I should also say all the truth of myself, it
will appear there is no betterment 'twixt him and myself.
'Tis true, he went back to his own house, but I also turned
aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded thereto
by the carnal arguments of one Mr Worldly Wiseman.

Good-will. O, did he light upon you? What! he would
have had you a sought for ease at the hands of Mr Le-
gality. They are both of them a very cheat: But did you
take his counsel?

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chr, Yes, as far as I durst: I went to find out Mr
Legality, until I thought that the Mountain that stands
by his house would have fallen upon my head; where-
fore there I was forced to stop.

Good-will. That Mountain has been the death of many,
and will be the death of many more; 'tis well you escaped
being by it dashed in pieces.

Chr. Why truly I do not know what had become
of me there, had not Evangelist happily met me again,
as I was musing in the midst of my dumps: but 'twas
God's mercy that he came to me again, for else I had
never come hither. But now I am come, such a one
as I am, more fit indeed for death by that Mountain
than thus to stand talking with my Lord; but O, what
a favour is this to me, that yet I am admitted entrance
here.

Good-will. We make no objections against any, not-
withstanding all that they have done before they come
hither, they in no wise are cast out; and therefore, good
Christian, come a little way with me, and I will teach
thee about the way thou must go. Look before thee;
dost thou see this narrow way ? THAT is the way thou
must go; it was cast up by the Patriarchs, Prophets,
Christ, and his Apostles; and it is as straight as a rule
can make it : This is the way thou must go.

Chr. But said Christian, Is there no turnings nor wind-
ings, by which a Stranger may lose the way?

Good-will. Yes, there are many ways butt down upon
this, and they are crooked and wide: But thus thou may-
est distinguish the right from the wrong, the right only
being straight and narrow.

Then I saw in my Dream, that Christian asked him
further, If he could not help him off with his Burden
that was upon his back; for as yet he had not got rid
thereof, nor could he by any means get it off without
help.

He told him, As to thy Burden, be content to bear it.

31

christian

comforted

again

Christian
directed yet
on bis way

Christian
afraid of
losing his
way

Christian
weary of his
burden

32

There is no
deliverance
from the
guilt and
burden of
sin, but by
the death
and blood of
Christ

Christian
comes to the
house of the
Interpreter

He is enter-
tained

Illumination

Christian
sees a grave
picture

The fashion
of the
picture

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

until thou comest to the place of Deliverance; for there
it will fall from thy back itself.

Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to ad-
dress himself to his Journey. So the other told him, That
by that he was gone some distance from the Gate, he
would come at the house of the Interpreter, at whose door
he should knock, and he would shew him excellent
things. Then Christian took his leave of his Friend, and
he again bid him God speed.

Then he went on till he came at the house of the
Interpreter, where he knocked over and over; at last one
came to the door, and asked Who was there?

Chr. Sir, here is a Traveller, who was bid by an ac-
quaintance of the good man of this house to call here
for my profit; I would therefore speak with the Master
of the house. So he called for the Master of the house,
who after a little time came to Christian, and asked him
what he would have?

Chr. Sir, said Christian, I am a man that am come from
the City of Destruction, and am going to the Mount
Zion; and I was told by the Man that stands at the Gate
at the head of this way, that if I called here, you would
shew me excellent things, such as would be a help to
me in my Journey.

Inter. Then said the Interpreter, Come in, I will shew
thee that which will be profitable to thee. So he com-
manded his man to light the Candle, and bid Christian
follow him, so he had him into a private room, and bid
his man open a door; the which when he had done.
Christian saw the Picture of a very grave Person hang
up against the wall; and this was the fashion of it. It
had eyes lifted up to Heaven, the best of Books in his
hand, the Law of Truth was written upon his hps, the
World was behind his back. It stood as if it pleaded with
men, and a Crown of Gold did hang over his head.

Chr. Then said Christian, What means this?

Inter. The Man whose Picture this is, is one of a thou-

ing of the
picture

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 33

sand; he can beget children, travel in birth with chil-
dren, and nurse them himself when they are born. And
whereas thou seest him with his eyes lift up to Heaven,
the best of Books in his hand, and the Law of Truth
writ on his lips, it is to shew thee that his work is to The mean-
know and unfold dark things to sinners; even as also
thou seest him stand as if he pleaded with men; and
whereas thou seest the World as cast behind him, and
that a Crown hangs over his head, that is to shew thee
that slighting and despising the things that are present,
for the love that he hath to his Master's service, he is
sure in the world that comes next to have Glory for his
reward. Now, said the Interpreter, I have shewed thee
this Picture first, because the Man whose Picture this is, why he
is the only man whom the Lord of the place whither thou ,he picture
art going, hath authorized to be thy guide in all difficult fi^st
places thou mayest meet with in the way; wherefore take
good heed to what I have shewed thee, and bear well in
thy mind what thou hast seen, lest in thy Journey thou
meet with some that pretend to lead thee right, but their
way goes down to death.

Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a
very large Parlour that was full of dust, because never
swept; the which after he had reviewed a little while, the
Interpreter called for a man to sweep. Now when he
began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to fly about,
that Christian had almost therewith been choaked. Then
said the Interpreter to a Damsel that stood by, Bring
hither the Water, and sprinkle the Room; the which
when she had done, it was swept and cleansed with
pleasure.
Chr. Then said Christian, What means this.'
Inter. The Interpreter answered. This parlour is the
heart of a man that was never sanctified by the sweet
Grace of the Gospel: the dust is his Original Sin and in-
ward Corruptions, that have defiled the whole man. He
that began to sweep at first, is the Law; but she that

34 PILGRIMS PROGRESS

brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gosf)el. Now,
whereas thou sawest that so soon as the first began to
sweep, the dust did so fly about that the Room by him
could not be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choaked
therewith; this is to shew thee, that the Law, instead
of cleansing the heart (by its working) from sin, doth re-
vive, put strength into, and increase it in the soul, even
as it doth discover and forbid it, for it doth not give
power to subdue.

Again, as thou sawest the Damsel sprinkle the room

with Water, upon which it was cleansed with pleasure;

this is to shew thee, that when the Gospel comes in the

sweet and precious influences thereof to the heart, then

I say, even as thou sawest the Damsel lay the dust by

sprinkling the floor with Water, so is sin vanquished

and subdued, and the soul made clean, through the faith

of it, and consequently fit for the King of Glory to

inhabit.

He showed I saw moreover in my Dream, that the Interpreter took

and Patience ^'"^ ^y ^^^ hand, and had him into a little room, where

sat two little Children, each one in his chair. The name

of the eldest was Passion, and the name of the other

Patience. Passion seemed to be much discontent; but

Passion will Patience was very quiet. Then Christian asked, What

„Q^ is the reason of the discontent of Passion? The Inter-

Patience is pretcr answered. The Governor of them would have

or wai g j^^j^ ^j^y £^^ j^j^ jj^^j things till the beginning of the

next year; but he will have all now; but Patience is

willing to wait.

Passion has Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought him

a bag of treasure, and poured it down at his feet, the

which he took up and rejoiced therein; and withal,

laughed Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, and

And he had lavished all away, and had nothing left him but

quickly n

lavishes all *^^g*-

away Chr. Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound

this matter more fully to me.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 35

Inter. So he said, These two Lads are figures: Passion, The matter
of the men of this world; and Patience, of the men of
that which is to come; for as here thou seest, Passion will
have all now this year, that is to say, in this world; so
are the men of this world: they must have all their good
things now, they cannot stay till next year, that is, until
the next world, for their portion of good. That proverb, The worldly
A Bird in the Hand is worth two in the Bush, is of more bird in the
authority with them than are all the Divine testimonies hand
of the good of the world to come. But as thou sawest
that he had quickly lavished all away, and had presently
left him nothing but Rags; so will it be with all such men
at the end of this world.

Chr. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience has Patience
the best wisdom, and that upon many accounts, i. Be- wisdom
cause he stays for the best things. 2. And also because he
will have the Glory of his, when the other has nothing
but Rags.

Inter. Nay, you may add another, to wit, the glory of Things that
the next world will never wear out; but these are sud- must give
denly gone. Therefore Passion had not so much reason ?'»<:«; *>"'
to laugh at Patience, because he had his good things ^^^ i^j, „e
first, as Patience will have to laugh at Passion, because he lasting
had his best things last; for first must give place to
last, because last must have his time to come: but last
gives place to nothing; for there is not another to succeed.
He therefore that hath his portion first, must needs have
a time to spend it; but he that hath his portion last, must
have it lastingly; therefore it is said of Dives, In thy life- P}"^}^
time thou receivedst thy good things, and likewise La- things first
zarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art
tormented.

Chr. Then I perceive 'tis not best to covet things that
are now, but to wait for things to come.

Inter. You say truth: For the things which are seen are The first
Temporal; but the things that are not seen are Eternal. i,u'"^'poral
But though this be so, yet since things present and our

36 pilgrim's progress

fleshly appetite are such near neighbors one to another;
and, again, because things to come and carnal sense are
such strangers one to another; therefore it is that the
first of these so suddenly fell into amity, and that distance
is so continued between the second.

Then I saw in my Dream that the Interpreter took
Christian by the hand, and led him into a place where
was a Fire burning against a wall, and one standing by
it, always casting much Water upon it, to quench it; yet
did the Fire burn higher and hotter.

Then said Christian, What means this?

The Interpreter answered, This Fire is the work of
Grace that is wrought in the heart; he that casts Water
upon it, to extinguish and put it out, is the Devil; but in
that thou seest the Fire notwithstanding burn higher and
hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of that. So he had
him about to the backside of the wall, where he saw a
man with a Vessel of Oil in his hand, of the which he
did also continually cast (but secretly) into the Fire.

Then said Christian, What means this?

The Interpreter answered. This is Christ, wno continu-
ally, with the Oil of his Grace, maintains the work al-
ready begun in the heart: by the means of which not-
withstanding what the Devil can do, the souls of his peo-
ple prove gracious still. And in that thou sawest that
the man stood behind the wall to maintain the Fire, that
is to teach thee that it is hard for the tempted to see how
this work of Grace is maintained in the soul.

I saw also that the Interpreter took him again by the
hand, and led him into a pleasant place, where was
builded a stately Palace, beautiful to behold; at the sight
of which Christian was greatly delighted: He saw also
upon the top thereof, certain persons walking, who were
cloathed all in gold.

Then said Christian, May we go in thither?

Then the Interpreter took him, and led him up toward
the door of the Palace; and behold, at the door stood a

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 37

great company of men, as desirous to go in, but durst not.

There also sat a man at a little distance from the door,

at a table-side, with a Book and his Inkhorn before him,

to take the name of him that should enter therein; He

saw also, that in the door-way stood many men in armour

to keep it, being resolved to do the men that would enter

what hurt and mischief they could. Now was Christian

somewhat in a maze. At last, when every man started

back for fear of the armed men. Christian saw a man of "^^ valiant

man
a very stout countenance come up to the man that sat

there to write, saying. Set down my name, Sir: the which
when he had done, he saw the man draw his Sword, and
put an Helmet upon his head, and rush toward the door
upon the armed men, who laid upon him with deadly
force; but the man, not at all discouraged, fell to cutting
and hacking most fiercely. So after he had received and
given many wounds to those that attempted to keep him
out, he cut his way through them all, and pressed for-
ward into the Palace, at which there was a pleasant
voice heard from those that were within, even of those
that walked upon the top of the Palace, saying.

Come in, Come in;

Eternal Glory thou shalt win.

So he went in, and was cloathed with such garments as
they. Then Christian smiled, and said, I think verily I
know the meaning of this.

Now, said Christian, let me go hence. Nay, stay, said ^P^^ j.^
the Interpreter, till I have shewed thee a little more, and
after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he took him by
the hand again, and led him into a very dark room,
where there sat a man in an Iron Cage.

Now the Man, to look on, seemed very sad; he sat
with his eyes looking down to the ground, his hands
folded together; and he sighed as if he would break his
heart. Then said Christian, What means this? At which
the Interpreter bid him talk with the man.

an iron cage

38 pilgrim's progress

Then said Christian to the Man, What art thou? The
Man answered, / am what I was not once.

Chr. What wast thou once?

Man. The Man said, I was once a fair and flourishing
Professor, both in mine own eyes, and also in the eyes
of others; I once was, as I thought, fair for the Coelestial
City, and had then even joy at the thoughts that I should
get thither.

Chr. Well, but what art thou now?

Man. I am now a man of Despair, and am shut up
in it, as in this Iron Cage. I cannot get out; O now I
cannot.

Chr. But how camest thou in this condition?

Man. I left off to watch and be sober; I laid the reins
upon the neck of my lusts; I sinned against the light of
the Word and the goodness of God; I have grieved the
Spirit, and he is gone; I tempted the Devil, and he is
come to me; I have provoked God to anger, and he has
left me; I have so hardened my heart, that I cannot
repent.

Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But are there
no hopes for such a man as this? Ask him, said the
Interpreter.

Chr. Then said the Christian, Is there no hope, but
you must be kept in the Iron Cage of Despair?

Man. No, none at all.

Chr. Why? the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful.

Man. I have crucified him to myself afresh, I have
despised his Person, I have despised his Righteousness,
I have counted his Blood an unholy thing; I have done
despite to the Spirit of Grace: Therefore I have shut
myself out of all the Promises, and there now remains
to me nothing but threatnings, dreadful threatnings, fear-
ful threatnings of certain Judgment and fiery Indigna-
tion, which shall devour me as an Adversary.

Chr. For what did you bring yourself into this condi-
tion?

pilgrim's progress 39

Man. For the Lusts, Pleasures, and Profits of this
World; in the enjoyment of which I did then promise
myself much delight; but now every one of those things
also bite me, and gnaw me like a burning worm.

Chr. But canst thou not now repent and turn?

Man. God hath denied me repentance: his Word gives
me no encouragement to believe; yea, himself hath shut
me up in this Iron Cage; nor can all the men in the world
let me out. O Eternity! Eternity! how shall I grapple
with the misery that I must meet with in Eternity 1

Inter. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this
man's misery be remembred by thee, and be an everlast-
ing caution to thee.

Chr. Well, said Christian, this is fearful; God help me
to watch and be sober, and to pray that I may shun the
cause of this man's misery. Sir, is it not time for me to
go on my way now ?

Inter. Tarry till I shall shew thee one thing more, and
then thou shalt go thy way.

So he toolc Christian by the hand again, and led him
into a Chamber, where there was one rising out of bed;
and as he put on his raiment, he shook and trembled.
Then said Christian, Why doth this man thus tremble?
The Interpreter then bid him tell to Christian the reason
of his so doing. So he began and said. This night, as I
was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold the Heavens
grew exceeding black; also it thundred and hghtned in
most fearful wise, that it put me into an agony; so I
looked up in my Dream, and saw the Clouds rack at
an unusual rate, upon which I heard a great sound of a
Trumpet, and saw also a Man sit upon a Cloud, attended
with the thousands of Heaven; they were all in flaming
fire, also the Heavens were in a burning flame. I heard
then a Voice saying, Arise ye dead, and come to Judg-
ment; and with that the Rocks rent, the Graves opened,
and the Dead that were therein came forth. Some of
them were exceeding glad, and looked upward; and

40 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

some sought to hide themselves under the Mountains*
Then I saw the Man that sat upon the Cloud open the
Book, and bid the World draw near. Yet there was, by
reason of a fierce flame which issued out and came from
before him, a convenient distance betwixt him and them,
as betwixt the Judge and the Prisoners at the bar. I
heard it also proclaimed to them that attended on the
Man that sat on the Cloud, Gather together the Tares,
the Cha§, and Stubble, and cast them into the burning
La\e. And with that, the bottomless pit opened, just
whereabout I stood; out of the mouth of which there
came in an abundant manner, smoke and coals of fire,
with hideous noises. It was also said to the same persons.
Gather my Wheat into the Garner. And with that I saw
many catch'd up and carried away into the Clouds, but
I was left behind. I also sought to hide myself, but I
could not, for the Man that sat upon the Cloud still kept
his eye upxjn me: my sins also came into my mind; and
my Conscience did accuse me on every side. Upon this
I awaked from my sleep.

Chr. But what was it that made you so afraid of this
sight ?

Man. Why, I thought that the day of Judgment was
come, and that I was not ready for it: but this frighted
me most, that the Angels gathered up several, and left me
behind; also the pit of Hell opened her mouth just
where I stood: my Conscience too afflicted me; and as I
thought, the Judge had always his eye upon me, shewing
indignation in his countenance.

Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Hast thou con-
sidered ail these things?

Chr. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear.

Inter. Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they
may be as a Goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in
the way thou must go. Then Christian began to gird up
his loins, and address himself to his Journey. Then said
the Interpreter, The Comforter be always with thee, good

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 4I

Christian, to guide thee in the way that leads to the
City. So Christian went on his way saying.

Here I have seen things rare and profitable;
Things pleasant, dreadful, things to make me stable
In what I have begun to take in hand;
Then let me think on them, and understand
Wherefore they shew'd me was, and let me be
Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee.

Now I saw in my Dream, that the highway up which
Christian was to go, was fenced on either side with a
Wall, and that Wall is called Salvation. Up this
way therefore did burdened Christian run, but not
without great difficulty, because of the load on his
back.

He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascend-
ing, and upon that place stood a Cross, and a little below
in the bottom, a Sepulchre. So I saw in my Dream, that
just as Christian came up with the Cross, his Burden
loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from off his back,
and began to tumble, and so continued to do, till it came
to the mouth of the Sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw
it no more.

Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with when God

, Till- f 7 • I releases us of

a merry heart. He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and „y^, guilt and

li]e by his death. Then he stood still awhile to look and burden we
, , . . . I ■ L L - L 3''^ 3' those

wonder; tor it was very surpnsmg to nim, that the sight ,i,at leap for

of the Cross should thus ease him of his Burden. He )oy

looked therefore, and looked again, even till the springs

that were in his head sent the waters down his cheeks.

Now as he stood looking and weeping, behold three

Shining Ones came to him and saluted him with Peace

be to thee; so the first said to him. Thy sins be forgiven:

the second stript him of his Rags, and clothed him with

Change of Raiment; the third also set a mark in his

forehead, and gave him a Roll with a Seal upon it, which

he bid him look on as he ran, and that he should give it

in at the Coelestial Gate. So they went their way.

A Christian
can sing
though
alone, when
God doth
give him the
)oy of his
heart

Simple,
Sloth, and
Presumption

There is no
persuasion
will do, if
God openeth
not the eyes

Christian
talked with
them

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Who's this? the Pilgrim. How! 'tis very true.
Old things are past away, all's become new.
Strange! he's another man, upon my word.
They be fine Feathers that make a fine Bird.

Then Christian gave three leaps for joy, and went on

singing,

Thus far did I come laden with my sin;
Nor could aught ease the grief that I was in
Till I came hither: What a place is this!
Must here be the beginning of my bliss?
Must here the Burden fall from off my back?
Must here the strings that bound it to me crack ?
Blest Cross! blest Sepulchre! blest rather be
The Man that there was put to shame for me.

I saw then in my Dream that he went on thus, even
until he came at a bottom, where he saw, a little out of
the way, three men fast asleep, with fetters upon their
heels. The name of the one was Simple, another Sloth,
and the third Presumption.

Christian then seeing them lie in this case, went to
them, if peradventure he might awake them, and cried.
You are like them that sleep on the top of a mast, for
the Dead Sea is under you, a gulf that hath no bottom.
Awake therefore and come away; be willing also, and I
will help you off with your Irons. He also told them,
If he that goeth about like a roaring lion comes by, you
will certainly become a prey to his teeth. With that they
looked upon him, and began to reply in his sort: Simple
said, / see no danger; Sloth said. Yet a little more sleep:
and Presumption said, Every Fat' must stand upon his
oiun bottom. And so they lay down to sleep again and
Christian went on his way.

Yet was he troubled to think that men in that danger
should so little esteem the kindness of him that so freely
offered to help them, both by awakening of them, coun-
selling of them, and proffering to help them off with
their Irons. And as he was troubled thereabout he

' /.ft. Vat or tub.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 43

espied two men come tumbling over the Wall, on the
left hand of the narrow way; and they made up apace
to him. The name of the one was Formalist, and the
name of the other Hypocrisy. So, as I said, they drew
up unto him, who thus entered with them into dis-
course.

Chr. Gentlemen, Whence came you, and whither do
you go?

Form, and Hyp. We were born in the land of Vain-
glory, and are going for praise to Mount Sion.

Chr. Why came you not in at the Gate which standeth
at the beginning of the Way? Know you not that it is
written. That he that comet h not in by the Door, but
climbeth up some other way, the same is a Thief and a
Robber?

Form, and Hyp. They said, That to go to the Gate for
entrance was by all their countrymen counted too far
about; and that therefore their usual way was to make
a short cut of it, and to climb over the wall, as they had
done.

Chr. But will it not be counted a Trespass against the
Lord of the City whither we are bound, thus to violate
his revealed will?

Form, and Hyp. They told him. That as for that, he They that
needed not to trouble his head thereabout; for what they ^^ ^^y
did they had custom for; and could produce, if need but not by
were. Testimony that would witness it for more than a ,i,ink ,hat
thousand years. '•'ey "^^n say

Chr. But, said Christian, will your practice stand a tnTindica-
Trial at Law? "«" °i 'heir

Form, and Hyp. They told him. That custom, it being
of so long a standing as above a thousand years, would
doubtless now be admitted as a thing legal by an impar-
tial Judge; and besides, said they, if we get into the way,
what's matter which way we get in? if we are in,
we are in; thou art but in the way, who, as we perceive,
came in at the Gate; and we are also in the way, that

^ PILGRIM S PROGRESS

came tumbling over the wall; wherein now is thy condi-
tion better than ours?

Chr. I walk by the Rule of my Master; you walk by
the rude working of your fancies. You are counted
thieves already, by the Lord of the way; therefore I doubt
you will not be found true men at the end of the way.
You come in by yourselves, without his direction; and
shall go out by yourselves, without his mercy.

To this they made him but little answer; only they bid

him look to himself. Then I saw that they went on

every man in his way, without much conference one with

another; save that these two men told Christian, that as

to Laws and Ordinances, they doubted not but they

should as conscientiously do them as he; therefore, said

they, we see not wherein thou differest from us but by

the Coat that is on thy back, which was, as we trow,

given thee by some of thy Neighbors, to hide the shame

of thy nakedness.

Christian Chr. By Laws and Ordinances you will not be saved,

l^rirs*coat' since you came not in by the door. And as for this Coat

on his back, that is on my back, it was given me by the Lord of the

fortcd* there- P^^^^c whither I go; and that, as you say, to cover my

with; he is nakedness with. And I take it as a token of his kindness

auT w?th his '° '"^' ^°'^ ^ ^"^^ nothing but rags before. And besides,

mark and thus I comfort myself as I go: Surely think I, when I

" ™ come to the gate of the City, the Lord thereof will know

me for good, since I have this Coat on my back; a Coat

that he gave me freely in the day that he stript me of my

rags. I have moreover a Mark in my forehead, of which

perhaps you have taken no notice, which one of my

Lord's most intimate associates fixed there in the day

that my Burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you

moreover, that I had then given me a Roll sealed, to

comfort me by reading as I go in the way; I was also

bid to give it in at the Ccelestial Gate, in token of my

certain going in after it; all which things I doubt you

.>

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 45

want, and want them because you came not in at the
Gate.

To these things they gave him no answer; only they 9''""',^
looked upon each other and laughed. Then I saw that himself
they went on all, save that Christian kept before, who
had no more talk but with himself, and that sometimes
sighingly, and sometimes comfortably; also he would be
often reading in the Roll that one of the Shining Ones
gave him, by which he was refreshed.

I beheld then, that they all went on till they came to He comes to
the foot of the Hill Difficulty, at the bottom of which Difficulty
was a Spring. There was also in the same place two
other ways besides that which came straight from the
Gate; one turned to the left hand and the other to the
right, at the bottom of the Hill; but the narrow way lay
right up the Hill, and the name of the going up the side
of the Hill is called Difficulty. Christian now went to
the Spring, and drank thereof to refresh himself, and
then began to go up the Hill, saying,

The Hill, tho* high, I covet to ascend.

The difficulty will not me offend;

For I perceive the way to life lies here:

Come, pluck up, Heart, let's neither faint nor fear;

Better, the' difficult, the right way to go,

Than wrong, though easy, where the end is wo.

The other two also came to the foot of the Hill; but The danger
when they saw that the Hill was steep and high, and "u "of'^
that there was two other ways to go; and supposing also way
that these two ways might meet again with that up which
Christian went, on the other side of the Hill; therefore
they were resolved to go in those ways. Now the name
of one of those ways was Danger, and the name of the
other Destruction. So the one took the way which is
called Danger, which led him into a great Wood; and
the other took directly up the way to Destruction , which

46

A word of
grace

He that
sleeps is a
loser

Christian
meets with
Mistrust and
Timorous

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

led him into a wide field, full of dark Mountains,
where he stumbled and fell, and rose no more.

Shall they who wrong begin yet righdy end?
Shall they at all have Safety for their friend?
No, no; in headstrong manner they set out,
And headlong will they fall at last no doubt.

I looked then after Christian to see him go up the
Hill, where I perceived he fell from running to going,
and from going to clambering upon his hands and his
knees, because of the steepness of the place. Now about
the mid-way to the top of the Hill was a pleasant Arbor,
made by the Lord of the Hill for the refreshing of weary
travellers; thither therefore Christian got, where also he
sat down to rest him. Then he pulled his Roll out of his
bosom, and read therein to his comfort; he also now
began afresh to take a review of the Coat or Garment
that was given him as he stood by the Cross. Thus pleas-
ing himself awhile, he at last fell into a slumber, and
thence into a fast sleep, which detained him in that place
until it was almost night; and in his sleep his Roll fell out
of his hand. Now as he was sleeping, there came one to
him and awaked him, saying. Go to the Ant, thou slug-
gard; consider her ways, and be wise. And with that
Christian suddenly started up, and sped on his way, and
went apace till he came to the top of the Hill.

Now when he was got up to the top of the Hill, there
came two men running against him amain; the name of
the one was Timorous, and the other, Mistrust; to whom
Christian said. Sirs, what's the matter you run the wrong
way.? Timorous answered, that they were going to the
City of Zion, and had got up that difficult place; but,
said he, the further we go, the more danger we meet
with; wherefore we turned, and are going back again.

Yes, said Mistrust, for just before us lie a couple of
Lions in the way, (whether sleeping or waking we know
not) and we could not think, if we came within reach,
but they would presently pull us ui pieces.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 47

Chr. Then said Christian, You make me afraid, but Christian
whither shall I fly to be safe? If I go back to mine own £j„
country, that is prepared for Fire and Brimstone, and I
shall certainly perish there. If I can get to the Ccelestial
City, I am sure to be in safety there. I must venture : To
go back is nothing but death; to go forward is fear of
death, and life everlasting beyond it. I will yet go for-
ward. So Mistrust and Timorous ran down the Hill, and
Christian went on his way. But thinking again of what
he heard from the men, he felt in his bosom for his Roll,
that he might read therein and be comforted; but he felt. Christian
and found it not. Then was Christian in great distress, ^^w therein
and knew not what to do; for he wanted that which used •'«' used to
to relieve him, and that which should have been his pass i^^
into the Ccelestial City. Here therefore he began to be
much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he ^^ j^ P*"^'
bethought himself that he had slept in the Arbor that is his roll
on the side of the Hill; and falling down ujxin his knees
he asked God's forgiveness for that his foolish fact^ and
then went back to look for his Roll. But all the way
he went back, who can sufficiently set forth the sorrow of
Christian's heart? Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he
wept, and oftentimes he chid himself for being so fool-
ish to fall asleep in that place, which was erected only for
a Uttle refreshment for his weariness. Thus therefore he
went back, carefully looking on this side and on that,
all the way as he went, if happily he might find his Roll,
that had been his comfort so many times in his Journey.
He went thus till he came again within sight of the
Arbor where he sat and slept; but that sight renewed
his sorrow the more, by bringing again, even afresh, his
evil of sleeping into his mind. Thus therefore he now
went on bewailing his sinful sleep, saying, O wretched Christian
man that I am, that I should sleep in the daytime! that foolish
I should sleep in the midst of difficulty! that I should so sleeping
indulge the flesh, as to use that rest for ease to my flesh,

48 pilgrim's prcxiress

which the Lord of the Hill hath erected only for the
relief of the spirits of Pilgrims? How many steps have
I took in vain! (Thus it happened to Israel for their sin,
ihey were sent back again by the way of the Red Sea),
and I am made to tread those steps with sorrow, which I
might have trod with delight, had it not been for this
sinful sleep. How far might I have been on my way by
this time! I am made to tread those steps thrice over,
which I needed not to have trod but once; yea now also
I am like to be benighted, for the day is almost spent.

that I had not slept!

Christian Now by this time he was come to the Arbor again,

roll where where for a while he sat down and wept; but at last, as
he lost it Christian would have it, looking sorrowfully down under
the settle, there he espied his Roll; the which he with
trembling and haste catched up, and put it into his
bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was when
he had gotten his Roll again! for this Roll was the as-
surance of his life and acceptance at the desired Haven.
Therefore he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God
for directing his eye to the place where it lay, and with
joy and tears betook himself again to his Journey. But
Oh how nimbly now did he go up the rest of the Hill!
Yet before he got up, the Sun went down upon Christian;
and this made him again recall the vanity of his sleeping
to his remembrance; and thus he again began to condole
with himself. O thou sinful sleep: how for thy sal^e am

1 lil{e to be benighted in my Journey! I must tvall^ with-
out the Sun, darl^ness must cover the path of my feet,
and I must hear the noise of doleful creatures, because of
my sinful sleep. Now also he remembered the story that
Mistrust and Timorous told him of, how they were
frighted with the sight of the Lions. Then said Christian
to himself again, These beasts range in the night for
their prey; and if they should meet with me in the dark,
how should I shift them ? How should I escape being by
them torn in pieces? Thus he went on his way. But

pilgrim's progress 49

while he was thus bewailing his unhappy miscarriage, he
lift up his eyes, and behold there was a very stately Pal-
ace before him, the name of which was Beautiful; and
it stood just by the High-way side.

So I saw in my Dream that he made haste and went
forward, that if possible he might get Lodging there.
Now before he had gone far, he entered into a very nar-
row passage, which was about a furlong off of the Por-
ter's Lodge; and looking very narrowly before him as
he went, he espied two Lions in the way. Now, thought
he, I see the dangers that Mistrust and Timorous were
driven back by. (The Lions were chained, but he saw
not the chains.) Then he was afraid, and thought also
himself to go back after them, for he thought nothing
but death was before him: But the Porter at the lodge,
whose name is Watchful, perceiving that Christian made
a halt as if he would go back, cried unto him, saying,
Is thy strength so small? Fear not the Lions, for they
are chained, and are placed there for trial of faith where
it is, and for discovery of those that have none. Keep in
the midst of the Path, and no hurt shall come unto thee.

DiEBculty is behind. Fear is before.
Though he's got on the Hill, the Lions roar;
A Christian man is never long at ease,
When one fright's gone, another doth him seize.

Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the
Lions, but taking good heed to the directions of the
Porter; he heard them roar, but they did him no harm.
Then he dapt his hands, and went on till he came and
stood before the Gate where the Porter was. Then said
Christian to the Porter, Sir, what house is this ? and may
I lodge here to-night ? The Porter answered. This house
was built by the Lord of the Hill, and he built it for the
relief and security of Pilgrims. The Porter also asked
whence he was, and whither he was going?

Chr. I am come from the City of Destruction, and am

50 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

going to Mount Zion; but because the Sun is now set, I
desire, if I may, to lodge here to-night.

For. What is your name?

Chr. My name is now Christian, but my name at the
first was Graceless; I came of the race of fapheth, whom
God will persuade to dwell in the Tents of Shem.

For. But how doth it happen that you come so late?
The Sun is set.

Chr. 1 had been here sooner, but that, wretched man
that I am! I slept in the Arbor that stands on the Hill-
side; nay, I had notwithstanding that, been here much
sooner, but that in my sleep I lost my evidence, and came
without it to the brow of the Hill; and then feeUng for
it, and finding it not, I was forced with sorrow of heart
to go back to the place where 1 had slept my sleep, where
I found it, and now I am come.

For. Well, I will call out one of the Virgins of this
place, who will, if she likes your talk, bring you in to the
rest of the Family, according to the rules of the house.
So Watchful the Porter, rang a bell, at the sound of which
came out at the door of the house, a grave and beautiful
damsel named Discretion, and asked why she was called.

The Porter answered. This man is in a Journey from
the City of Destruction to Mount Zion, but being weary
and benighted, he asked me if he might lodge here to-
night; so I told him I would call for thee, who, after
discourse had with him, mayest do as seemeth thee good,
even according to the Law of the house.

Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he
was going; and he told her. She asked him also, how
he got into the way; and he told her. Then she asked
him, what he had seen and met with in the way; and he
told her. And last she asked his name; so he said. It is
Christian, and I have so much the more a desire to
lodge here to-night, because, by what I p)erceive, this
place was built by the Lord of the Hill, for the relief and
seciu-ity of Pilgrims. So she smiled, but the water stood

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 5 1

in her eyes; and after a little pause, she said, I will call
forth two or three more of the Family. So she ran to the
door, and called out Prudence, Piety, and Charity, who
after a little more discourse with him, led him in to the
Family; and many of them, meeting him at the threshold
of the house, said. Come in thou blessed of the Lord:
this house was built by the Lord of the Hill, on purpose
to entertain such Pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head,
and followed them into the house. So when he was come
in and set down, they gave him something to drink, and
consented together, that until supf)er was ready, some of
them should have some particular discourse with Chris-
tian, for the best improvement of time; and they ap-
pointed Piety, and Prudence, and Charity to discourse
with him; and thus they began:

Piety. Come good Christian, since we have been so Piety
loving to you, to receive you into our house this night, let hlm""'^'**
us, if perhaps we may better ourselves thereby, talk with
you of all things that have happened to you in your
Pilgrimage.

Chr. With a very good will, and I am glad that you
are so well disposed.

Piety. What moved you at first to betake yourself to a
Pilgrim's life?

Chr. I was driven out of my Native Country, by a How
dreadful sound that was in mine ears: to wit, that un- was driven
avoidable destruction did attend me, if I abode in that <>"' of his

1 1 ¥ own country

place where 1 was.

Piety. But how did it happen that you came out of
your Country this way ?

Chr. It was as God would have it; for when I was How he got
under the fears of destruction, I did not know whither {„ ^ion^ ""'^
to go; but by chance there came a man, even to me, as
I was trembling and weeping, whose name is Evangelist,
and he directed me to the Wicket-gate, which else I
should never have found, and so set me into the way that
hath led me directly to this house.

52

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Piety. But did you not come by the house of the Inter-
preter?
A rehearsal Chr. Yes, and did see such things there, the remem-
$aw in the brance of which will stick by me as long as I live; spe-
wiy cially three things: to wit, How Christ, in despite of

Satan, maintains his work of Grace in the heart; how the
man had sinned himself quite out of hopes of God's
mercy; and also the Dream of him that thought in his
sleep the day of Judgment was come.

Piety. Why, Did you hear him tell his dream?

Chr. Yes, and a dreadful one it was. I thought it
made my heart ake as he was telling of it; but yet I am
glad I heard it.

Piety. Was that all that you saw at the house of the
Interpreter?

Chr. No: he took me and had me where he shewed
me a stately Palace, and how the people were clad in Gold
that were in it; and how there came a venturous man
and cut his way through the armed men that stood in
the door to keep him out, and how he was bid to come
in, and win eternal Glory. Methought those things did
ravish my heart; I would have stayed at that good man's
house a twelve-month, but that I knew I had further
to go.

Piety. And what saw you else in the way?

Chr. Saw! Why, I went but a little further, and I saw
one, as I thought in my mind, hang bleeding uf)on the
Tree; and the very sight of him made my Burden fall
off my back (for I groaned under a very heavy Burden),
but then it fell down from off me. 'Twas a strange thing
to me, for I never saw such a thing before; yea, and while
I stood looking up (for then I could not forbear looking)
three Shining Ones came to me. One of them testified
that my sins were forgiven me; another stript me of my
Rags, and gave me this broidered Coat which you see;
and the third set the Mark which you see in my fore-

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 53

head, and gave me this sealed Roll: (and with that he
plucked it out of his bosom.)

Piety. But you saw more than this, did you not?

Chr. The things that I have told you were the best;
yet some other matters I saw, as namely I saw three men.
Simple, Sloth, and Presumption, lie asleep a little out of
the way as I came, with Irons upon their heels; but do
you think I could awake them? I also saw Formalist
and Hypocrisy come tumbling over the wall, to go, as
they pretended, to Zion; but they were quickly lost; evea
as I myself did tell them, but they would not believe.
But, above all, I found it hard work to get up this Hill,
and as hard to come by the Lions' mouths; and truly if
it had not been for the good man, the Porter that stands
at the Gate, I do not know but that after all I might
have gone back again; but now I thank God I am here,
and I thank you for receiving of me.

Then Prudence thought good to ask him a few ques- Prudence
tions, and desired his answer to them. j,i^

Prud. Do you not think sometimes of the Country
from whence you came?

Chr. Yes, but with much shame and detestation: Truly, Christian's
if I had been mindful of that Country from whence I his^iutive
came out, I might have had opportunity to have re- country
turned; but now I desire a better Country, that is, a
Heavenly.

Prud. Do you not yet bear away with you some of the
things that then you were conversant withal?

Chr. Yes, but greatly against my will; especially my Christian
inward and carnal cogitations, with which all my coun- „iih carnal
trymen, as well as myself, were delighted; but now all cogitationj
those things are my grief; and might I but chuse mine Christian's
own things, I would chuse never to think of those things
more; but when I would be doing of that which is best,
that which is worst is with me.

Prud, Do you not find sometimes, as if those things

54

christian's
golden hours

How

Christian
gets power
against his
corruptions

Why
Christian
would be at
Mount Zion

Charity

discourses

him

Christian's
love to his
wiEe and
children

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

were vanquished, which at other times are your per-
plexity ?

Chr. Yes, but that is seldom; but they are to me golden
hours in which such things hapf)en to me.

Prud. Can you remember by what means you find
your annoyances at times, as if they were vanquished ?

Chr. Yes, when I think what I saw at the Cross,
that will do it; and when I look up)on my broidered
Coat, that will do it; also when I look into the Roll
that 1 carry in my bosom, that will do it; and when
my thoughts wax warm about whither I am going,
that will do it.

Prud. And what is it that makes you so desirous to go
to Mount Zion?

Chr. Why, there I hop>e to sec him alive that did hang
dead on the Cross; and there I hope to be rid of all those
things that to this day are in me an annoyance to me;
there, they say, there is no death; and there I shall dwell
with such Company as 1 like best. For to tell you truth,
I love him, because I was by him eased of my Burden,
and I am weary of my inward sickness; I would fain be
where I shall die no more, and with the Company that
shall continually cry. Holy, Holy, Holy.

Then said Charity to Christian, Have you a family?
Are you a married man?

Chr. I have a Wife and four small Children.

Char. And why did you not bring them along with
you?

Chr. Then Christian wept, and said, Oh how willingly
would I have done it, but they were all of them utterly
averse to my going on Pilgrimage.

Char. But you should have talked to them, and have
endeavoured to have shewn them the danger of being
behind.

Chr. So I did, and told them also what God had
shewed to me of the destruction of our City; but I seemed
to them as one that mocked, and they believed me not.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Char. And did you pray to God that he would bless
your counsel to them?

Chr. Yes, and that with much affection; for you must
think that my Wife and poor Children were very dear
unto me.

Char. But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and
fear of destruction? for I suppose that destruction was
visible enough to you.

Chr. Yes, over, and over, and over. They might also
see my fears in my countenance, in my tears, and also in
my trembhng under the apprehension of the Judgment
that did hang over our heads; but all was not sufficient
to prevail with them to come with me.

Char. But what could they say for themselves, why
they came not?

Chr. Why, my Wife was afraid of losing this World,
and my Children were given to the foolish Delights of
youth: so what by one thing, and what by another, they
left me to wander in this manner alone.

Char. But did you not with your vain life, damp all
that you by words used by way of persuasion to bring
them away with you ?

Chr. Indeed I cannot commend my Hfe; for I am con-
scious to myself of many failings therein: I know also,
that a man by his conversation may soon overthrow, what
by argument or persuasion he doth labour to fasten upon
others for their good. Yet, this I can say, I was very wary
of giving them occasion, by any unseemly action, to make
them averse to going on Pilgrimage. Yea, for this very
thing they would tell me I was too precise, and that I
denied myself of things (for their sakes) in which they
saw no evil. Nay, I think I may say, that if what they
saw in me did hinder them, it was my great tenderness
in sinning against God, or of doing any wrong to my
Neighbor.

Char. Indeed Cain hated his Brother, because his own
works were evil, and his Brother's righteous; and if thy

55

Christiaa's
fears of
perishing
might be
read in his
very counte-
nance

The cause
why his wife
and children
did not go
with him

Christian's
good con-
versation
before hii
wife and
children

56

christian
clear of
their blood
if they
perish

What
Christian
had to his
supper

Their talk at
suppertime

Christ
makes
princes of
beggars

Christian's
bed<hamber

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Wife and Children have been offended with thee for this,
they thereby shew themselves to be implacable to good,
and thou hast delivered thy soul from their blood.

Now I saw in my Dream, that thus they sat talking
together until supper was ready. So when they had made
ready, they sat down to meat. Now the Table was fur-
nished with fat things, and with Wine that was well re-
fined: and all their talk at the Table was about the
LORD of the Hill; as namely, about what HE had done,
and wherefore HE did what He did, and why HE had
builded that House: and by what they said, I perceived
that he had been a great Warrioitr, and had fought with
and slain him that had the power of Death, but not with-
out great danger to himself, which made me love him the
more.

For, as they said, and as I believe (said Christian) he
did it with the loss of much blood; but that which put
Glory of Grace into all he did, was, that he did it out of
pure love to his Country, And besides, there were some
of them of the household that said they had seen and
spoke with him since he did die on the Cross; and they
have attested that they had it from his own lips, that he
is such a lover of poor Pilgrims, that the like is not to
be found from the East to the West.

They moreover gave an instance of what they af-
firmed, and that was. He had stript himself of his glory,
that he might do this for the Poor; and that they heard
him say and affirm, That he would not dwell in the
Mountain of Zion alone. They said moreover, that he
had made many Pilgrims Princes, though by nature they
were Beggars born, and their original had been the
dunghill.

Thus they discoursed together till late at night; and
after they had committed themselves to their Lord for
protection, they betook themselves to rest: the Pilgrim
they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window
opened towards the Sun rising: the name of the chamber

there

pilgrim's progress 57

was Peace, where he slept till break of day, and then he
awoke and sang,

Where am I now? Is this the love and care
Of Jesus for the men that Pilgrims are
Thus to provide! That I should be forgiven
And dwell already the next door to Heaven!

So in the morning they all got up, and after some more christian
discourse, they told him that he should not depart till 5,^^^ ^^
they had shewed him the Rarities of that place. And first what he saw
they had him into the Study, where they shewed him
Records of the greatest antiquity; in which, as I remem-
ber my Dream, they shewed him first the Pedigree of the
Lord of the Hill, that he was the Son of the Antient of
Days, and came by an Eternal Generation. Here also
was more fully recorded the Acts that he had done, and
the names of many hundreds that he had taken into his
service; and how he had placed them in such Habitations
that could neither by length of Days, nor decays of Na-
ture, be dissolved.

Then they read to him some of the worthy Acts that
some of his servants had done: as, how they had subdued
Kingdoms, wrought Righteousness, obtained Promises,
stopped the mouths of Lions, quenched the violence of
Fire, escaped the edge of the Sword; out of weakness
were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, and turned to
flight the Armies of the Aliens.

Then they read again in another part of the Records
of the house, where it was shewed how willing their
Lord was to receive into his favour any, even any, though
they in time past had offered great affronts to his Person
and proceedings. Here also were several other Histories
of many other famous things, of all which Christian
had a view; as of things both Antient and Modern:
together with Prophecies and Predictions of things that
have their certain accomplishment, both to the dread
and amazement of Enemies, and the comfort and solace
of Pilgrims.

5«

christian
had into the
armoury

Christian is
made to see
ancient
things

Christian
showed the
Delectable
Mountains

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

The next day they took him and had him into the
Armory, where they shewed him all manner of Furni-
ture, which their Lord had provided for Pilgrims, as
Sword, Shield, Helmet, Breastplate, All-prayer, and
Shoes that would not wear out. And there was here
enough of this to harness out as many men for the service
of their Lord as there be Stars in the Heaven for multi-
tude.

They also shewed him some of the Engines with which
some of his Servants had done wonderful things. They
shewed him Mose/ Rod; the Hammer and Nail with
which ]ael slew Sisera; the Pitchers, Trump)ets and
Lamps too, with which Gideon put to flight the Armies
of Midian: Then they shewed him the Ox's goad where-
with Shamgar slew six hundred men: They shewed him
also the Jaw-bone with which Samson did such mighty
feats: They shewed him moreover the Sling and Stone
with which Datnd slew Goliah of Gath; and the Sword
also with which their Lord will kill the Man of Sin, in
the day that he shall rise up to the prey. They shewed
him besides many excellent things, with which Christian
was much delighted. This done, they went to their rest
again.

Then I saw in my Dream, that on the morrow he got
up to go forwards, but they desired him to stay till the
next day also; and then, said they, we will (if the day be
clear) shew you the Delectable Mountains, which, they
said, would yet further add to his comfort, because they
were nearer the desired Haven than the place where at
present he was: so he consented and stayed. When the
morning was up, they had him to the top of the House,
and bid him look South; so he did: and behold at a great
distance he saw a most pleasant Mountainous Country,
beautified with Woods, Vineyards, Fruits of all sorts,
Flowers also, with Springs and Fountains, very delect-
able to behold. Then he asked the name of the Country:

They said it was Immanuel's Land; and it is as com-

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 59

mon, they said, as this Hill is, to and for all the Pilgrims.
And when thou comest there, from thence, said they,
thou mayest see to the gate of the Coelestial City, as the
Shepherds that live there will make appear.

Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and Chrisnan
they were willing he should : but first, said they, let us go
again into the Armory: So they did; and when they came
there, they harnessed him from head to foot with what
was of proof, lest perhaps he should meet with assaults chmdan
in the way. He being therefore thus accoutred, walketh armed
out with his friends to the Gate, and there he asked the
Porter if he saw any Pilgrims pass by: Then the Porter
answered. Yes.

Chr. Pray, did you know him? said he.

Por, I asked his name, and he told me it was Faithful.

Chr. O, said Christian, I know him; he is my Towns-
man, my near Neighbor, he comes from the place where
I was born: How far do you think he may be before?

Por. He is got by this time below the Hill.

Chr. Well, said Christian, good Porter, the Lord be How

with thee, and add to all thy blessings much increase, for j^j ,1,^

the kindness that thou hast shewed to me. Porter greet

at parting

Whilst Christian is among his godly friends,
Their golden mouths make him sufficient mends
For ail his griefs, and when they let him go,
He's clad with northern Steel from top to toe.

Then he began to go forward; but Discretion, Piety, The Valley
Charity, and Prudence, would accompany him down to ^^^„„
the foot of the Hill. So they went on together, reiterat-
ing their former discourses, till they came to go down the
Hill. Then said Christian, As it was difficult coming up,
so (so far as I can see) it is dangerous going down. Yes,
said Prudence, so it is, for it is a hard matter for a man
to go down into the Valley of Humiliation, as thou art
now, and to catch no slip by the way; therefore, said
they, are we come out to accompany thee down the Hill.

6o

Christiaii
has no
armour for
bis back

Christian's
resolution
at the ap-
proach of
Apollyon

Discourse

betwixt

Christian

and

Apollyon

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

So he began to go down, but very warily; yet he caught
a slip or two.

Then I saw in my Dream that these good Companions,
when Christian was gone down to the bottom of the
Hill, gave him a loaf of Bread, a bottle of Wine, and a
cluster of Raisins; and then he went on his way.

But now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian
was hard put to it; for he had gone but a little way, before
he espied a foul Fiend coming over the field to meet
him; his name is Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to
be afraid, and to cast in his mind whether to go back or
to stand his ground: But he considered again that he had
no Armor for his back, and therefore thought that to
turn the back to him might give him the greater ad-
vantage with ease to pierce him with his Darts. There-
fore he resolved to venture and stand his ground; For,
thought he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving
of my life, 'twould be the best way to stand.

So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the Mon-
ster was hideous to behold; he was cloathed with scales
like a Fish (and they are his pride) ; he had wings like
a Dragon, feet like a Bear, and out of his belly came Fire
and Smoke; and his mouth was as the mouth of a Lion.
When he was come up to Christian, he beheld him with
a disdainful countenance, and thus began to question
with him.

Apol. Whence come you ? and whither are you bound ?

Chr. I am come from the City of Destruction, which
is the place of all evil, and am going to the City of Zion.

Apol. By this I perceive thou art one of my Subjects,
for all that Country is mine, and I am the Prince and
God of it. How is it then that thou hast run away from
thy King? Were it not that I hope thou may est do me
more service, I would strike thee now at one blow to the
ground.

Chr. I was born indeed in your dominions, but your
service was hard, and your wages such as a man could

pilgrim's progress 6i

not live on, for the wages of sin is death; therefore when
I was come to years, I did as other considerate persons do,
look out, if perhaps I might mend myself.

Apol. There is no Prince that will thus lightly lose his Apollyon's
Subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee: but since thou
complainest of thy service and wages, be content to go
back; what our Country will afford, I do here promise
to give thee.

Chr. But I have let myself to another, even to the
King of Princes, and how can I with fairness go back
with thee?

Apol. Thou hast done in this, according to the Proverb, Apollyon
changed a bad for a worse; but it is ordinary for those values
that have professed themselves his Servants, after a while Christ's
to give him the slip, and return again to me: Do thou so
too, and all shall be well.

Chr. I have given him my faith, and sworn my allegi-
ance to him; how then can I go back from this, and not
be hanged as a Traitor?

Apol. Thou didst the same to me, and yet I am willing Apollyon
to pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go back. \o\x

Chr. What I promised thee was in my nonage; and merciful
besides, I count that the Prince under whose Banner now
I stand is able to absolve me; yea, and to pardon also what
I did as to my compliance with thee; and besides, O thou
destroying Apollyon, to sjjeak truth, I like his Service, his
Wages, his Servants, his Government, his Company and
Country, better than thine; and therefore leave off to
persuade me further; I am his Servant and I will follow
him.

Apol, Consider again when thou art in cool blood, Apollyon

what thou art like to meet with in the way that thou grievous

goest. Thou knowest that for the most part, his Servants c"«'* °f

.., J 1 I christians,

come to an Ul end, because they are transgressors agamst ,„ dissuade

me and my ways: How many of them have been put to Christian

shameful deaths; and besides, thou countest his service sisting in his

better than mine, whereas he never came yet from the "^y

62

Apollyon
pleads
Christian's
infirmitiet
against him

Apollyon in
a rage falls
upon
Christian

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

place where he is to deHver any that served him out
of our hands; but as for me, how many times, as all
the World very well knows, have I delivered, either by
power or fraud, those that have faithfully served me,
from him and his, though taken by them; and so I will
deliver thee.

Chr. His forbearing at present to deliver them is on
purpose to try their love, whether they will cleave to him
to the end; and as for the ill end thou sayest they come
to, that is most glorious in their account; for for present
deliverance, they do not much expect it, for they stay
for their Glory, and then they shall have it, when their
Prince comes in his and the Glory of the Angels.

Apol. Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service
to him, and how dost thou think to receive wages of him?

Chr. Wherein, O Apollyon, have I been unfaithful to
him?

Apol. Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou
wast almost choked in the Gulf of Dispond; thou didst
attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy Burden, whereas
thou shouldest have stayed till thy Prince had taken it off;
thou didst sinfully sleep and lose thy choice thing; thou
wast also almost persuaded to go back, at the sight of the
Lions; and when thou talkest of thy Journey, and of what
thou hast heard and seen, thou art inwardly desirous of
vain-glory in all that thou sayest or doest.

Chr. All this is true, and much more which thou hast
left out; but the Prince whom I serve and honor is merci-
ful, and ready to forgive; but besides, these infirmities
possessed me in thy Country, for there I sucked them in,
and I have groaned under them, been sorry for them,
and have obtained Pardon of my Prince.

Apol. Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage,
saying, I am an enemy to this Prince; I hate his Person,
his Laws, and People; I am come out on purpose to with-
stand thee.

Chr. Apollyon, beware what you do, for I am in the

pilgrim's progress 63

King's High-way, the way of Holiness, therefore take
heed to yourself.

Apol. Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole
breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this
matter, prepare thyself to die; for I swear by my infernal
Den, that thou shall go no further; here will I spill thy
soul.

And with that he threw a flaming Dart at his breast,
but Christian had a Shield in his hand, with which he
caught it, and so prevented the danger of that.

Then did Christian draw, for he saw 'twas time to Christian
bestir him: and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing j,;, under-
Darts as thick as Hail; by the which, notwithstanding standing,
all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded conversation
him in his head, his hand, and joot: This made Christian
give a little back; Apollyon therefore followed his work
amain, and Christian again took courage, and resisted
as manfully as he could. This sore Combat lasted for
above half a day, even till Christian was almost quite
spent; for you must know that Christian, by reason of
his wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker.

Then Apollyon espying his opportunity, began to Apollyon
gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave jo^n to the
him a dreadful fall; and with that Christian's Sword flew uround
out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee
now: and with that he had almost pressed him to death,
so that Christian began to despair of life: but as God
would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last
blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man.
Christian nimbly stretched out his hand for his Sword,
and caught it, saying. Rejoice not against me, O mine
Enemy! when I jail I shall arise; and with that gave him
a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that
had received his mortal wound: Christian, perceiving Christian's
that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these things Apollyon"'"
we are more than Conquerors through him that loved us.
And with that Apollyon spread forth his Dragon's wings.

A brief
relition of
the combat
by the
spectator

64 pilgrim's progress

and sped him away, that Christian for a season saw him
no more.

In this Combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen
and heard as I did, what yelling and hideous roaring
Apollyon made all the time of the fight, he spake like a
Dragon; and on the other side, what sighs and groans
burst from Christian's heart. I never saw him all the
while give so much as one pleasant look, till he perceived
he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged Sword;
then indeed he did smile, and look upward; but 'twas
the dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.

A more unequal match can hardly be:
Christian must fight an Angel; but you sec
The Valiant Man by handling Sword and Shield,
Doth make him, tho' a Dragon, quit the field.

So when the Battle was over. Christian said, I will
here give thanks to him that hath delivered me out of
the mouth of the Lion, to him that did help me against
Apollyon. And so he did, saying.

Great Beelzebub, the Captain of this Fiend,
Design'd my ruin; therefore to this end
He sent him harness'd out: and he with rage
That hellish was, did fiercely me engage:
But blessed Michael helped me, and I
By dint of Sword did quickly make him fly.
Therefore to him let me give lasting praise,
And thank and bless his holy name always.

Chriitian Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves

journey with of the Tree of Life, the which Christian took, and apphed
to the wounds that he had received in the Battle, and
was healed immediately. He also sat down in that place
to eat Bread, and to drink of the Bottle that was given
him a little before; so being refreshed, he addressed him-
self to his Journey, with his Sword drawn in his hand;
for he said, I know not but some other Enemy may be
at hand. But he met with no other affront from Apollyon
quite through this Valley.

Christian
gives God
thanks for
deliveranca

his sword
drawn in
his hand

pilgrim's progress 65

Now at the end of this Valley was another, called the TTie Valley
Valley of the Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs shadow of
go through it, because the way to the Ccelestial City lay Oeith
through the midst of it. Now, this Valley is a very soli-
tary place. The Prophet Jeremiah thus describes it: A
wilderness, a land of desarts and of pits, a land of drought,
and of the shadow of death, a land that no man (but a
Christian) passeth through, and where no man dwelt.

Now here Christian was worse put to it than in his
fight with Apollyon, as by the sequel you shall see.

I saw then in my Dream, that when Christian was got The chil-
to the borders of the Shadow of Death, there met him ^p^^ ^
two men. Children of them that brought up an evil re- back
port of the good land, making haste to go back; to whom
Christian spake as follows,

Chr. Whither are you going.?

Men. They said. Back, back; and we would have you
to do so too, if either life or peace is prized by you.

Chr. Why, what's the matter? said Christian,

Men. Matter! said they; we were going that way as you
are going, and went as far as we durst; and indeed we
were almost past coming back; for had we gone a little
further, we had not been here to bring the news to thee.

Chr. But what have you met with? said Christian.

Men. Why we were almost in the Valley of the Shadow
of Death; but that by good hap we looked before us, and
saw the danger before we came to it.

Chr. But what have you seen? said Christian.

Men. Seen! Why, the Valley itself, which is as dark
as pitch; we also saw there the Hobgoblins, Satyrs, and
Dragons of the Pit; we heard also in that Valley a con-
tinual howling and yelling, as of a people under unutter-
able misery, who there sat bound in affliction and irons;
and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of
Confusion; Death also doth always spread his wings
over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly
without Order.

66 pilgrim's progress

Chr. Then said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what
you have said, but that this is my way to the desired
Haven.

Men. Be it thy way; we will not chuse it for ours. So
they parted, and Christian went on his way, but still with
his Sword drawn in his hand, for fear lest he should be
assaulted.

I saw then in my Dream, so far as this Valley reached,
there was on the right hand a very deep Ditch ; that Ditch
is it into which the blind have led the bhnd in all ages,
and have both there miserably perished. Again, behold
on the left hand, there was a very dangerous Quag, into
which, if even a good man falls, he can find no bottom
for his foot to stand on. Into that Quag King David
once did fall, and had no doubt therein been smothered,
had not he that is able pluckt him out.

The path-way was here also exceeding narrow, and
therefore good Christian was the more put to it; for
when he sought in the dark to shun the ditch on the one
hand, he was ready to tip over into the mire on the other;
also when he sought to escape the mire, without great
carefulness he would be ready to fall into the ditch. Thus
he went on, and I heard him here sigh bitterly; for, be-
sides the dangers mentioned above, the path-way was
here so dark, that ofttimes, when he Hft up his foot to
set forward, he knew not where, or upon what he should
set it next.

Poor man! where art thou now? Thy Day is Night.
Good man be not cast down, thou yet art right:
Thy way to Heaven lies by the gates of Hell;
Chear up, hold out, with thee it shall go well.

Christian About the midst of this Valley, I perceived the mouth of

stand" but ^^^' '° ^' ''"'^ '^ Stood also hard by the wayside. Now

for a while thought Christian, what shall I do? And ever and anon

the flame and smoke would come out in such abundance,

with sparks and hideous noises (things that cared not

for Christian's Sword, as did Apollyon before) that he

pilgrim's progress 67

was forced to put up his Sword, and betake himself to
another weapon, called All-prayer. So he cried in my
hearing, Lord I beseech thee deliver my Soul. Thus
he went on a great while, yet still the flames would be
reaching towards him : Also he heard doleful voices, and
rushings to and fro, so that sometimes he thought he
should be torn in pieces, or trodden down like mire in
the Streets. This frightful sight was seen, and these
dreadful noises were heard by him for several miles
together; and coming to a place where he thought he
heard a company of Fiends coming forward to meet him,
he stopt, and began to muse what he had best to do.
Sometimes he had half a thought to go back; then again
he thought he might be half way through the Valley;
he remembered also how he had already vanquished
many a danger, and that the danger of going back might
be much more than for to go forward; so he resolved
to go on. Yet the Fiends seemed to come nearer and
nearer; but when they were come even almost at him,
he cried out with a most vehement voice, / will wall{ in
the strength of the Lord God; so they gave back, and
came no further.

One thing I would not let slip; I took notice that now Christian
poor Christian was so confounded, that he did not know j^^^/ ,i,j,*
his own voice; and thus I perceived it; Just when he was he spake
come over against the mouth of the burning Pit, one ^^f^ it^'was
of the wicked ones got behind him, and stept up softly Satan that
to him, and whisperingly suggested many grievous bias- (fj^^nto
phemies to him, which he verily thought had proceeded his mind
from his own mind. This put Christian more to it than
anything that he met with before, even to think that he
should now blaspheme him that he loved so much before;
yet, if he could have helped it, he would not have done
it; but he had not the discretion neither to stop his ears,
nor to know from whence those blasphemies came.

When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate con-
dition some considerable time, he thought he heard the

68

christian
glad at
break of
day

Tbe second
part of this
valley very
dangerous

PILGRIM S PRCXJRESS

voice of a man, as going before him, saying, Though I
tvall{ through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I mil
fear none ill, for thou art with me.

Then was he glad, and that for these reasons:

First, Because he gathered from thence, that some who
feared God were in this Valley as well as himself.

Secondly, For that he perceived God was with them,
though in that dark and dismal state; and why not,
thought he, with me? though by reason of the impedi-
ment that attends this place, I cannot perceive it.

Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them,
to have company by and by. So he went on, and called
to him that was before; but he knew not what to answer,
for that he also thought himself to be alone. And by and
by the day broke; then said Christian, He hath turned the
Shadow of Death into the morning.

Now morning being come, he looked back, not out
of desire to return, but to see, by the light of the day, what
hazards he had gone through in the dark. So he saw
more perfectly the Ditch that was on the one hand, and
the Quag that was on the other; also how narrow the way
was which led betwixt them both; also now he saw the
Hobgoblins, and Satyrs, and Dragons of the Pit, but all
afar off; for after break of day, they came not nigh; yet
they were discovered to him, according to that which is
written. He discovered deep things out of darl^ness, and
bringeth out to light the Shadow of Death.

Now was Christian much afTected with his deliverance
from all the dangers of his solitary way; which dangers,
though he feared them more before, yet he saw them
more clearly now, because the light of the day made
them conspicuous to him. And about this time the Sun
was rising, and this was another mercy to Christian; for
you must note, that though the first part of the Valley of
the Shadow of Death was dangerous, yet this second part
which he was yet to go, was, if possible, far more danger-
ous: for from the place where he now stood, even to

pilgrim's progress 69

the end of the Valley, the way was all along set so full
of Snares, Traps, Gins, and Nets here, and so full of Pits,
Pitfalls, deep Holes, and Shelvings down there, that had
it now been dark, as it was when he came the first part
of the way, had he had a thousand souls, they had in
reason been cast away; but as I said, just now the Sua
was rising. Then said he. His candle shineth on my head,
and by his light I go through darl{ness.

In this light therefore he came to the end of the Valley.
Now I saw in my Dream, that at the end of this Valley
lay blood, bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even
of Pilgrims that had gone this way formerly; and while
I was musing what should be the reason, I espied a little
before me a Cave, where two Giants, Pope and Pagan,
dwelt in old time; by whose power and tyranny the men
whose bones, blood, ashes, &c. lay there, were cruelly put
to death. But by this place Christian went without much
danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learnt
since, that Pagan has been dead many a day; and as for
the other, though he be yet alive, he is by reason of age,
and also of the many shrewd brushes that he met with
in his younger days, grown so crazy, and stiff in his
joints, that he can now do little more than sit in his Cave's
mouth, grinning at Pilgrims as they go by, and biting his
nails, because he cannot come to them.

So I saw that Christian went on his way; yet at the
sight of the Old Man that sat in the mouth of the Cave,
he could not tell what to think, specially because he spake
to him, though he could not go after him, saying, You
tvill never mend till more of you be burned: But he held
his peace, and set a good face on't, and so went by and
catcht no hurt. Then sang Christian,

O world of wonders! (I can say no less)
That I should be preserv'd in that distress
That I have met with here! O blessed be
That hand that from it hath delivered me!
Dangers in darkness, Devils, Hell, and Sin,

70

christian
overtakes
Faithful

Christian's
fall makes
Faithful and
he go
lovingly
together

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Did compass me, while I this Vale was in:
Yea, Snares, and Pits, and Traps, and Nets did lie
My path about, that worthless silly I
Might have been catch'd, intangled, and cast down;
But since I live, let Jesus wear the Crown.

Now as Christian went on his way, he came to a little
ascent, which was cast up on purpose that Pilgrims might
see before them. Up there therefore Christian went, and
looking forward, he saw Faithful before him, upon his
Journey. Then said Christian aloud. Ho, ho, So-ho; stay,
and I will be your Companion. At that Faithful looked
behind him; to whom Christian cried again. Stay, stay, till
I come up to you : But Faithful answered, No, I am upon
my life, and the Avenger of Blood is behind me.

At this Christian was somewhat moved, and putting
to all his strength, he quickly got up with Faithful, and
did also overrun him, so the last was first. Then did
Christian vain-gloriously smile, because he had gotten
the start of his Brother; but not taking good heed to his
feet, he suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not rise
again, until Faithful came up to help him.

Then I saw in my Dream they went very lovingly on
together, and had sweet discourse of all things that had
happened to them in their Pilgrimage; and thus Chris-
tian began:

Chr. My honoured and well beloved Brother Faithful,
I am glad that I have overtaken you; and that God has
so tempered our spirits, that we can walk as Compaoioos
in this so pleasant a path.

Faith. I had thought, dear Friend, to have had your
company quite from our Town; but you did get the
start of me, wherefore I was forced to come thus much
of the way alone.

Chr. How long did you stay in the City of Destruction,
before you set out after me on your Pilgrimage?

Faith. Till I could stay no longer; for there was great
talk presently after you were gone out, that our City

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 7 1

would in short time with Fire from Heaven be burned Their ulk
down to the ground. country

Chr. What, did your Neighbors talk so? f™""

Faith. Yes, 'twas for a while in everybody's mouth. ^^y £jm,g

Chr. What, and did no more of them but you come out
to escape the danger?

Faith. Though there was, as I said, a great talk there-
about, yet I do not think they did firmly believe it. For
in the heat of the discourse, I heard some of them derid-
ingly speak of you and of your desperate Journey, (for
so they called this your Pilgrimage) but I did believe, and
do still, that the end of our City will be with Fire and
Brimstone from above; and therefore I have made mine
escape.

Chr. Did you hear no talk of Neighbor Pliable?

Faith. Yes Christian, I heard that he followed you till
he came at the Slough of Dispond, where, as some said,
he fell in; but he would not be known to have so done;
but I am sure he was soundly bedabbled with that kind of
dirt.

Chr. And what said the Neighbors to him?

Faith. He hath since his going back been had greatly f^"* Pliable
in derision, and that among all sorts of people; some do counted of,
mock and despise him; and scarce will any set him on when he got
work. He is now seven times worse than if he had never
gone out of the City.

Chr. But why should they be so set against him, since
they also despise the way that he forsook ?

Faith. Oh, they say, Hang him, he is a Turncoat, he
was not true to his profession: I think God has stirred
up even his Enemies to hiss at him, and make him z
Proverb, because he hath forsaken the way.

Chr. Had you no talk with him before you came out?

Faith. I met him once in the Streets, but he leered
away on the other side, as one ashamed of what he had
done; so I spake not to him.

Chr. Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that

72

The dog
and the sow

Faithful
assaulted
by Wanton

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

man; but now I fear he will perish in the overthrow of
the City, for it is happened to him according to the true
Proverb, The Dog is turned to his Vomit again, and the
Sow that tvas washed to her wallowing in the Mire.

Faith. They are my fears of him too; but who can
hinder that which will be ?

Chr. Well Neighbor Faithful, said Christian, let us
leave him, and talk of things that more immediately con-
cern ourselves. Tell me now, what you have met with in
the way as you came; for I know you have met with
some things, or else it may be writ for a wonder.

Faith. I escaped the Slough that I perceive you fell into,
and got up to the Gate without that danger; only I met
with one whose name was Wanton, that had like to have
done me a mischief.

Chr. 'Twas well you escaped her Net; Joseph was hard
put to it by her, and he escajjed her as you did; but it
had like to have cost him his life. But what did she do
to you?

Faith. You cannot think (but that you know some-
thing) what a flattering tongue she had; she lay at me
hard to turn aside with her, promising me all manner
of content.

Chr. Nay, she did not promise you the content of a
good conscience.

Faith. You know what I mean, all carnal and fleshly
content.

Chr. Thank God you have escaped her: The abhorred
of the Lord shall fall into her Ditch.

Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape
her or no.

Chr. Why, I tro you did not consent to her desires.

Faith. No, not to defile myself; for I remembred an
old writing that I had seen, which saith, Her steps ta/^e
hold of Hell. So I shut mine eyes, because I would not be
bewitched with her looks: then she railed on me, and I
went my way.

.»_

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 73

Chr. Did you meet with no other assault as you came?

Faith. When I came to the foot of the Hill called "','*,*?'
Difficulty, I met with a very aged Man, who asked me, Adam the
What I was, and whither bound? I told him. That I was P'"*
a Pilgrim, going to the Ccelestial City. Then said the
old man. Thou lookest like an honest fellow; wilt thou
be content to dwell with me for the wages that I shall
give thee? Then I asked him his name, and where he
dwelt? He said his name was Adam the First, and I
dwell in the Town of Deceit. I asked him then, What
was his work? and what the wages that he would give?
He told me. That his work was many delights; and his
wages, that I should be his Heir at last. I further asked
him. What House he kept, and what other Servants he
had? So he told me, That his House was maintained
with all the dainties in the world; and that his Servants
were those of his own begetting. Then I asked how many
Children he had? He said that he had but three Daugh-
ters: The Lust of the Flesh, The Lust of the Eyes, and
The Pride of Life, and that I should marry them all if
I would. Then I asked him how long time he would
have me live with him ? And he told me, As long as he
lived himself.

Chr. Well, and what conclusion came the old man
and you to at last?

Faith. Why, at first, I felt myself somewhat inclinable
to go with the man, for I thought he spake very fair;
but looking in his forehead, as I talked with him, I saw
there written. Put off the old man with his deeds.

Chr. And how then ?

Faith. Then it came burning hot into my mind, what-
ever he said, and however he flattered, when he got me
home to his House, he would sell me for a slave. So I
bid him forbear to talk, for I would not come near the
door of his House. Then he reviled me, and told me that
he would send such a one after me, that should make
my way bitter to my Soul. So I turned to go away from

74 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

him; but just as I turned myself to go thence, I feh him
take hold of my flesh and give me such a deadly twitch
back, that I thought he had pulled part of me after him-
self. This made me cry, O wretched Man! So I went on
my way up the Hill.

Now when I had got about halfway up, I looked behind
me, and saw one coming after me, swift as the wind; so
he overtook me just about the place where the Settle
stands.

Chr. Just there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest
me; but being overcome with sleep, I there lost this Roll
out of my bosom.

Faith. But good Brother hear me out. So soon as the
man overtook me, he was but a word and a blow, for
down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. But when I
was a little come to myself again, I asked him wherefore
he served me so? He said, Because of my secret inclining
to Adam the First: and with that he struck me another
deadly blow on the breast, and beat me down backward,
so I lay at his foot as dead as before. So when I came to
myself again I cried him mercy; but he said, I know not
how to shew mercy; and with that knocked me down
again. He had doubtless made an end of me, but that
one came by, and bid him forbear.

Chr. Who was that that bid him forbear?

Faith. I did not know him at first, but as he went by,

I perceived the holes in his hands and in his side; then

I concluded that he was our Lord. So I went up the Hill.

The temper Chr. That man that overtook you was Moses: He

°^ spareth none, neither knoweth he how to shew mercy

to those that transgress his Law.

Faith. I know it very well; it was not the first time
that he has met with me. 'Twas he that came to me when
I dwelt securely at home, and that told me. He would
burn my house over my head if I staid there.

Chr. But did you not see the house that stood there

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 75

on the top of that Hill, on the side of which Moses met
you?

Faith. Yes, and the Lions too, before I came at it: but
for the Lions, I think they were asleep, for it was about
Noon; and because I had so much of the day before me,
I passed by the Porter, and came down the Hill.

Chr. He told me indeed that he saw you go by, but
I wish you had called at the house, for they would have
shewed you so many Rarities, that you would scarce have
forgot them to the day of your death. But pray tell me,
Did you meet nobody in the Valley of Humility?

Faith. Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would Faithful
wiUingly have persuaded me to go back again with him; i,' p^.
his reason was, for that the Valley was altogether with- content
out honour. He told me moreover, that there to go was
the way to disobey all my friends, as Pride, Arrogancy,
Self<onceit, Worldly-glory, with others, who he knew,
as he said, would be very much offended, if I made such
a Fool of myself as to wade through this Valley.

Chr. Well, and how did you answer him ?

Faith. I told him, That although all these that he had Faithfuri
named might claim kindred of me, and that righdy, (for DiKontem
indeed they were my Relations according to the flesh)
yet since I became a Pilgrim they have disowned me, as
I also have rejected them ; and therefore they were to me
now no more than if they had never been of my lineage.
I told him moreover, that as to this Valley, he had quite
misrepresented the thing; jor before Honour is Humility,
and a haughty spirit before a fall. Therefore said I, I had
rather go through this Valley to the honour that was so
accounted by the wisest, than chuse the way which he
esteemed most worthy our affections.

Chr. Met you with nothing else in that Valley?

Faith. Yes, I met with Shame; but of all the men that He is as-
I met with in my Pilgrimage, he I think bears the wrong shame
name. The other would be said nay, after a litde argu-

76 pilgrim's progress

mentation, (and somewhat else) but this boldfaced
Shame would never have done.

Chr. Why, what did he say to you ?

Faith, WhatI why he objected against Religion itself;
he said it was a pitiful low sneaking business for a man
to mind Religion; he said that a tender conscience was
an unmanly thing; and that for a man to watch over his
words and ways, so as to tie up himself from that hector-
ing liberty that the brave spirits of the times accustom
themselves unto, would make him the ridicule of the
times. He objected also, that but few of the Mighty,
Rich, or Wise, were ever of my opinion; nor any of them
neither, before they were persuaded to be Fools, and to
be of a voluntary fondness to venture the loss of all,
jor nobody else knows what. He moreover objected the
base and low estate and condition of those that were
chiefly the Pilgrims of the times in which they lived:
also their ignorance, and want of understanding in all
Natural Science. Yea, he did hold me to it at that rate
also, about a great many more things than here I relate;
as, that it was a shame to sit whining and mourning
under a Sermon, and a shame to come sighing and groan-
ing home; that it was a shame to ask my Neighbour for-
giveness for petty faults, or to make restitution where I
had taken from any. He said also that Religion made a
man grow strange to the great, because of a few vices
(which he called by finer names) and made him own and
respect the base, because of the same Religious Fraternity.
And is not this, said he, a shame?

Chr. And what did you say to him?

Fcttth. Say! I could not tell what to say at first. Yea,
he put me so to it, that my blood came up in my face;
even this Shame fetched it up, and had ilmost beat me
quite off. But at last I began to consider. That that which
is highly esteemed amongMen, is had in abomination with
God. And I thought again, this Shame tells me what men
are; but it tells me nothing what God or the Word of God

pilgrim's progress 'J'J

is. And I thought moreover, that at the day of doom, we
shall not be doomed to death or life according to the
hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the Wis-
dom and Law of the Highest. Therefore thought I, what
God says is best, is best, though all the men in the world
are against it. Seeing then that God prefers his Religion,
seeing God prefers a tender Conscience, seeing they that
make themselves Fools for the Kingdom of Heaven are
wisest; and that the poor man that loveth Christ is richer
than the greatest man in the world that hates him; Shame
depart, thou art an enemy to my Salvation: shall I enter-
tain thee against my Sovereign Lord? How then shall
I look him in the face at his coming? Should I now be
ashamed of his ways and Servants, how can I expect the
blessing? But indeed this Shame was a bold villain; I
could scarce shake him out of my company; yea, he would
be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in
the ear, with some one or other of the infirmities that
attend Religion; but at last I told him, 'Twas but in vain
to attempt further in this business; for those things that
he disdained, in those did I see most glory; and so at last
I got past this importunate one. And when I had shaken
him off, then I began to sing:

The tryals that those men do meet withal,

That are obedient to the Heavenly call,

Arc manifold, and suited to the flesh,

And come, and come, and come again afresh;

That now, or some time else, we by them may

Be taken, overcome, and cast away.

Oh, let the Pilgrims, let the Pilgrims then.

Be vigilant, and quit themselves like men.

Chr. I am glad, my Brother, that thou didst withstand
this Villain so bravely; for of all, as thou sayest, I think
he has the wrong name; for he is so bold as to follow
us in the Streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before
all men; that is, to make us ashamed of that which is
good: but if he was not himself audacious, he would

78 pilgrim's progress

never attempt to do as he does; but let us still resist him;
for notwithstanding all his bravadoes, he promoteth the
Fool and none else. The Wise shall inherit glory, said
Solomon, but shame shall be the promotion of Fools.

Faith. I think we must cry to Him for help against
Shame, that would have us to be valiant for Truth upon
the Earth.

Chr. You say true; but did you meet nobody else in
that Valley?

Faith. No not I; for I had Sun-shine all the rest of
the way through that, and also through the Valley of
the Shadow of Death.

Chr. 'Twas well for you; I am sure it fared far other-
wise with me; I had for a long season, as soon almost as
I entred into that Valley, a dreadful Combat with that
foul Fiend Apollyon; yea, I thought verily he would
have killed me, esp)ecially when he got me down and
crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed
me to pieces; for as he threw me, my Sword flew out of
my hand; nay, he told me. He tvas sure of me: but / cried
to God, and he heard me, and delivered me out of all
my troubles. Then I entred into the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, and had no light for almost half the
way through it. I thought I should have been killed there,
over and over; but at last day brake, and the Sun rose, and
I went through that which was behind with far more
ease and quiet.
Talkative Moreover, I saw in my Dream, that as they went on,

Faithful, as he chanced to look on one side, saw a man
whose name is Talkative, walking at a distance besides
them; (for in this place there was room enough for them
all to walk). He was a tall man, and something more
comely at a distance than at hand. To this man Faithful
addressed himself in this manner.

Faith. Friend, Whither away? Are you going to the
Heavenly Country?

Talf^. I am going to the same place.

described

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 79

Faith. That is well; then I hope we may have your

good company.

Tall{. With a very good will will I be your Companion.

Faith. Come on then, and let us go together, and let Faithful and
, .... . , , . , Talkative

US spend our time m discoursmg ot thmgs that are e„ter dis-

profitable. t^""'"

Tall(^. To talk of things that are good, to me is very
acceptable, with you or with any other; and I am glad
that I have met with those that incline to so good a work;
for to speak the truth, there are but few that care thus J.*'!',*''''f'
to spend their time (as they are in their travels), but chuse tad dis-
much rather to be speaking of things to no profit; and course
this hath been a trouble to me.

Faith. That is indeed a thing to be lamented; for what
things so worthy of the use of the tongue and mouth of
men on Earth as are the things of the God of Heaven }

Tall{. I like you wonderful well, for your saying is full
of conviction; and I will add, What thing so pleasant,
and what so profitable, as to talk of the things of God.?
What things so pleasant.' (that is, if a man hath any
delight in things that are wonderful) for instance, if a
man doth delight to talk of the History or the Mystery
of things; or if a man doth love to talk of Miracles, Won-
ders, or Signs, where shall he find things recorded so
delightful, and so sweetly penned, as in the Holy Scrip-
ture .''

Faith. That's true; but to be profited by such things
in our talk should be that which we design.

Talk,. That's it that I said; for to tall{ of such things is Talkativc's
most profitable; for by so doing, a man may get knowl- djjcurse
edge of many things; as of the vanity of earthly things,
and the benefit of things above: (Thus in general) but
more particularly. By this a man may learn the necessity
of the New-birth, the insufficiency of our works, the need
of Christ's righteousness, &c. Besides, by this a man may
learn by tal^, what it is to repent, to believe, to pray, to
suffer, or the like; by this also a man may learn what are

8o

O brave
Talkative

O brave
Talkative

Faithful
bcRuilcd by
Talkative

Christian
makes a
discovery of
Talkative,
telling

Faithful who
he was

PILGRIM S PRCXiRESS

the great promises and consolations of the Gospel, to his
own comfort. Further, by this a man may learn to refute
false opinions, to vindicate the truth, and also to instruct
the ignorant.

Faith. All this is true, and am I glad to hear these things
from you.

Tfl/^. Alas! the want of this is the cause that so few
understand the need of faith, and the necessity of a work
of Grace in their Soul, in order to eternal life; but igno-
rantly live in the works of the Law, by which a man
can by no means obtain the Kingdom of Heaven.

Faith. But by your leave, Heavenly knowledge of these
is the gift of God; no man attaineth to them by human
industry, or only by the talk of them.

Tfl/^. All this I know very well; for a man can receive
nothing, except it be given him from Heaven: all is of
Grace, not of Works: I could give you a hundred Scrip-
tures for the confirmation of this.

Faith. Well then, said Faithful, what is that one thing
that we shall at this time found our discourse upon?

Tall{^. What you will. I will talk of things Heavenly,
or things Earthly; things Moral, or things Evangelical;
things Sacred or things Prophane; things past or things
to come; things foreign or things at home; things more
Essential or things Circumstantial; provided that all be
done to our profit.

Faith. Now did Faithful begin to wonder; and stepping
to Christian (for he walked all this while by himself) he
said to him, (but softly) What a brave Companion have
we got! Surely this man will make a very excellent
Pilgrim.

Chr. At this Christian modestly smiled, and said. This
man with whom you are so taken, will beguile with this
tongue of his, twenty of them that know him not.

Faith. Do you know him then ?

Chr. Know him! Yes, better than he knows himself.

Faith. Pray what is he.'

pilgrim's progress 8i

Chr. His name is Ttdl^ative; he dwelleth in our Town:
I wonder that you should be a stranger to him, only I
consider that our Town is large.

Faith. Whose Son is he? And whereabout doth he
dwell?

Chr. He is the son of one Say-well; he dwelt in Prating
Rotv; and is known of all that are acquainted with him,
by the name of Tall^ative in Prating Rotv; and notwith-
standing his fine tongue, he is but a sorry fellow.

Faith. Well, he seems to be a very pretty man.

Chr. That is, to them who have thorough acquaintance
with him, for he is best abroad, near home he is ugly
enough: Your saying that he is a pretty man, brings to
my mind what I have observed in the work of the Paint-
er, whose Pictures shew best at a distance, but very near,
more unpleasing.

Faith. But I am ready to think you do but jest, because
you smiled.

Chr. God forbid that I should jest (though I smiled) in
this matter, or that I should accuse any falsely: I will
give you a further discovery of him: This man is for any
company, and for any talk; as he talketh now with you,
so he will talk when he is on the Ale-bench; and the
more drink he hath in his crown, the more of these things
he hath in his mouth; Religion hath no place in his heart,
or house, or conversation; all he hath lieth in his tongue,
and his Religion is to make a noise therewith.

Faith. Say you so! Then am I in this man greatly
deceived.

Chr. Deceived! you may be sure of it; remember the Talkative
Proverb, They say and do not: but the Kingdom of God jocs^'not
is not in tvord, but in power. He talketh of Prayer, of
Repentance, of Faith, and of the New-birth; but he
knows but only to tall{ of them. I have been in his
Family, and have observed him both at home and abroad;
and I know what I say of him is the truth. His house is His house it
as empty of Religion as the white of an Egg is of savour, religion

82 pilgrim's progress

There is there neither Prayer, nor sign of Repentance for
sin; yea, the brute in his kind serves God better than he.
He u a He is the very stain, reproach, and shame of ReUgion,
religion to all that know him; it can hardly have a good word in
all that end of the Town where he dwells through him.
The proverb Thus Say the common people that know him, A Saint
^ goes o gfy^g^^ g^j g Devil at home. His poor Family finds it
so; he is such a churl, such a railer at, and so unreason-
able with his Servants, that they neither know how to do
Men shun to for, or speak to him. Men that have any dealings with
liin, him, say 'tis better to deal with a Turl{ than with him;

for fairer dealing they shall have at their hands. This
Tall{ative (if it be p)ossible) will go beyond them, de-
fraud, beguile, and over-reach them. Besides he brings
up his Sons to follow his steps; and if he findeth in any
of them a foolish timorousness, (for so he calls the first
appearance of a tender conscience) he calls them fools
and blockheads and by no means will imploy them in
much, or speak to their commendations before others.
For my part I am of opinion that he has by his wicked
life caused many to stumble and fall; and will be, if God
prevent not, the ruine of many more.

Faith. Well, my Brother, I am bound to believe yoti;
not only because you say you know him, but also be-
cause like a Christian, you make your reports of men.
For I cannot think that you speak these things of ill
will, but because it is even so as you say.

Chr. Had I known him no more than you, I might
perhaps have thought of him as at the first you did; yea,
had he received this report at their hands only that are
enemies to Religion, I should have thought it had been
a slander: (a lot that often falls from bad men's mouths
upon good men's names and professions;) but all these
things, yea and a great many more as bad, of my own
knowledge I can prove him guilty of. Besides, good men
are ashamed of him; they can neither call him Brother,

pilgrim's progress 83

nor Friend: the very naming of him among them, makes
them blush, if they know him.

Faith. Well, I see that saying and doing are two things,
and hereafter I shall better observe this distinction.

Chr. They are two things indeed, and are as diverse ""^^ "r"^"*
as are the Soul and the Body; for as the Body without
the Soul is but a dead Carcass, so Saying, if it be alone, is
but a dead Carcass also. The Soul of Religion is the
practick part: Pure Religion and undefiled, before God
and the Father, is this. To visit the fatherless and widows
in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from
the world. This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks
that hearing and saying will make a good Christian, and
thus he deceiveth his own soul. Hearing is but as the sow-
ing of the Seed; talking is not sufficient to prove that
fruit is indeed in the heart and life; and let us assure
ourselves, that at the day of Doom men shall be judged
according to their fruits. It will not be said then. Did
you believe? but Were you Doers, or Talkers only ? and
accordingly shall they be judged. The end of the world
is compared to our Harvest, and you know men at Har-
vest regard nothing but fruit. Not that anything can
be accepted that is not of Faith; but I speak this to shew
you how insignificant the profession of Talkative will
be at that day.

Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by which Faithful
he describeth the beast that is clean. He is such an one ,i,e badness
that parteth the Hoof and cheweth the Cud : not that of Talkative
parteth the Hoof only, or that cheweth the Cud only.
The Hare cheweth the Cud, but yet is unclean, because
he parteth not the Hoof. And this truly resembleth
Talkative; he cheweth the Cud, he seeketh knowledge,
he cheweth upon the Word; but he divideth not the
Hoof, he parteth not with the way of sinners; but as the
Hare, he retaineth the foot of a Dog or Bear, and there-
fore is unclean.

84

Talkative
like to
things that
sound with-
out life

Talkative's
false dis-
covery of a
work of
grace

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chr. You have spoken, for ought I know, the true
Gospel sense of those Texts: And I will add another
thing; Paul calleth some men, yea and those great Talk-
ers too, sounding Brass and tinkling Cymbals; that is,
as he expounds them in another place. Things without
life, giving sound. Things without life, that is, without
the true Faith and Grace of the Gospel; and consequently
things that shall never be placed in the Kingdom of
Heaven among those that are the Children of life; though
their sound, by their tall{, be as if it were the tongue or
Toice of an Angel.

Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at first,
but I am as sick of it now. What shall we do to be rid
of him ?

Chr. Take my advice, and do as I bid you, and you
shall find that he will soon be sick of your company too,
except God shall touch his heart, and turn it.

Faith. What would you have me to do?

Chr. Why, go to him, and enter into some serious
discourse about the power of Religion; and ask him
plainly (when he has approved of it, for that he will)
whether this thing be set up in his Heart, House, or Con-
versation.

Faith. Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said
to Talkative, Come, what chear? How is it now?

Talk- Thank you, well. I thought we should have had
a great deal of talk by this time.

Faith. Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and
since you left it with me to state the question, let it be
this; How doth the saving Grace of God discover itself,
when it is in the heart of man }

Talk. I fjerceive then that our talk must be about the
power of things: Well, 'tis a very good question, and I
shall be willing to answer you. And take my answer in
brief thus: First, Where the Grace of God is in the heart,
it causeth there a great out-cry against sin. Secondly —

Faith. Nay hold, let us consider of one at once: I think

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

you should rather say, It shews itself by inclining the
Soul to abhor its sin.

Tfl/)^. Why, what difference is there between crying
out against, and abhorring of sin?

Faith. Oh! a great deal; a man may cry out against
sin, or policy; but he cannot abhor it, but by vertue of
a godly antipathy against it: I have heard many cry out
against sin in the Pulpit, who yet can abide it well enough
in the heart, house, and conversation. Joseph's Mistress
cried out with a loud voice, as if she had been very holy;
but she would willingly, notwithstanding that, have com-
mitted uncleanness with him. Some cry out against sin,
even as the Mother cries out against her Child in her
lap, when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, and then
falls to hugging and kissing it.

Ta/^. You lie at the catch, I perceive.

Faith. No, not I; I am only for setting things right.
But what is the second thing whereby you would prove a
discovery of a work of Grace in the heart ?

Tfl/^. Great knowledge of Gospel Mysteries.

Faith. This sign should have been first; but first or
last, it is also false; for knowledge, great knowledge may
be obtained in the mysteries of the Gospel, and yet no
work of Grace in the Soul. Yea, if a man have all knowl-
edge, he may yet be nothing; and so consequently be no
child of God. When Christ said, Do you know all these
things? and the Disciples had answered. Yes; he added
Blessed are ye if ye do them. He doth not lay the blessing
in the knowing of them, but in the doing of them. For
there is a knowledge that is not attended with doing;
He that \noweth his Master s will, and doth it not, A
man may know like an Angel, and yet be no Christian,
therefore your sign of it is not true. Indeed to kjiow is a
thing that pleaseth Talkers and Boasters; but to do is
that which pleaseth God. Not that the heart can be good
without knowledge; for without that the heart is naught.
There is therefore knowledge and knowledge. Knowl-

85

To cry out
against sin

Great
knowledge
no sign of
grace

Knowledge

and

knowledge

86

True

knowledge

anended

with

endeavours

One good
sign of
grace

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

edge that resteth in the bare speculation of things, and
knowledge that is accompanied with the Grace of faith
and love, which puts a man upon doing even the will
of God from the heart; the first of these will serve the
Talker; but without the other the true Christian is not
content. Give me understanding, and I shall l^eep thy
Law; yea I shall observe it with my whole heart.

Tal/^. You lie at the catch again, this is not for edifica-
tion.

Faith. Well, if you please propound another sign how
this work of Grace discovereth itself where it is.

Tal^. Not I, for I see we shall not agree.

Faith. Well, if you will not, will you give me leave
to do it?

Ta/^. You may use your liberty.

Faith. A work of Grace in the soul discovereth itself,
either to him that hath it, or to standers-by.

To him that hath it thus: It gives him conviction of
sin, especially of the defilement of his nature and the
sin of unbelief (for the sake of which he is sure to be
damned, if he findeth not mercy at God's hand by faith
in Jesus Christ). This sight and sense of things worketh
in him sorrow and shame for sin; he findeth moreover
revealed in him the Saviour of the world, and the abso-
lute necessity of closing with him for life, at the which
he findeth hungrings and thirstings after him, to which
hungrings, &c. the promise is made. Now according to
the strength or weakness of his Faith in his Saviour, so
is his joy and peace, so is his love to holiness, so are his
desires to know him more, and also to serve him in this
World. But though I say it discovereth itself thus unto
him, yet it is but seldom that he is able to conclude that
this is a work of Grace; because his corruptions now, and
his abused reason, make his mind to misjudge in this
matter; therefore in him that hath this work, there is
required a very sound Judgment before he can with
steadiness conclude that this is a work of Grace.

pilgrim's progress 87

To others it is thus discovered :

1. By an experimental confession of his Faith in Christ.

2. By a life answerable to that confession, to wit, a life
of holiness, heart-holiness, family-holiness, (if he hath a
Family) and by conversation-holiness in the World;
which in the general teacheth him, inwardly to abhor his
sin, and himself for that in secret, to suppress it in his
Family, and to promote holiness in the World; not by
talk only, as an Hypocrite or Talkative person may do,
but by a practical subjection, in Faith and Love, to the
power of the Word : And now Sir, as to this brief descrip-
tion of the work of Grace, and also the discovery of it,
if you have ought to object, object; if not, then give me
leave to propound to you a second question.

Tall{. Nay my part is not now to object, but to hear,
let me therefore have your second question.

Faith. It is this. Do you experience the first part of Another
this description of it ? and doth your life and conversation g^j^g "^
testify the same ? or standeth your Religion in Word or in
Tongue, and not in Deed and Truth? Pray, if you in-
cline to answer me in this, say no more than you know
the God above will say Amen to; and also nothing but
what your conscience can justify you in; for, not he that
commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord
commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus and thus, when
my Conversation and all my Neighbors tell me I lye, is
great wickedness.

Ta/^. Then Talf^ative at first began to blush, but re- Talkative
covering himself, thus he replied. You come now to ^'ith''*^
Experience, to Conscience, and God; and to appeal to Faithful's
him for justification of what is spoken: This kind of 'i"""""
discourse I did not expect; nor am I disposed to give an
answer to such questions, because I count not myself
bound thereto, unless you take upon you to be a Cate-
chiser, and, though you should so do, yet I may refuse to
make you my Judge. But I pray will you tell me why you
ask me such questions?

88

The reasons
why Faith-
ful put to
him that
question

Faithful's
plain dealing
with
Talkative

Talkative
flings away
from
Faithful

A good
riddance

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Faith. Because I saw you forward to talk, and because
I knew not that you had ought else but notion. Besides,
to tell you all the truth, I have heard of you that you are
a man whose Religion lies in talk, and that your conversa-
tion gives this your Mouth-profession the lye. They say
you are a sp)Ot among Christians, and that religion fareth
the worse for your ungodly Conversation, that some have
already stumbled at your wicked ways, and that more
are in danger of being destroyed thereby; your Religion,
and an Ale-house, and Covetousness, and Uncleanness,
and Swearing and Lying, and vain Company-keeping,
&c. will stand together. The Proverb is true of you which
is said of a Whore, to wit. That she is a shame to all
Women; so you are a shame to all Professors.

Tall{. Since you are ready to take up reports, and to
judge so rashly as you do, I cannot but conclude you are
some peevish or melancholy man, not fit to be discoursed
with; and so adieu.

Chr. Then came up Christian, and said to his Brother,
I told you how it would hapf)en; your words and his
lusts could not agree; he had rather leave your company
than reform his life. But he is gone, as I said; let him go,
the loss is no man's but his own, he has saved us the
trouble of going from him; for he continuing (as I sup-
pose he will do) as he is, he would have been but a blot
in our company: besides, the Apostle says, From such
withdraw thyself.

Faith. But I am glad we had this little discourse with
him, it may happen that he will think of it again; how-
ever, I have dealt plainly with him, and so am clear of his
blood, if he perisheth.

Chr. You did well to talk so plainly to him as you
did. There is but little of this faithful dealing with men
now a days, and that makes Religion to stink so in the
nostrils of many, as it doth; for they are these Talkative
Fools whose Religion is only in word, and are debauched
and vain in their Conversation, that (being so much ad-

pilgrim's prcxiress 89

mitted into the fellowship of the godly) do puzzle the
World, blemish Christianity, and grieve the sincere. I
wish that all men would deal with such as you have done:
then should they either be made more conformable to
Religion, or the company of Saints would be too hot for
them. Then did Faithful say,

How Talkative at first lifts up his Plumes!
How bravely doth he speak! How he presumes
To drive all before him! But so soon
As Faithful talks of Heart-wor^, like the Moon
That's past the full, into the wane he goes.
And so will all, but he that Heart-wor^ knows.

Thus they went on talking of what they had seen by
the way, and so made that way easy, which would other-
wise, no doubt, have been tedious to them; for now they
went through a Wilderness.

Now when they were got almost quite out of this EvanRclist
Wilderness, Faithful chanced to cast his eye back, and them again
espied one coming after them, and he knew him. Oh!
said Faithful to his Brother, Who comes yonder.^ Then
Christian looked, and said, It is my good friend Evan-
gelist. Ay, and my good friend too, said Faithful, for
'twas he that set me the way to the Gate. Now was
Evangelist come up unto them, and thus saluted them:

Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved, and peace
be to your helpers.

Chr. Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist, the ^''j'' "^,
sight or thy countenance brmgs to my remembrance thy sight of him
antient kindness and unwearied laboring for my eternal
good.

Faith. And a thousand times welcome, said good Faith-
ful: Thy company, O sweet Evangelist, how desirable
is it to us poor Pilgrims!

Evan. Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared with
you my friends, since the time of our last parting? What
have you met with, and how have you behaved your-
selves }

90 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Then Christian and Faithful told him of all things that
had happened to them in the way; and how, and with
what difficulty, they had arrived to that place.
Hii exhorta- Evan. Right glad am 1, said Evangelist, not that you
em j^^^^ ^^^ ^.^j^ trials, but that you have been victors; and
that you have (notwithstanding many weaknesses) con-
tinued in the way to this very day.

I say, right glad am I of this thing, and that for mine
own sake and yours: I have sowed, and you have reaped;
and the day is coming, when both he that sowed and
they that reaped shall rejoice together; that is, if you
hold out: for in due time ye shall reap, if you faint not.
The Crown is before you, and it is an incorruptible one;
so run that you may obtain it. Some there be that set
out for this Crown, and after they have gone far for it,
another comes in, and takes it from them; hold fast
therefore that you have, let no man take your Crown.
You are not yet out of the gun-shot of the Devil; you
have not resisted unto blood, striving against sin; let the
Kingdom be always before you, and believe stedfastly
concerning things that are invisible. Let nothing that is
on this side the other world get within you; and above
all, look well to your own hearts, and to the lusts thereof,
for they are deceitful above all things, and desperately
wicked; set your faces like a flint; you have all power in
Heaven and Earth on your side.
They do Chr. Then Christian thanked him for his exhortation,

for"his ' but told him withal, that they would have him speak
exhonation farther to them for their help the rest of the way, and
the rather, for that they well knew that he was a Prophet,
and could tell them of things that might happen unto
them, and also how they might resist and overcome them.
To which request Faithful also consented. So Evangelist
began as followeth:

Evan. My Sons, you have heard, in the words of the
truth of the Gospel, that you must through many tribula-
tions enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. And again,

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 91

that in every City bonds and afflictions abide in you; He predict-
and therefore you cannot expect that you should go long troubles
on your Pilgrimage without them, in some sort or other. '•"^>' s*"*!'
You have found something of the truth of these testi- ;„ Vanity
monies upon you already, and more will immediately ^*"'' *"<!
follow; for now, as you see, you are almost out of this them to
Wilderness, and therefore you will soon come into a steadfastness
Town that you will by and by see before you; and in that
Town you will be hardly beset with enemies, who will
strain hard but they will kill you; and be ye sure that
one or both of you must seal the testimony which you
hold, with blood; but be you faithful unto death, and the
King will give you a Crown of life. He that shall die He whose
there, although his death will be unnatural, and his pain be there to
perhaps great, he will yet have the better of his fellow; suffer, will
not only because he will be arrived at the CtElestial City better of his
soonest, but because he will escape many miseries that brother
the other will meet with in the rest of his Journey. But
when you are come to the Town, and shall find fulfilled
what I have here related, then remember your friend,
and quit yourselves like men, and commit the keeping of
your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto a faithful
Creator.

Then I saw in my Dream, that when they were got out
of the Wilderness, they presently saw a Town before
them, and the name of that Town is Vanity; and at the
Town there is a Fair kept, called Vanity Fair: it is kept
all the year long; it beareth the name of Vanity Fair,
because the Town where 'tis kept is lighter than Vanity;
and also because all that is there sold, or that cometh
thither, is Vanity. As is the saying of the wise. All that
cometh is Vanity.

This Fair is no new-erected busmess, but a thing of
antient standing; I will shew you the original of it.

Almost five thousand years agone, there were Pilgrims The an-
walking to the Ccelestial City, as these two honest per- ,h^s"'fair°
sons are; and Beelzebub, Apollyon, and Legion, with

92

The mer-
chandise of
this fair

The streets
of this fair

Christ went
through
this fair

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

their Companions, perceiving by the path that the Pil-
grims made, that their way to the City lay through this
Town of Vanity, they contrived here to set up a Fair; a
Fair wherein should be sold all sorts of Vanity, and that
it should last all the year long: therefore at this Fair are
all such Merchandize sold, as Houses, Lands, Trades,
Places, Honours, Preferments, Titles, Countries, King-
doms, Lusts, Pleasures, and Delights of all sorts, as
Whores, Bawds, Wives, Husbands, Children, Masters,
Servants, Lives, Blood, Bodies, Souls, Silver, Gold, Pearls,
Precious Stones, and what not?

And moreover, at this Fair there is at all times to be
seen Jugglings, Cheats, Games, Plays, Fools, Apes,
Knaves, and Rogues, and that of every kind.

Here are to be seen too, and that for nothing. Thefts,
Murders, Adulteries, false-swearers, and that of a blood-
red colour.

And as in other Fairs of less moment, there are the
several Rows and Streets under their proper names, where
such and such Wares are vended; so here likewise you
have the proper places. Rows, Streets, {fiz. Countries
and Kingdoms) where the Wares of this Fair are soonest
to be found: Here is the Britain Row, the French Row,
the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row,
where several sorts of Vanities are to be sold. But as in
other Fairs, some one commodity is as the chief of all
the Fair, so the ware of Rome and her Merchandize is
greatly promoted in this Fair; only our English nation,
with some ovhers, have taken a dislike thereat.

Now, as I said, the way to the Coelestial City lies just
through this Town where this lusty Fair is kept; and
he that will go to the City, and yet not go through this
Town, must needs go out of the world. The Prince of
Princes himself, when here, went through this Town to
his own Country, and that upon a Fair-day too; yea, and
as I think, it was Beelzebub, the chief Lord of this Fair,
that invited him to buy of his Vanities: yea, would have

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 93

made him Lord of the Fair, would he but have done him
reverence as he went through the Town. Yea, because
he was such a person of honour, Beelzebub had him
from Street to Street, and shewed him all the Kingdoms
of the World in a little time, that he might, (if possible)
allure that Blessed One to cheapen and buy some of his
Vanities; but he had no mind to the Merchandize, and
therefore left the Town, without laying out so much as Christ
one Farthing upon these Vanities. This Fair therefore nothing in
is an antient thing, of long standing, and a very great this fair
Fair.

Now these Pilgrims, as I said, must needs go through The Pil-
this Fair. Well, so they did; but behold, even as they ^^l^i^^
entered into the Fair, all the people in the Fair were
moved, and the Town itself as it were in a hubbub about The fair in
them; and that for several reasons: for ^l^u, th^^

First, The Pilgrims were cloathed with such kind of
Raiment as was diverse from the Raiment of any that
traded in that Fair. The people therefore of the Fair The first
made a great gazing upon them: some said they were hubbub
Fools, some they were Bedlams, and some they are Out-
landishmen.

Secondly, And as they wondered at their Apparel, so Second
they did likewise at their Speech; for few could under- ,j,e hubbub
stand what they said: they naturally spoke the language
of Canaan, but they that kept the Fair were the men of
this World; so that, from one end of the Fair to the
other, they seemed Barbarians each to the other.

Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the Third
Merchandizers was, that these Pilgrims set very light by ,he hubbub
all their Wares, they cared not so much as to look uf)on
them; and if they called upon them to buy, they would
put their fingers in their ears, and cry. Turn away mine
eyes from beholding Vanity, and look upwards, signify-
ing that their trade and traffick was in Heaven.

One chanced mockingly, beholding the carriages of the Fo"f«h
men, to say unto them, What will ye buy ? But they, look- ,he hubbub

94

They are
mocked

The fair in
a hubbub

They are
examined

They tell
who they
are, and
whence
they came

They are
not believed

They are
put in the
cage

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

ing gravely upon him, answered, We buy the Truth. At
that there was an occasion taken to despise the men the
more; some mocking, some taunting, some speaking re-
proachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them.
At last things came to a hubbub and great stir in the
Fair, insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was
word presently brought to the Great One of the Fair,
who quickly came down and deputed some of his most
trusty friends to take those men into examination, about
whom the Fair was almost overturned. So the men were
brought to examination; and they that sat upon them,
asked them whence they came, whither they went, and
what they did there in such an unusual Garb ? The men
told them that they were Pilgrims and Strangers in the
World, and that they were going to their own Country,
which was the Heavenly Jerusalem; and that they had
given no occasion to the men of the Town, nor yet to the
Merchandizers, thus to abuse them, and to let them in
their Journey, except it was for that, when one asked
them what they would buy, they said they would buy
the Truth. But they that were appointed to examine
them did not believe them to be any other than Bedlams
and Mad, or else such as came to put all things into a
confusion in the Fair. Therefore they took them and beat
them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then put them
into the Cage, that they might be made a spectacle to
all the men of the Fair.

Behold Vanity Fair, the Pilgrims there

Are chained and stand beside:
Even so it was our Lord passed here,

And on Mount Calvary died.

There therefore they lay for some time, and were made
the objects of any man's s(X)rt, or malice, or revenge, the
Great One of the Fair laughing still at all that befell
them. But the men being patient, and not rendring
railing for raiUng, but contrariwise blessing, and giving
good words for bad, and kindness for injuries done, some

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 95

men in the Fair that were more observing, and less preju- Their be-
diced than the rest, began to check and blame the baser ,hj ^^g^
sort for their continual abuses done by them to the men;
they therefore in angry manner let fly at them again, The men of
counting them as bad as the men in the Cage, and telling f^n (,„(
them that they seemed confederates, and should be made among
partakers of their misfortunes. The other replied, that about'the"
for ought they could see, the men were quiet, and sober, two men
and intended nobody any harm; and that there were
many that traded in their Fair that were more worthy to
be put into the Cage yea, and Pillory too, than were the
men that they had abused. Thus, after divers words had
passed on both sides, (the men behaving themselves all
the while very wisely and soberly before them) they fell
to some blows among themselves, and did harm to one
another. Then were these two poor men brought before They are
their examiners again, and there charged as being guilty ^^|,ors of
of the late hubbub that had been in the Fair. So they this disturb-
beat them pitifully and hanged irons upon them, and led '""^^
them in chains up and down the Fair, for an example They arc led
and a terror to others, lest any should speak in their be- jo^n the
half, or join themselves unto them. But Christian and fair in
Faithful behaved themselves yet more wisely, and re- ^ ^^„o^
ceived the ignominy and shame that was cast upon them, to others
with so much meekness and patience, that it won to their
side (though but few in comparison of the rest) several Son^e of the
of the men in the Fair. This put the other party yet into f J^ ^^^ {„
a greater rage, insomuch that they concluded the death of 'hpt"
these two men. Wherefore they threatened, that the
Cage, nor irons should serve their turn, but that they Their
should die, for the abuse they had done, and for deluding resolve to
the men of the Fair. kill them

Then were they re-manded to the Cage again, until
further order should be taken with them. So they put
them in, and made their feet fast in the Stocks.

Here also they called again to mind what they had
heard from their faithful friend Evangelist, and were

96

They are
again put
into the
cage, and
after

brought to
trial

Their
indictmeot

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

the more confirmed in their way and sufferings, by what
he told them would happen to them. They also now
comforted each other, that whose lot it was to suffer, even
he should have the best on't; therefore each man secretly
wished that he might have that preferment: but com-
mitting themselves to the All-wise dispose of Him that
ruleth all things, with much content they abode in the
condition in which they were, until they should be
otherwise disposed of.

Then a convenient time being appointed, they brought
them forth to their Tryal, in order to their condemnation.
When the time was come, they were brought before their
enemies, and arraigned. The Judge's name was Lord
Hategood. Their Indictment was one and the same in
substance, though somewhat varying in form, the con-
tents whereof was this:

That they were enemies to and disturbers of their
Trade; that they had made Commotions and Divisions
in the Town, and had won a party to their own most
dangerous Opinions in contempt of the Law of their
Prince.

Faithful's
answer for
himself

Now Faithful play the Man, speak for thy God:
Fear not the wicked's malice, nor their rod:
Speak boldly man, the Truth is on thy side;
Die for it, and to Life in triumph ride.

Then Faithful began to answer, that he had only set
himself against that which had set itself against Him
that is higher than the highest. And said he, as for Dis-
turbance, I make none, being myself a man of Peace;
the parties that were won to us, were won by beholding
our Truth and Innocence, and they are only turned from
the worse to the better. And as to the King you talk of,
since he is Beelzebub, the enemy of Our Lord, I defy him
and all his Angels.

Then Proclamation was made, that they that had ought
to say for their Lord the King against the Prisoner at the

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 97

Bar, should forthwith appear and give in their evidence.
So there came in three witnesses, to wit, Ent/y, Supersti-
tion, and Pic^thanf^. They were then asked if they knew
the Prisoner at the Bar; and what they had to say for their
Lord the King against him.

Then stood forth Envy, and said to this effect: My lord, Envy beginf
I have known this man a long time, and will attest upon
my Oath before this honourable Bench, that he is —

Judge. Hold! Give him his Oath.

So they sware him. Then he said. My Lord, this man,
notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of the vilest
men in our Country. He neither regardeth Prince nor
People, Law nor Custom; but doth all that he can to
possess all men with certain of his disloyal notions, which
he in the general calls Principles of Faith and Holiness.
And in particular, I heard him once myself affirm That
Christianity and the Customs of our Town of Vanity
were diametrically opposite, and could not be reconciled.
By which saying, my Lord, he doth at once not only con-
demn all our laudable doings, but us in the doing of
them.

fudge. Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any
more to say?

Envy. My Lord, I could say much more, only I would
not be tedious to the Court. Yet if need be, when the
other Gentlemen have given in their Evidence, rather
than anything shall be wanting that will dispatch him,
I will enlarge my Testimony against him. So he was bid
stand by.

Then they called Superstition, and bid him look upon
the Prisoner. They also asked, what he could say for
their Lord the King against him? Then they sware him;
so he began :

Super. My Lord, I have no great acquaintance with Superstition
this man, nor do I desire to have further knowledge of
him; however, this I know, that he is a very pestilent
fellow, from some discourse that the other day I had with

98

Pickthank's
testimony

Sins are all
lords, and
great ones

Faithful's
defence of
himself

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

him in this Town; for then talking with him, I heard
him say, That our Rehgion was naught, and such by
which a man could by no means please God. Which
sayings of his, my Lord, your Lordship very well knows,
what necessarily thence will follow, to wit, That we still
do worship in vain, are yet in our sins, and finally shall
be damned; and this is that which I have to say.

Then was Picl{thanl{^ sworn, and bid say what he knew,
in behalf of their Lord the King, against the Prisoner
at the Bar.

Picl{. My Lord, and you Gentlemen all. This fellow I
have known of a long time, and have heard him speak
things that ought not to be spoke; for he hath railed on
our noble Prince Beelzebub, and hath spoken contemjv
tibly of his honourable Friends, whose names are the
Lord Old Man, the Lord Carnal Delight, the Lord
Luxurious, the Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my old Lord
Lechery, Sir Having Greedy, with all the rest of our
Nobility; and he hath said moreover, That if all men
were of his mind, if possible, there is not one of these
Noble men should have any longer a being in this Town;
besides, he hath not been afraid to rail on you, my Lord,
who are now appointed to be his Judge, calling you an
ungodly villain, with many other such-like vilifying
terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the Gentry
of our Town.

When this Pic]{than\ had told his tale, the Judge di-
rected his speech to the Prisoner at the Bar, saying. Thou
Runagate, Heretick, and Traitor, hast thou heard what
these honest Gentlemen have witnessed against thee?

Faith. May I sp)eak a few words in my own defence?

Judge. Sirrah, sirrah, thou deservedst to live no longer,
but to be slain immediately upon the place; yet that all
men may see our gentleness towards thee, let us see what
thou hast to say.

Faith. I. I say then, in answer to what Mr Envy hath
spoken, I never said ought but this. That what Rule, or

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 99

Laws, or Customs, or People, were flat against the Word
of God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity. If I
have said amiss in this, convince me of my error, and I
am ready here before you to make my recantation.

2. As to the second, to wit, Mr Superstition, and his
charge against me, I said only this. That in the worship
of God there is required a Divine Faith; but there can
be no Divine Faith without a Divine Revelation of the
will of God: therefore whatever is thrust into the Wor-
ship of God that is not agreeable to Divine Revelation,
cannot be done but by a human faith, which faith will
not be profit to Eternal Life.

3. As to what Mr Pic^thanl^ hath said, I say, (avoiding
terms, as that I am said to rail, and the hke) that the
Prince of this Town, with all the rabblement his attend-
ants, by this Gentleman named, are more fit for a being in
Hell, than in this Town and Country : and so, the Lord
have mercy upon me.

Then the Judge called to the Jury (who all this while ^^
stood by, to hear and observe) Gentlemen of the Jury, speech to
you see this man about whom so great an uproar hath ^^ \^v/
been made in this Town: you have also heard what these
worthy Gentlemen have witnessed against him: also you
have heard his reply and confession : It lieth now in your
breasts to hang him, or save his life; but yet I think meet
to instruct you into our Law.

There was an Act made in the days of Pharaoh the
Great, Servant to our Prince, that lest those of a con-
trary Religion should multiply and grow too strong for
him, their Males should be thrown into the river. There
was also an Act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar the
Great, another of his Servants, that whoever would not
fall down and worship his Golden Image, should be
thrown into a Fiery Furnace. There was also an Act
made in the days of Darius, that whoso, for some time,
called upon any God but him, should be cast into the
Lions' Den. Now the substance of these Laws this Rebel

100

The jury,
and their
namej

Every one's

private

verdict

They con-
clude to
bring him in
guilty of
death

The cruel
death of
Faithful

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

has broken, not only in thought (which is not to be
borne) but also in word and deed; which must therefore
needs be intolerable.

For that of Pharaoh, his Law was made upon a supposi-
tion, to prevent mischief, no Crime being yet apparent;
but here is a Crime apparent. For the second and third,
you see he disputeth against our Religion; and for the
Treason he hath confessed, he deserveth to die the death.

Then went the Jury out, whose names were, Mr Blind-
man, Mr No-good, Mr Malice, Mr Love-lust, Mr Live-
loose, Mr Heady, Mr High-mind, Mr Enmity, Mr Lyar,
Mr Cruelty, Mr Hate-light, and Mr Implacable; who
every one gave in his private Verdict against him among
themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to
bring him in guilty before the Judge. And first among
themselves, Mr Blind-man the Foreman, said, / see
clearly that this man is an Heretic/(^. Then said Mr No-
good, Away with such a fellow from the earth. Ay, said
Mr Malice, for I hate the very lookj of him. Then said
Mr Love-lust, I could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr
Live-loose, for he would always be condemning my way.
Hang him, hang him, said Mr Heady. A sorry Scrub,
said Mr High-mind. My heart riseth against him, said
Mr Enmity. He is a Rogue, said Mr Lyar. Hanging is
too good for him, said Mr Cruelty. Let us dispatch him
out of the way, said Mr Hate-light. Then said Mr Im-
placable, Might I have all the world given me, I could
not be reconciled to him; therefore let us forthwith bring
him in guilty of death. And so they did; therefore he
was presently condemned to be had from the place where
he was, to the place from whence he came, and there to
be put to the most cruel death that could be invented.

They therefore brought him out, to do with him ac-
cording to their Law; and first they Scourged him, then
they Buffeted him, then they Lanced his flesh with
Knives; after that they Stoned him with stones, then
pricked him with their Swords; and last of all they

away
Faithful

PILGRIMS PROGRESS lOI

burned him to ashes at the Stake. Thus came Faithful
to his end.

Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a '^j''"'"'
Chariot and a couple of Horses, waiting for Faithful, ^ait to take
who (so soon as his adversaries had dispatched him)
was taken up into it, and straitway was carried up through
the Clouds, with sound of Trumpet, the nearest way to
the Coelestial Gate.

Brave Faithful, bravely done in word and deed;
Judge, Witnesses, and Jury have, instead
Of overcoming thee, but shewn their rage:
When they are Dead, thou 'It Live from age to age.

But as for Christian, he had some respite, and was
remanded back to prison; so he there remained for a
space: But he that over-rules all things, having the power
of their rage in his own hand, so wrought it about, that
Christian for that time escaped them, and went his way.
And as he went he sang, saying,

Well Faithful, thou hast faithfully profest
Unto thy Lord; with whom thou shalt be blest.
When faithless ones, with all their vain delights,
Are crying out under their hellish plights:
Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name survive;
For though they kill'd thee, thou art yet alive.

Christian is
still alive

The Song
that Chris-
tian made of
Faithful
after his
death

has another
companion

Now I saw in my Dream, that Christian went not Christian
forth alone, for there was one whose name was Hopeful,
(being made so by the beholding of Christian and Faith-
ful in their words and behaviour, in their sufferings at
the Fair) who joined himself unto him, and entring into
a brotherly covenant, told him that he would be his
Companion. Thus one died to make Testimony to the
Truth, and another rises out of his ashes to be a Com- There are
panion with Christian in his Pilgrimage. This Hopeful ,„<.„ „( ,1,^
also told Christian, that there were many more of the F"'"' *'••
men in the Fair that would take their time and follow
after.

102

They over-

uke

By-ends

By-ends
loath to tell
his name

The wife

and kindred
of By-ends

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

So I saw that quickly after they were got out of the
Fair, they overtook one that was going before them,
whose name was By-ends: so they said to him, What
Country-man, Sir? and how far go you this way? He
told them that he came from the Town of Fair-speech,
and he was going to the Coelestial City, (but told them
not his name.)

From Fair-speech, said Christian, Is there any good
that lives there?

By-ends. Yes, said By-ends, I hope.

Chr. Pray Sir, what may I call you ?

By-ends. I am a Stranger to you, and you to me: if you
be going this way, I shall be glad of your company; if
not, I must be content.

Chr. This Town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have
heard of it, and, as I remember, they say it's a wealthy
place.

By-ends. Yes, I will assure you that it is; and I have
very many rich Kindred there.

Chr. Pray, who are your Kindred there? if a man may
be so bold.

By-ends. Almost the whole Town; and in particular,
my Lord Turn-about, my Lord Time-server, my Lord
Fair-speech, (from whose ancestors that Town first took
its name) also Mr Smooth-man, Mr Facing-both-ways,
Mr Anything; and the Parson of our Parish, Mr Two-
tongues, was my Mother's own Brother by Father's side;
and to tell you the truth, I am become a Gentleman of
good Quality, yet my Great Grandfather was but a
waterman, looking one way and rowing another; and I
got most of my estate by the same occupation.

Chr. Are you a married man ?

By-ends. Yes, and my Wife is a very vertuous woman,
the Daughter of a vertuous woman; she was my Lady
Feigning's Daughter, therefore she came of a very hon-
ourable Family, and is arrived to such a pitch of breed-
ing, that she knows how to carry it to all, even to Prince

PILGRIM S PROGRESS IO3

and Peasant. 'Tis true we somewhat differ in Religion Where
from those of the stricter sort, yet but in two small diners from
points: First, we never strive against Wind and Tide: °^^"^ ">
Secondly, we are always most zealous when Religion
goes in his Silver Slippers; we love much to walk with
him in the Street, if the Sun shines, and the people
applaud him.

Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow
Hopeful, saying. It runs in my mind that this is one By-
ends of Fair-speech, and if it be he, we have as very a
Knave in our company as dwelleth in all these parts.
Then said Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he should not
be ashamed of his name. So Christian came up with him
again, and said. Sir, you talk as if you knew something
more than all the world doth; and if I take not my mark
amiss, I deem I have half a guess of you: Is not your
name Mr By-ends of Fair-speech?

By-ends. This is not my name, but indeed it is a nick-
name that is given me by some that cannot abide me;
and I must be content to bear it as a reproach, as other
good men have borne theirs before me.

Chr. But did you never give an occasion to men to
call you by this name ?

By-ends. Never, never! The worst that ever I did to How
give them an occasion to give me this name, was, that goJ^his'
I had always the luck to jump in my Judgment with the name
present way of the times whatever it was, and my chance
was to get thereby; but if things are thus cast upon me,
let me count them a blessing, but let not the malicious
load me therefore with reproach.

Chr. I thought indeed that you were the man that I
heard of, and to tell you what I think, I fear this name
belongs to you more properly than you are willing we
should think it doth.

By-ends. Well, if you will thus imagine, I cannot help He desires
it; you shall find me a fair company-keeper, if you will p^ny^with"
still admit me your associate. Christian

104 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chr. If you will go with us, you must go against Wind
and Tide, the which, I perceive, is against your opinion;
you must also own Religion in his Rags, as well as when
in his Silver Slippers, and stand by him too, when bound
in Irons, as well as when he walketh the Streets with
applause.

By-ends. You must not impose, nor lord it over my
Faith; leave me to my liberty, and let me go with you.

Chr. Not a step further, unless you will do in what
I propound, as we.

Then said By-ends, I shall never desert my old Prin-
ciples, since they are harmless and profitable. If I may
not go with you, I must do as I did before you overtook
me, even go by myself, until some overtake me that will
be glad of my company.
By-ends and Now I saw in my Dream that Christian and Hopeful
forsook him, and kept their distance before him; but
one of them looking back, saw three men following Mr
By-ends, and behold, as they came up with him, he made
them a very low congee, and they also gave him a corn-
He has new pliment. The men's names were Mr Hold-the-world, Mr
Money-love, and Mr Save-all; men that Mr By-ends had
formerly been acquainted with; for in their minority
they were School-fellows, and were taught by one Mr
Gripe-man, a School-master in Love-gain, which is a Mar-
ket-town in the County of Coveting, in the North. This
School-master taught them the Art of Getting, either by
violence, cousenage, flattery, lying, or by putting on a
guise of Religion; and these four Gentlemen had attained
much of the Art of their Master, so that they could each
of them have kept such a School themselves.

Well when they had, as I said, thus saluted each

other, Mr Money-love said to Mr By-ends, Who are they

upon the Road before us? For Christian and Hopeful

were yet within view.

By-ends' By-ends. They are a couple of far country-men, that

character of , , . , ' t.i •

the pilgrims <»/'«■ thetr modc are gomg on Pilgrimage.

christian
pvt

PILGRIM S PROGRESS IO5

Money-love. Alas! Why did they not stay, that we
might have had their good company? for they, and we,
and you Sir, I hope are all going on a Pilgrimage.

By-ends. We are so indeed; but the men before us are
so rigid, and love so much their own notions, and do
also so lightly esteem the opinions of others, that let a
man be never so godly, yet if he jumps not with them
in all things, they thrust him quite out of their company.

Save-all. That's bad; but we read of some that are
righteous overmuch; and such men's rigidness prevails
with them to judge and condemn all but themselves. But
I pray what, and how many, were the things wherein you
differed?

By-ends. Why they after their head-strong manner,
conclude that it is duty to rush on their Journey all
weathers, and I am for waiting for Wind and Tide. They
are for hazarding all for God at a clap, and I am for tak-
ing all advantages to secure my Life and Estate. They are
for holding their notions, though all other men are
against them; but I am for Religion in what, and so far
as the times and my safety will bear it. They are for
Religion when in Rags and Contempt; but I am for
him when he walks in his Golden Slippers in the Sun-
shine, and with applause.

Hold-the-world. Ay, and hold you there still, good
Mr By-ends; for for my part I can count him but a Fool,
that having the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so
unwise as to lose it. Let us be wise as Serpents; 'tis best
to make hay when the Sun shines; you see how the Bee
lieth still all winter, and bestirs her only when she can
have Profit with Pleasure. God sends sometimes Rain,
and sometimes Sun-shine; if they be such fools to go
through the first, yet let us be content to take fair weather
along with us. For my part I like that Religion best
that will stand with the security of God's good blessings
unto us; for who can imagine that is ruled by his Reason,
since God has bestowed upon us the good things of this

io6 pilgrim's progress

Life, but that he would have us keep them for his sake?
Abraham and Solomon grew rich in ReUgion. And ]ob
says, that a good man shall lay up Gold as Dust. But he
must not be such as the men before us, if they be as you
have described them.

Save-all. I think that we are all agreed in this matter,
and therefore there needs no more words about it.

Money-love. No, there needs no more words about this
matter indeed; for he that believes neither Scripture nor
Reason (and you see we have both on our side) neither
knows his own liberty, nor seeks his own safety.

By-ends. My Brethren, we are, as you see, going all on
Pilgrimage; and for our better diversion from things
that are bad, give me leave to propound unto you this
question :

Suppose a man, a Minister, or a Tradesman, &c.
should have an advantage lie before him to get the good
blessings of this life, yet so as that he can by no means
come by them, except in appearance at least, he becomes
extraordinary zealous in some points of Religion that he
meddled not with before; may he not use this means to
attain his end, and yet be a right honest man?

Money-love. I see the bottom of your question, and,
with these Gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavour to
shape you an answer. And first, to speak to your question
as it concerns a Minister himself: Suppose a Minister, a
worthy man, possess'd but of a very small benefice, and
has in his eye a greater, more fat and plump by far; he has
also now an opportunity of getting of it, yet so as by
being more studious, by preaching more frequently and
zealously, and because the temper of the people requires
it, by altering of some of his principles; for my part I see
no reason but a man may do this, (provided he has a
Call) ay, and more a great deal besides, and yet be an
honest man. For why?

I. His desire of greater benefice is lawful (this cannot
be contradicted since 'tis set before him by Providence) ;

PILGRIM S PROGRESS IO7

SO then he may get it if he can, making no question for
Conscience sake.

2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him
more studious, a more zealous Preacher, &c. and so
makes him a better man; yea makes him better improve
his parts, which is according to the Mind of God.

3. Now as for his complying with the temper of his
people, by dissenting, to serve them, some of his Princi-
ples, this argueth, i. That he is of a self-denying temper;
2. Of a sweet and winning deportment; 3. And so more
fit for the Ministerial function.

4. I conclude then, that a Minister that changes a small
for a great, should not for so doing be judged as covetous;
but rather, since he has improved in his parts and
industry thereby, be counted as one that pursues his Call,
and the opportunity put into his hand to do Good.

And now to the second part of the question, which
concerns the Tradesman you mentioned. Suppose such
an one to have but a poor imploy in the world, but by
becoming Religious, he may mend his Market, perhaps
get a rich Wife, or more and far better Customers to his
shop; for my part I see no reason but this may be law-
fully done. For why?

1. To become Religious is a Virtue, by what means
soever a man becomes so.

2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich Wife, or more Cus-
tom to my Shop.

3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming reli-
gious, gets that which is good of them that are good,
by becoming good himself; so then here is a good Wife,
and good Customers, and good Gain, and all these by
becoming religious, which is good; therefore to become
religious, to get all these, is a good and profitable design.

This answer thus made by this Mr Money-love to Mr
By-ends' question was highly applauded by them all;
wherefore they concluded upon the whole that it was
most wholesome and advantageous. And because, as

io8 pilgrim's progress

they thought, no man was able to contradict it, and
because Christian and Hopeful were yet within call, they
jointly agreed to assault them with the question as soon as
they overtook them, and the rather because they had
opposed Mr By-ends before. So they called after them,
and they stopt, and stood still till they came up to them;
but they concluded as they went that not Mr By-ends, but
old Mr Hold-the-world, should propound the question
to them, because, as they suppKJsed, their answer to him
would be without the remainder of that heat that was
kindled betwixt Mr By-ends and them, at their parting
a little before.

So they came up to each other, and after a short saluta-
tion, Mr Hold-the-world propounded the question to
Christian and his fellow, and bid them to answer it if
they could.

Chr. Then said Christian. Even a babe in Religion may
answer ten thousand such questions. For if it be unlawful
to follow Christ for loaves, as it is John 6. how much
more abominable is it to make of him and Religion a
Stalking-horse, to get and enjoy the world. Nor do we
find any other than Heathens, Hypocrites, Devils, and
Witches, that are of this opinion.

1. Heathens; for when Hamor and Shechem had a
mind to the Daughter and Cattle of Jacob, and saw that
there was no ways for them to come at them, but by be-
coming circumcised; they said to their companions, If
every male of us be circumcised, as they are circumcised,
shall not their Cattle, and their substance, and every
beast of theirs, be ours? Their Daughter and their Cattle
were that which they sought to obtain, and their Religion
the Stalking-horse they made use of to come at them.
Read the whole story, Gen. 34. 20, 21, 22, 23.

2. The Hypocritical Pharisees were also of this Reli-
gion; Long Prayers were their Pretence, but to get
widows' houses was their Intent; and greater damnation
was from God their Judgment, Lul{e 20. 46, 47.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS IO9

3. Judas the Devil was also of this Religion; he was
religious for the Bag, that he might be possessed of what
was therein; but he was lost, cast away, and the very son
of Perdition.

4. Simon the Witch was of this Religion too; for he
would have had the Holy Ghost, that he might have got
Money therewith, and his sentence from Peter's mouth
was according. Acts 8. 19, 20, 21, 22.

5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that man
that takes up Religion for the World, will throw away
Religion for the World; for so surely as Judas designed
the World in becoming religious, so surely did he also sell
Religion and his Master for the same. To answer the
question therefore affirmatively, as I perceive you have
done, and to accept of as authentick such answer, is both
Heathenish, Hypocritical, and Devilish, and your Reward
will be according to your Works. Then they stood staring
one upon another, but had not wherewith to answer
Christian. Hopeful also approved of the soundness of
Christian's answer; so there was a great Silence among
them. Mr By-ends and his company also staggered and
kept behind, that Christian and Hopeful might outgo
them. Then said Christian to his fellow. If these men
cannot stand before the sentence of men, what will they
do with the sentence of God ? And if they are mute when
dealt with by vessels of Clay, what will they do when they
shall be rebuked by the flames of a devouring Fire.?

Then Christian and Hopeful out-went them again, and The ease
went till they came to a delicate Plain called Ease, where have^'isTut'
they went with much content; but that Plain was but 'I'tle in this
narrow, so they were quickly got over it. Now at the
further side of that Plain was a little Hill called Lucre, Lucre Hill a
and in that Hill a Siher-Mine, which some of them that jiU?^'"*"
had formerly gone that way, because of the rarity of it,
had turned aside to see; but going too near the brink of
the pit, the ground being deceitful under them, broke,
and they were slain; some also had been maimed there,

no

Demas at the
Hill Lucre.
He calls to
Christian
and Hopeful
to come to
him

Hopeful
tempted
to go, but
Christian
holds him
back

Christian
rouodeth up
Demas

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

and could not to their dying day be their own men
again.

Then 1 saw in my Dream, that a Httle off the road,
over against the Silver-Mine, stood Demas (gentleman-
Hke) to call to Passengers to come and see; who said to
Christian and his fellow, Ho, turn aside hither, and I
will shew you a thing.

Chr. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the
way?

Demas. Here is a Silver-Mine, and some digging in it
for Treasure. If you will come, with a little pains you
may richly provide for yourselves.

Hope. Then said Hopeful, Let us go see.

Chr. Not I, said Christian; I have heard of this place
before now, and how many have there been slain; and
besides that Treasure is a snare to those that seek it, for it
hindereth them in their Pilgrimage. Then Christian
called to Demas, saying, Is not the place dangerous? Hath
it not hindered many in their Pilgrimage?

Demas. Not very dangerous, except to those that are
careless: but withal, he blushed as he spake.

Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not stir
a step, but still keep on our way.

Hope. I will warrant you, when By-ends comes up, if
he hath the same invitation as we, he will turn in thither
to see.

Chr. No doubt thereof, for his Principles lead him that
way, and a hundred to one but he dies there.

Demas. Then Demas called again, saying, But will you
not come over and see?

Chr. Then Christian roundly answered, saying, Demas,
thou art an Enemy to the right ways of the Lord of this
way, and hast been already condemned for thine own
turning aside, by one of his Majesties Judges; and why
seekest thou to bring us into the like condemnation?
Besides, if we at all turn aside, our Lord the King will

PILGRIM S PROGRESS III

certainly hear thereof, and will there put us to shame,
where we would stand with boldness before him.

Demas cried again, that he also was one of their fra-
ternity; and that if they would tarry a little, he also him-
self would walk with them.

Chr. Then said Christian, What is thy name? Is it
not the same by the which I have called thee?

Demas. Yes, my name is Demas, I am the Son of
Abraham.

Chr. I know you, Gehazi was your Great Grand-
father, and Judas your Father, and you have trod in
their steps. It is but a devilish prank that thou usest; thy
Father was hanged for a Traitor, and thou deservest no
better reward. Assure thyself, that when we come to the
King, we will do him word of this thy behaviour. Thus
they went their way.

By this time By-ends and his Companions were come By-cnd$
again within sight, and they at the first beck went over to ^^^^^
Demas. Now whether they fell into the Pit by looking
over the brink thereof, or whether they went down to dig,
or whether they were smothered in the bottom by the
damps that commonly arise, of these things I am not
certain; but this I observed, that they never were seen
again in the way. Then sang Christian,

By-ends and Silver Demas both Agree;
One calls, the other runs, that he may be
A Sharer in his Lucre; so these do
Take up in this World, and no further go.

Now I saw, that just on the other side of this Plain, T^cy see a
the Pilgrims came to a place where stood an old Monu- monument
ment, hard by the High-way-side, at the sight of which
they were both concerned, because of the strangeness of
the form thereof; for it seemed to them as if it had been
a Woman transformed into the shape of a Pillar; here
therefore they stood looking and looking upon it, but
could not for a time tell what they should make thereof.

112 PILGRIMS PROGRESS

At last Hopeful espied written above upon the head
thereof, a writing in an unusual hand; but he being no
Scholar, called to Christian (for he was learned) to see if
he could pick out the meaning; so he came, and after a
little laying of letters together, he found the same to be
this, Remember Lot's Wife. So he read it to his fellow;
after which they both concluded that that was the Pillar
of Salt into which Lot's Wife was turned, for her looking
back with a covetous heart, when she was going from
Sodom for safety. Which sudden and amazing sight
gave them occasion of this discourse.

Chr. Ah my Brother, this is a seasonable sight; it came
opportunely to us after the invitation which Demas gave
us to come over to view the Hill Lucre; and had we gone
over as he desired us, and as thou wast inclining to do,
my Brother, we had, for ought I know, been made our-
selves like this Woman, a spectacle for those that shall
come after to behold.

Hope. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to
wonder that I am not now as Lot's Wife; for wherein
was the difference 'twixt her sin and mine? she only
looked back, and I had a desire to go see: let Grace be
adored, and let me be ashamed that ever such a thing
should be in mine heart.

Chr. Let us take notice of what we see here, for our
help for time to come: This woman escaped one Judg-
ment, for she fell not by the destruction of Sodom;
yet she was destroyed by another, as we see she is turned
into a Pillar of Salt.

Hope. True, and she may be to us both Caution and
Example; caution, that we should shun her sin, or a
sign of what Judgment will overtake such as shall not be
prevented by this caution: so Korah, Dathan, and
Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty men that
perished in their sin, did also become a sign or example
to others to beware. But above all, I muse at one thing,
to wit, how Demas and his fellows can stand so confi-

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 113

dently yonder to look for that treasure, which this
Woman, but for looking behind her after (for we read
not that she stept one foot out of the way) was turned
into a pillar of salt; especially since the Judgment which
overtook her did make her an example, within sight of
where they are: for they cannot chuse but see her, did
they but lift up their eyes.

Chr. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth
that their hearts are grown desperate in the case; and I
cannot tell who to compare them to so fitly, as to them
that pick pockets in the presence of the Judge, or that will
cut purses under the Gallows. It is said of the men of
Sodom, That they were sinners exceedingly, because
they were sinners before the Lord; that is, in his eye-
sight, and notwithstanding the kindnesses that he had
shewed them; for the land of Sodom was now, like the
Garden of Eden heretofore. This therefore provoked him
the more to jealousy, and made their plague as hot as the
fire of the Lord out of Heaven could make it. And it is
most rationally to be concluded, that such, even such as
these are, that shall sin in the sight, yea, and that too in
despite of such examples that are set continually before
them, to caution them to the contrary, must be partakers
of severest Judgments.

Hope. Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but what a
mercy is it, that neither thou, but especially I, am not
made myself this example: this ministreth occasion to us
to thank God, to fear before him, and always to remem-
ber Lot's Wife.

I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant A river
River, which David the King called the River of God,
but John, the River of the Water of Life. Now their way
lay just upon the bank of the River; here therefore
Christian and his Companion walked with great delight;
they drank also of the water of the River, which was
pleasant and enlivening to their weary spirits: besides, on
the banks of this River on either side were green Trees,

114

Trees by the
river. The
fruit and
leaves of the
trees

A meadow
in which
they lie
down to
sleep

By-path
Meadow

One tempta-
tion does
make way
for another

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

that bore all manner of Fruit; and the Leaves of the
Trees were good for Medicine; with the Fruit of these
Trees they were also much delighted; and the Leaves
they ate to prevent Surfeits, and other Diseases that are
incident to those that heat their blood by Travels. On
either side of the River was also a Meadow, curiously
beautiful with Lilies; and it was green all the year long.
In this Meadow they lay down and slept, for here they
might lie down safely. When they awoke they gath-
ered again of the Fruit of the Trees, and drank again
of the water of the River, and then lay down again
to sleep. Thus they did several days and nights. Then
they sang.

Behold ye how these Cristal streams do glide,
(To comfort Pilgrims) by the High-way side;
The Meadows green, beside their fragrant smell.
Yield dainties for them: And he that can tell
What pleasant fruit; yea Leaves, these Trees do yield.
Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field.

So when they were disposed to go on (for they were not
as yet at their Journey's end) they eat and drank, and
departed.

Now I beheld in my Dream, that they had not jour-
neyed far, but the River and the way for a time parted;
at which they were not a little sorry, yet they durst not
go out of the way. Now the way from the River was
rough, and their feet tender by reason of their travels;
so the soul of the Pilgrims was much discouraged because
of the way. Wherefore still as they went on, they wished
for better way. Now a little before them, there was on
the left hand of the road a Meadow, and a Stile to go over
into it, and that Meadow is called By-path-Meadow.
Then said Christian to his fellow, If this Meadow lieth
along by our way-side, let's go over into it. Then he
went to the Stile to see, and behold a Path lay along by
the way on the other side of the fence. 'Tis according to

PILGRIM S PROGRESS II5

my wish, said Christian, here is the easiest going; come
good Hopeful, and let us go over.

Hope. But how if this Path should lead us out of the
way?

Chr. That's not like, said the other; look, doth it not Stronfr
go along by the way-side ? So Hopeful, being persuaded ^^y \^^^
by his fellow, went after him over the Stile. When they «'<=»'' °ne$
were gone over, and were got into the Path, they found „j,y
it very easy for their feet: and withal, they looking before
them, espied a man walking as they did, (and his name
was Vain-confidence) so they called after him, and asked
him whither that way led? He said, To the Ccelestial
Gate. Look, said Christian, did I not tell you so? by this See what it
you may see we are right. So they followed, and he went suddenly to
before them. But behold the night came on, and it grew f»" "> "•'I'
very dark, so that they that were behind lost the sight of
him that went before.

He therefore that went before {Vain-confidence by A pit to
name) not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep vainglorious
Pit, which was on purpose there made by the Prince of in
those grounds, to catch vain-glorious fools withal, and
was dashed in pieces with his fall.

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they Reasoning
called to know the matter, but there was none to answer, christian
only they heard a groaning. Then said Hopeful, Where and Hopeftil
are we now? Then was his fellow silent, as mistrusting
that he had led him out of the way; and now it began to
rain, and thunder, and lighten in a very dreadful manner,
and the water rose amain.

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying. Oh that I
had ^ept on my way!

Chr. Who could have thought that this Path should
have led us out of the way ?

Hope. I was afraid on't at the very first, and therefore
gave you that gentle caution. I would have spoken
plainer, but that you are older than I.

ii6

christian's
repentance
for leading
of his

brother out
of the way

They are in
danger of
drowning as
they go back

They sleep
in the
grounds of
Giant
Despair

He finds
them in his
grounds,
and carries
them to
Doubting
Casde

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chr. Good Brother be not offended; I am sorry I
have brought thee out of the way, and that I have put
thee into such imminent danger; pray my Brother for-
give me, I did not do it of an evil intent.

Hope. Be comforted my brother, for I forgive thee;
and beUeve too that this shall be for our good.

Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful Brother;
but we must not stand thus, let's try to go back again.

Hope. But good Brother let me go before.

Chr. No, if you please let me go first, that if there be
any danger, I may be first therein, because by my means
we are both gone out of the way.

Hope. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first; for
your mind being troubled may lead you out of the way
again. Then for their encouragement, they heard the
voice of one saying Let thine heart be towards the High-
way, even the way that thou wentest, turn again. But by
this time the waters were greatly risen; by reason of
which the way of going back was very dangerous.
(Then I thought that it is easier going out of the way
when we are in, than going in when we are out.) Yet
they adventured to go back; but it was so dark, and the
flood was so high, that in their going back they had like
to have been drowned nine or ten times.

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get
again to the Stile that night. Wherefore at last, lighting
under a little shelter, they sat down there till the day
brake; but being weary, they fell asleep. Now there was
not far from the place where they lay, a Castle called
Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair,
and it was in his grounds they were now sleeping:
wherefore he, getting up in the morning early, and
walking up and down in his fields, caught Christian
and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then with a grim
and surly voice he bid them awake, and asked them
whence they were? and what they did in his grounds?
They told him they were Pilgrims, and that they had lost

PILGRIM'S PROGRESS II7

their way. Then said the Giant, You have this night
trespassed on me, by trampling in and lying on my
grounds, and therefore you must go along with me.
So they were forced to go, because he was stronger than
they. They also had but little to say, for they knew
themselves in a fault. The Giant therefore drove them
before him, and put them into his Castle, into a very dark fhe Krie»-

•^ .... , . . , , ousness of

Dungeon, nasty and stinkmg to the spirits or these two ^^g^f ;„,-
men. Here then they lay from Wednesday morning till prisonment
Saturday night, without one bit of bread, or drop of
drink, or light, or any to ask how they did; they were
therefore here in evil case, and were far from friends and
acquaintance. Now in this place Christian had double
sorrow, because 'twas through his unadvised haste that
they were brought into this distress.

The Pilgrims now, to gratify the Flesh,
Will seek its Ease; but oh! how they afresh
Do thereby plunge themselves new Griefs into!
Who seek to please the flesh themselves undo.

Now Giant Despair had a Wife, and her name was ^n Thurs-
Diffidence. So when he was gone to bed, he told his Wife Dcpajr
what he had done, to wit, that he had taken a couple ^?«» •>"
of Prisoners and cast them into his Dungeon, for tres-
passing on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he
had best do further to them. So she asked him what they
were, whence they came, and whither they were bound;
and he told her. Then .she counselled him that when he
arose in the morning he should beat them without any
mercy. So when he arose he getteth him a grievous Crab-
tree Cudgel, and goes down into the Dungeon to them,
and there first falls to rating of them, as if they were
dogs, although they gave him never a word of distaste.
Then he falls upon them, and beats them fearfully, in
such sort, that they were not able to help themselves, or to
turn them upon the floor. This done, he withdraws and
leaves them, there to condole their misery, and to mourn
under their distress: so all that day they spent the time

ii8

On Friday,

Giant

Despair

counsels

them to kill

themselves

The Giant
sometimes
has fits

Christian
crushed

Hopeful
comforts
him

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

in nothing but sighs and bitter lamentations. The next
night she talking with her Husband about them further,
and understanding that they were yet alive, did advise
him to counsel them to make away themselves. So when
morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner as
before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the
stripes that he had given them the day before, he told
them, that since they were never like to come out of
that place, their only way would be forthwith to make an
end of themselves, either with Knife, Halter, or Poison;
For why, said he, should you chuse life, seeing it is
attended with so much bitterness? But they desired him
to let them go. With that he looked ugly upon them, and
rushing to them had doubtless made an end of them
himself, but that he fell into one of his Fits, (for he some-
times in Sun-shine weather fell into Fits) and lost for a
time the use of his hand; wherefore he withdrew, and
left them as before, to consider what to do. Then did the
Prisoners consult between themselves, whether 'twas
best to take his counsel or no; and thus they began to
discourse:

Chr. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The
life that we now live is miserable: for my part I know not
whether is best, to live thus, or to die out of hand. My
soul chuseth strangling rather than life, and the Grave
is more easy for me than this Dungeon. Shall we be ruled
by the Giant ?

Hope. Indeed our present condition is dreadful, and
death would be far more welcome to me than thus for
ever to abide; but yet let us consider, the Lord of the
Country to which we are going hath said. Thou shalt do
no murder, no not to another man's person; much more
than are we forbidden to take his counsel to kill our-
selves. Besides, he that kills another can but commit
murder upon his body; but for one to kill himself is to
kill body and soul at once. And moreover, my Brother,
thou talkest of ease in the Grave; but hast thou forgotten

PILGRIM S PROGRESS II9

the Hell, whither for certain the murderers go? For no
murderer hath eternal life, &c. And let us consider
again, that all the Law is not in the hand of Giant De-
spair. Others, so far as I can understand, have been taken
by him as well as we, and yet have escaped out of his
hand. Who knows but that God that made the world
may cause that Giant Despair may die ? or that at some
time or other he may forget to lock us in? or but he may
in short time have another of his Fits before us, and may
lose the use of his limbs ? and if ever that should come to
pass again, for my part I am resolved to pluck up the heart
of a man, and to try my utmost to get from under his
hand. I was a fool that I did not try to do it before; but
however, my Brother, let's be patient, and endure a while;
the time may come that may give us a happy release; but
let us not be our own murderers. With these words
Hopeful at present did moderate the mind of his Brother;
so they continued together (in the dark) that day, in their
sad and doleful condition.

Well, towards evening the Giant goes down into the
Dungeon again, to see if his prisoners had taken his
counsel; but when he came there he found them alive,
and truly, ahve was all; for now, what for want of Bread
and Water, and by reason of the Wounds they received
when he beat them, they could do little but breathe: But,
I say, he found them alive; at which he fell into a grievous
rage, and told them that seeing they disobeyed his counsel,
it should be worse with them than if they had never been
born.

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian Christian
fell into a Swoon; but coming a little to himself again, dejected
they renewed their discourse about the Giant's counsel,
and whether yet they had best to take it or no. Now
Christian again seemed to be for doing it, but Hopejul
made his second reply as foUoweth:

Hope. My Brother, said he, rememberest thou not how
valiant thou hast been heretofore? Apollyon could not

120

Hopeful
comforts
him ainiin,
by calling
former
things to
remem-
brance

On Saturday,
the Giant
threatened
that

(bortly he
would pull
them in
pifffg

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

crush thee, nor could all that thou didst hear, or see, or
feel in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. What hard-
ship, terror, and amazement hast thou already gone
through, and art thou now nothing but fear ? Thou seest
that I am in the Dungeon with thee, a far weaker man
by nature than thou art; also this Giant has wounded me
as well as thee, and hath also cut off the Bread and Water
from my mouth; and with thee I mourn without the
light. But let's exercise a little more patience, remember
how thou playedst the man at Vanity Fair, and wast
neither afraid of the Chain, nor Cage, nor yet of bloody
Death: wherefore let us (at least to avoid the shame, that
becomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with
patience as well as we can.

Now night being come again, and the Giant and his
Wife being in bed, she asked him concerning the Pris-
oners, and if they had taken his counsel: To which he
replied. They are sturdy Rogues, they chuse rather to
bear all hardship, than to make away themselves. Then
said she. Take them into the Castle-yard to-morrow, and
shew them the Bones and Skulls of those that thou hast
already dispatch'd, and make them believe, e'er a week
comes to an end, thou also wilt tear them in pieces, as
thou hast done their fellows before them.

So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to them
again, and takes them into the Castle-yard and shews
them as his Wife had bidden him. These, said he, were
Pilgrims as you are, once, and they trespassed in my
grounds, as you have done; and when I thought fit, I
tore them in pieces, and so within ten days I will do you.
Go get you down to your Den again; and with that he
beat them all the way thither. They lay therefore all day
on Saturday in a lamentable case, as before. Now when
night was come, and when Mrs Diffidence and her Hus-
band the Giant were got to bed, they began to renew
their discourse of their Prisoners; and withal the old
Giant wondered, that he could neither by his blows nor

Promise,
opens any

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 121

counsel bring them to an end. And with that his Wife
replied, 1 fear, said she, that they live in hope that some
will come to relieve them, or that they have pick-locks
about them, by the means of which they hope to escape.
And sayest thou so, my dear ? said the Giant, I will there-
fore search them in the morning.

Well on Saturday about midnight they began to pray,
and continued in Prayer till almost break of day.

Now a little before it was day, good Christian, as one A key in
half amazed, brake out in passionate speech : What a fool, ^^^^
quoth he, am I, thus to lie in a stin/^ing Dungeon, when called
/ may as well waH{^ at liberty. I have a Key in my bosom
called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any Lock lock in
in Doubting Castle. Then said Hopeful, That's good ci"Jie"°*
news; good Brother pluck it out of thy bosom and try.

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began
to try at the Dungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the
Key) gave back, and the door flew open with ease, and
Christian and Hopeful both came out. Then he went to
the outward door that leads into the Castle-yard, and with
his Key opened that door also. After he went to the iron
Gate, for that must be opened too, but that Lock went
damnable hard, yet the Key did open it. Then they thrust
open the Gate to make their escape with speed; but that
Gate as it opened made such a creaking, that it waked
Giant Despair, who hastily rising to pursue his Prisoners,
felt his limbs to fail, for his Fits took him again, so that
he could by no means go after them. Then they went on,
and came to the King's High-way again, and so were
safe, because they were out of his j urisdiction.

Now when they were gone over the Stile, they began A pillar
to contrive with themselves what they should do at that chrLtian''
Siile, to prevent those that should come after from fall- and •»»
ing into the hands of Giant Despair. So they consented
to erect there a Pillar, and to engrave upon the side
thereof this sentence, Ot/er this Stile is the way to Doubt-
ing Castle, which is {ept by Giant Despair, who despiseth

fellow

122

The

Delectable

Mountains

They are
refreshed in
the
mountains

Talk with

the

Shepherds

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

the King of the Cotlestial Country, and seef^s to destroy
his holy Pilgrims. Many therefore that followed after
read what was written, and escaped the danger. This
done, they sang as follows:

Out of the way we went, and then we found

What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground;

And let them that come after have a care,

Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, to fare.

Lest they for tresjMssing his prisoners are,

Whose CasUe's Doubting, and whose name's Despair.

They went then till they came to the Delectable Moun-
tains, which Mountains belong to the Lord of that Hill
of which we have spoken before; so they went up to the
Mountains, to behold the Gardens and Orchards, the
Vineyards and Fountains of water; where also they drank,
and washed themselves, and did freely eat of the Vine-
yards. Now there were on the tops of these Mountains
Shepherds feeding their flocks, and they stood by the
High-way side. The Pilgrims therefore went to them,
and leaning upon their staves (as is common with weary
Pilgrims, when they stand to talk with any by the way)
they asked. Whose Delectable Mountains are these? And
whose be the sheep that feed upon them?

Mountains Delectable they now ascend.
Where Shepherds be, which to them do commend
Alluring things, and things that Cautious are,
Pilgrims are steady kept by Faith and Fear.

Shep. These mountains are ImmanueFs Land, and
they are within sight of his City; and the sheep also are
his, and he laid down his life for them.

Chr. Is this the way to the Coclestial City ?

Shep. You are just in your way.

Chr. How far is it thither.?

Shep. Too far for any but those that shall get thither
indeed.

Chr. Is the way safe or dangerous.?

i

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 123

Shep. Safe for those for whom it is to be safe, but
transgressors shall fall therein.

Chr. Is there in this place any reHef for Pilgrims that
are weary and faint in the way?

Shep. The Lord of these Mountains hath given us a
charge not to be forgotten to entertain strangers; there-
fore the good of the place is before you.

I saw also in my Dream, that when the Shepherds The
perceived that they were way-faring men, they also put ^^Jco^e*
questions to them (to which they made answer as in them
other places) as, Whence came you? and, How got you
into the way? and, By what means have you so persevered
therein? For but few of them that begin to come hither
do shew their face on these Mountains. But when the
Shepherds heard their answers, being pleased therewith,
they looked very lovingly upon them, and said. Welcome
to the Delectable Mountains.

The Shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, The names
Experience, Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the shepherds
hand, and had them to their Tents, and made them par-
take of that which was ready at present. They said more-
over. We would that ye should stay here a while, to be
acquainted with us; and yet more to solace yourselves
with the good of these Delectable Mountains. They then
told them, that they were content to stay; and so they
went to their rest that night, because it was very late.

Then I saw in my Dream, that in the morning the Thc>- are
Shepherds called up Christian and Hopeful to walk with wonders
them upon the Mountains; so they went forth with them. The Moun-
and walked a while, having a pleasant prospect on every g^^j
side. Then said the Shepherds one to another. Shall we
shew these Pilgrims some wonders? So when they had
concluded to do it, they had them first to the top of a Hill
called Error, which was very steep on the furthest side,
and bid them look down to the bottom. So Christian and
Hopeful looked down, and saw at the bottom several
men dashed all to pieces by a fall, that they had from

124 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

the top. Then said Christian, What meaneth this? The
Shepherds answered, Have you not heard of them that
were made to err, by hearkening to Hymeneus and Phi-
letus, as concerning the Faith of the Resurrection of the
Body? They answered, Yes. Then said the Shepherds,
Those that you see He dashed in pieces at the bottom of
this Mountain are they; and they have continued to this
day unburied (as you see) for an example to others to take
heed how they clamber too high, or how they come too
near the brink of this Mountain.
Mount Then I saw that they had them to the top of another

Mountain, and the name of that is Caution, and bid them
look afar off; which when they did, they perceived, as
they thought, several men walking up and down among
the Tombs that were there; and they perceived that the
men were blind, because they stumbled sometimes upon
the Tombs, and because they could not get out from
among them. Then said Christian, What means this?

The Shepherds then answered. Did you not see a little
below these Mountains a Stile, that led into a Meadow,
on the left hand of this way? They answered. Yes. Then
said the Shepherds, From that Stile there goes a path that
leads directly to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant
Despair; and these men (pointing to them among the
Tombs) came once on Pilgrimage, as you do now, even
till they came to that same Stile; and because the right
way was rough in that place, they chose to go out of it into
that Meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair,
and cast into Doubting Castle; where, after they had been
awhile kept in the Dungeon, he at last did put out their
eyes, and led them among those Tombs, where he has
left them to wander to this very day, that the saying of the
Wise Man might be fulfilled. He that wandereth out of
the way of understanding, shall remain in the congrega-
tion of the dead. Then Christian and Hopeful looked
upon one another, with tears gushing out, but yet said
nothing to the Shepherds.

pilgrim's prcxjress 125

Then I saw in my Dream, that the Shepherds had them A '>y-w»y
to another place, in a bottom, where was a door in the
side of a Hill, and they opened the door, and bid them
look in. They looked in therefore, and saw that within
it was very dark and smoky; they also thought that they
heard there a rumbling noise as of Fire, and a cry of some
tormented, and that they smelt the scent of Brimstone.
Then said Christian, What means this? The Shepherds
told them. This is a by-way to Hell, a way that Hypocrites
go in at; namely, such as sell their Birth-right, with Esau;
such as sell their Master, as Judas; such as blaspheme the
Gospel, with Alexander ; and that lie and dissemble, with
Ananias and Sapphira his Wife. Then said Hopeful to
the Shepherds, I perceive that these had on them, even
everyone, a shew of Pilgrimage, as we have now; had
they not?

Shep. Yes, and held it a long time too.

Hope. How far might they go on in Pilgrimage in
their day, since they notwithstanding were thus miserably
cast away?

Shep. Some further, and some not so far as these Moun-
tains.

Then said the Pilgrims one to another. We had need
to cry to the Strong for strength.

Shep. Ay, and you will have need to use it when you
have it too.

By this time the Pilgrims had a desire to go forwards, "^^
and the Shepherds a desire they should; so they walked penpcctive
together towards the end of the Mountains. Then said s'*"
the Shepherds one to another, Let us here shew to the
Pilgrims the Gates of the Ccelestial City, if they have
skill to look through our Perspective-Glass. The Pilgrims The Hill
then lovingly accepted the motion; so they had them to
the top of a high Hill, called Clear, and gave them their
Glass to look.

Then they assayed to look, but the remembrance of The fruits
that last thing that the Shepherds had shewed them, "eaT"'*

126

A twofold
caution

The country
of Conceit,
out of which
came
Ignorance

Christian
and Igno-
rance have
some talk

The ground
of Igno-
rance's hope

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

made their hands shake, by means of which impediment
they could not look steadily through the Glass; yet they
thought they saw something like the Gate, and also some
of the Glory of the place.
Then they went away and sang this song,

Thus by the Shepherds Secrets are reveal'd:
Which from all other men are kept conceal'd
Come to the Shepherds then if you would see
Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious be.

When they were about to depart, one of the Shepherds
gave them a Note of the way. Another of them bid them
beware of the Flatterer. The third bid them tal{e heed
that they sleep not on the Inchanted Ground. And the
fourth bid them Godspeed. So I awoke from my Dream.

And I slept, and Dreamed again, and saw the same two
Pilgrims going down the Mountains along the High-
way towards the City. Now a little below these Moun-
tains, on the left hand lieth the Country of Conceit;
from which Country there comes into the way in which
the Pilgrims walked, a little crooked Lane. Here therefore
they met with a very brisk Lad, that came out of that
Country; and his name was Ignorance. So Christian
asked him From what parts he came, and whither he was
going?

Ignor. Sir, I was born in the Country that lieth off there
a little on the left hand, and I am going to the Calestial
City.

Chr. But how do you think to get in at the Gate, for
you may find some difficulty there .^

Ignor. As other good people do, said he.

Chr. But what have you to shew at that Gate, that
may cause that the Gate should be opened to you?

Ignor. 1 know my Lord's will, and I have been a good
liver; I pay every man his own; I Pray, Fast, pay Tithes,
and give Alms, and have left my Country for whither
I am going.

PILGRIM S PRCXiRESS I27

Chr. But thou earnest not in at the Wicket-Gate that
is at the head of this way; thou earnest in hither through
that same crooked Lane, and therefore I fear, how-
ever thou mayest think of thyself, when the reckon-
ing day shall come, thou wilt have laid to thy charge that
thou art a Thief and a Robber, instead of getting admit-
tance into the City.

Ignor. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know H« ""h •»
you not; be content to follow the Religion of your Coun- ,hat he u a
try, and I will follow the Religion of mine, I hope all will f°°'
be well. And as for the Gate that you talk of, all the
world knows that that is a great way off of our Country.
I cannot think that any man in all our parts doth so much
as know the way to it, nor need they matter whether they
do or no, since we have, as you see, a fine pleasant Green
Lane, that comes down from our Country the next way
into the way.

When Christian saw that the man was wise in his ^"^ 5"
own conceit, he said to Hopeful whisperingly. There is fool
more hopes of a fool than of him. And said moreover,
When he that is a fool wal/^eth by the way, his wisdom
faileth him, and he saith to every one that he is a fool.
What, shall we talk further with him, or outgo him at
present, and so leave him to think of what he hath heard
already, and then stop again for him afterwards, and see
if by degrees we can do any good of him? Then said
Hopeful,

Let Ignorance a little while now muse
On what is said, and let him not refuse
Good counsel to imbrace, lest he remain
Still ignorant of what's the chiefest gain.
God saith, Those that no understanding have,
(Although he made them) them he will not save.

Hope. He further added. It is not good, I think, to say
all to him at once; let us pass him by, if you will, and talk
to him anon, even as he is able to bear it.

128

The de-
struction
one
Turn-away

of

Christian
telleth his
companion
a story of
Little-faith

Broad-way
Gate

Dead Man's
Lane

Little-faith
robbed by
Faint-
heart, Mis-
trust, and
Guilt

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

So they both went on, and Ignorance he came after.
Now when they had passed him a little way, they entered
into a very dark Lane, where they met a man whom seven
Devils had bound with seven strong cords, and were
carrying of him back to the Door that they saw on the
side of the Hill. Now good Christian began to tremble,
and so did Hopeful his Companion; yet as the Devils led
away the man, Christian looked to see if he knew him,
and he thought it might be one Turn-away that dwelt in
the Town of Apostacy. But he did not perfectly see his
face, for he did hang his head like a Thief that is found.
But being gone past. Hopeful looked after him, and espied
on his back a paper with this inscription. Wanton Pro-
fessor and damnable Apostate. Then said Christian to
his fellow. Now I call to remembrance that which was
told me of a thing that happened to a good man here-
about. The name of the man was Little-faith, but a good
man, and he dwelt in the Town of Sincere. The thing
was this; At the entering in of this passage, there comes
down from Broad-way Gate, a Lane called Dead Man's
Lane; so called because of the Murders that are commonly
done there; and this Little-faith going on Pilgrimage as
we do now, chanced to sit down there and slept. Now
there happened at that time, to come down the Lane
from Broad-way Gate, three sturdy Rogues, and their
names were Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt, (three
Brothers) and they espying Little-faith where he was,
came galloping up with speed. Now the good man was
just awaked from his sleep, and was getting up to go on
his Journey. So they came up all to him, and with
threatning language bid him stand. At this Little-faith
looked as white as a Clout, and had neither power to fight
nor fly. Then said Faint-heart, Deliver thy Purse. But
he making no haste to do it (for he was loth to lose his
Money) Mistrust ran up to him, and thrusting his hand
into his Pocket, pull'd out thence a bag of silver. Then
he cried out, Thieves, Thieves. With that Guilt with a

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 1 29

great Club that was in his hand, struck Little-faith on the They got
head, and with that blow fell'd him flat to the ground, *]^er, and
where he lay bleeding as one that would bleed to death, knocked
All this while the Thieves stood by. But at last, they
hearing that some were upon the road, and fearing lest
it should be one Great-grace that dwells in the City o£
Good-confidence, they betook themselves to their heels,
and left this good man to shift for himself. Now after a
while Little-faith came to himself, and getting up made
shift to scrabble on his way. This was the story.

Hope. But did they take from him all that ever he had?

Chr, No; the place where his Jewels were they never Little-faith
ransacked, so those he kept still; but as I was told, the test things
good man was much afflicted for his loss, for the Thieves
got most of his spending Money. That which they got not
(as I said) were Jewels, also he had a little odd Money
left, but scarce enough to bring him to his Journey's end;
nay, if I was not misinformed, he was forced to beg as he Little-faith
went, to keep himself alive, for his Jewels he might not ^^ ,g ^^
sell. But beg, and do what he could, he went (as we say) journey's
u/ith many a hungry belly the most part of the rest of the '"
way.

Hope. But is it not a wonder that they got from him
his Certificate, by which he was to receive his admittance
at the Coelestial Gate?

Chr. 'Tis a wonder but they got not that, though they He kept not
missed it not through any good cunning of his; for he things 'by
being dismayed with their coming upon him, had neither his own
power nor skill to hide anything; so 'twas more by good ("""Ti^ L
Providence than by his endeavour, that they miss'd of 14)
that good thing.

Hope. But it must needs be a comfort to him that they
got not this Jewel from him.

Chr. It might have been great comfort to him, had he
used it as he should; but they that told me the story said
that he made but little use of it all the rest of the way,
and that because of the dismay that he had in their taking

130

He is pitied
by both

Christian

snubbeth

his fellow

for

unadvised

speaking

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

away his Money; indeed he forgot it a great part of the
rest of his Journey; and besides, when at any time it came
into his mind, and he began to be comforted therewith,
then would fresh thoughts of his loss come again upon
him, and those thoughts would swallow up all.

Hope. Alas poor man! This could not but be a great
grief to him.

Chr. Grief! ay, a grief indeed. Would it not have been
so to any of us, had we been used as he, to be robbed,
and wounded too, and that in a strange place, as he was?
'Tis a wonder he did not die with grief, poor heart! I
was told that he scattered almost all the rest of the way
with nothing but doleful and bitter complaints; telling
also to all that over-took him, or that he over-took in the
way as he went, where he was robbed, and how; who
they were that did it, and what he lost; how he was
wounded, and that he hardly escaped with his Ufe.

Hope. But 'tis a wonder that his necessity did not
put him upon selling or pawning some of his Jewels,
that he might have wherewith to relieve himself in his
Journey.

Chr. Thou talkest like one uf)on whose head is the
Shell to this very day; for what should he pawn them,
or to whom should he sell them? In all that Country
where he was robbed, his Jewels were not accounted of;
nor did he want that relief which could from thence be
administered to him. Besides, had his Jewels been missing
at the Gate of the Ccelestial City, he had (and that he
knew well enough) been excluded from an Inheritance
there; and that would have been worse to him than the
appearance and villany of ten thousand Thieves.

Hope. Why art thou so tart my Brother? Esau sold
his Birth-right, and that for a mess of Pottage, and that
Birth-right was his greatest Jewel; and if he, why might
not Little- jaith do so too ?

Chr. Esau did sell his Birth-right indeed, and so do
many besides, and by so doing exclude themselves from

PILGRIMS PROGRESS I3I

the chief blessing, as also that caitiff did; but you must put Adiscourse
a difference betwixt Esau and Little-jaith, and also be- ^nd Little-
twixt their Estates. Esau's Birth-right was typical, but ^^'^
Little-faith's Jewels were not so: Esau's belly was his god,
but Little-faith's belly was not so: Esau's want lay in his Esau was
fleshly appetite, Little-faith's did not so. Besides, Esau ju, imtl
could see no further than to the fulfilling of his lusts:
For I am at the point to die, said he, and what good will
this Birth-right do me? But Little-faith, though it was
his lot to have but a little faith, was by his little faith
kept from such extravagancies, and made to see and prize
his Jewels more than to sell them, as Esau did his Birth-
right. You read not anywhere that Esau had faith, no not ?* j"f"^u"
so much as a little; therefore no marvel if where the flesh
only bears sway (as it will in that man where no faith is
to resist) if he sells his Birth-right, and his Soul and all,
and that to the Devil of Hell; for it is with such, as it is
with the Ass, who in her occasions cannot be turned away.
When their minds are set upon their lusts, they will have
them whatever they cost. But Little-faith was of another
temper, his mind was on things Divine; his livelihood
was upon things that were Spiritual, and from above; Lmlc-faith
therefore to what end should he that is of such a temper Uve upon
sell his Jewels (had there been any that would have Esaus
bought them) to fill his mind with empty things? Will a
man give a penny to fill his belly with Hay ? or can you
persuade the Turtle-dove to live upon Carrion like the
Crow? Though faithless ones can, for carnal Lusts, pawn ^ compan-
or mortgage, or sell what they have, and themselves out- twccn the
right to boot; yet they that have faith, saving faith, turt'e-dove
though but a little of it, cannot do so. Here therefore crow
my Brother is thy mistake.

Hope. I acknowledge it; but yet your severe reflection
had almost made me angry.

Chr. Why, I did but compare thee to some of the Birds
that are of the brisker sort, who will run to and fro in
trodden paths, with the Shell upon their heads; but pass

132

Hopeful
swaggers

No great
heart for
God, where
there is but
little faith

We have
more cour-
age when
out, than
when in the
conflict

Christian
tells bis own
experience
in this case

The King's
champion

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

by that, and consider the matter under debate, and all
shall be well betwixt thee and me.

Hope. But Christian, these three fellows, I am per-
suaded in my heart, are but a company of Cowards;
would they have run else, think you, as they did, at the
noise of one that was coming on the road ? Why did not
Little-faith pluck up a greater heart? He might, me-
thinks, have stood one brush with them, and have yielded
when there had been no remedy.

Chr. That they are Cowards, many have said, but few
have found it so in the time of Trial. As for a great
heart. Little- faith had none; and I perceive by thee, my
Brother, hadst thou been the man concerned, thou art
but for a brush, and then to yield. And verily since this
is the height of thy stomach, now they are at a distance
from us, should they appear to thee as they did to him,
they might put thee to second thoughts.

But consider again, they are but journeymen Thieves;
they serve under the King of the bottomless Pit, who, if
need be, will come in to their aid himself, and his voice
is as the roaring of a Lion. I myself have been engaged
as this Little-faith was, and I found it a terrible thing.
These three Villains set upon me, and I beginning like a
Christian to resist, they gave but a call, and in came their
Master: I would, as the saying is, have given my life for
a penny; but that, as God would have it, I was cloathed
with Armor of proof. Ay, and yet though I was so
harnessed, I found it hard work to quit myself like a
man: no man can tell what in that Combat attends us,
but he that hath been in the Battle himself.

Hope. Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but
supfK)se that one Great-grace was in the way.

Chr. True, they have often fled, both they and their
Master, when Great-grace hath but appeared; and no
marvel, for he is the King's Champion. But I tro you
will put some difference between Little-faith and the
King's Champion. All the King's Subjects are not his

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I33

Champions, nor can they when tried do such feats of
War as he. Is it meet to think that a little child should
handle Goliah as David did ? Or that there should be the
strength of an Ox in a Wren? Some are strong, some
are weak; some have great faith, some have little: this
man was one of the weak, and therefore he went to the
wall.

Hope. I would it had been Great-grace for their sakes.

Chr. If it had been he, he might have had his hands
full; for I must tell you, that though Great-grace is excel-
lent good at his Weapons, and has, and can, so long as he
keeps them at Sword's point, do well enough with them;
yet if they get within him, even Faint-heart, Mistrust,
or the other, it shall go hard but they will throw up his
heels. And when a man is down, you know, what can he
do?

Whoso looks well upon Great-grace's face, shall see
those scars and cuts there, that shall easily give demonstra-
tion of what I say. Yea, once I heard he should say, (and
that when he was in the Combat) We despaired even of
life. How did these sturdy Rogues and their fellows make
David groan, mourn, and roar? Yet, Heman and Heze-
l{iah too, though Champions in their day, were forced to
bestir them when by these assaulted; and yet notwith-
standing they had their Coats soundly brushed by them.
Peter upon a time would go try what he could do; but
though some do say of him that he is the Prince of the
Af)osdes, they handled him so, that they made him at last
afraid of a sorry Girl.

Besides their King is at their whistle. He is never out Leviathan'i
r I ■ 1 ./- 'II I sturdmess

or hearmg; and 11 at any time they be put to the worst,

he if possible comes in to help them; and of him it is said,

The Sword of him that layeth at him cannot hold, the

Spear, the Dart, nor the Habergeon: he esteemeth Iron

as Straw, and Brass as rotten Wood. The Arrow cannot

mahj: him fiy; Sling-stones are turned with him into

Stubble, Darts are counted as Stubble: he laugheth at the

134 PILGRIMS PROGRESS

shal{ing of a Spear. What can a man do in this case?

Tis true, if a man could at every turn have Job's Horse,

and had skill and courage to ride him, he might do

The excel- notable things; for his Nec/(^ is cloathed with Thunder,

that ^"^1"' ^<^ ^'^^ "0/ be afraid as the Grasshopper, the glory of his

lob's horse Nostrils is terrible, he paweth in the Valley, rejoiceth in

his strength, and goeth out to meet the armed men. He

moc^eth at fear, and is not affrighted, neither turneth

bac/^ from the Sword. The Quiver rattleth against him,

the glittering Spear, and the Shield. He swalloweth the

ground with fierceness and rage, neither believeth he that

it is the sound of the Trumpet. He saith among the

Trumpets, Ha, ha; and he smelleth the Battle afar off,

the thundering of the Captains, and the Shoutings.

But for such footmen as thee and I are, let us never
desire to meet with an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could
do better, when we hear of others that they have been
foiled, nor be tickled at the thoughts of our own man-
hood; for such commonly come by the worst when tried.
Witness Peter, of whom I made mention before. He
would swagger, ay he would; he would, as his vain mind
prompted him to say, do better, and stand more for his
Master than all men; but who so foiled and run down
by these Villains as he?

When therefore we hear that such Robberies are done
on the King's High-way, two things become us to do:
First, To go out harnessed and to be sure to take a
Shield with us; for it was for want of that, that he that
laid so lustily at Leviathan could not make him yield;
for indeed if that be wanting he fears us not at all. There-
fore he that had skill hath said. Above all take the Shield
of Faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the
fiery darts of the wicked.
It is good to Tis good also that we desire of the King a Convoy,
convoy Y^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^'^1 S" ^'^^ "s himself. This made David

rejoice when in the Valley of the Shadow of Death:
and Moses was rather for dying where he stood, than to

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I35

go one step without his God. O my Brother, if he will but
go along with us, what need we be afraid of ten
thousands that shall set themselves against us ? But with-
out him, the proud helpers jail under the slain.

I for my part have been in the fray before now, and
though (through the goodness of him that is best) I am,
as you see, alive; yet I cannot boast of my manhood. Glad
shall I be, if I meet with no more such brunts, though
I fear we are not got beyond all danger. However, since
the Lion and the Bear have not as yet devoured me, I
hope God will also deliver us from the next uncircum-
cised Philistine. Then sang Christian,

Poor Little-faithI Hast been among the Thieves?
Wast robb'd? Remember this: Whoso believes
And gets more Faith, shall then a victor be
Over ten thousand, else scarce over three.

So they went on, and Ignorance followed. They went A way, and

then till they came at a place where they saw a way put * "*''

itself into their way, and seemed withal to lie as straight

as the way which they should go: and here they knew

not which of the two to take, for both seemed straight

before them; therefore here they stood still to consider.

And as they were thinking about the way, behold a man

black of flesh, but covered with a very light Robe, came

to them, and asked them why they stood there? They The flatterer

answered they were going to the Ccelestial City, but knew

not which of these ways to take. Follow me, said the

man, it is thither that I am going. So they followed him

in the way that but now came into the road, which by Christian

degrees turned, and turned them so from the City that fdiow

they desired to go to, that in little time their faces were deluded

turned away from it: yet they followed him. But by-and-

by, before they were aware, he led them both within the

compass of a Net, in which they were both so intangled. They are

that they knew not what to do; and with that the white „gt

Robe jell off the blac\ man's bac/(^: then they saw where

136

They bewail

their

condition

A Shininf;
One comes
to them
with a whip
in his hand

They are
examined,
and con-
victed of
forgetfulness

Deceivers
fine spoken

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

they were. Wherefore there they lay crying some time,
for they could not get themselves out.

Chr. Then said Christian to his fellow, Now do I see
myself in an error. Did not the Shepherds bid us beware
of the flatterers? As is the saying of the Wise man, so
we have found it this day, A man that flattereth his
Neighbour, spreadeth a Net for his feet.

Hope. They also gave us a Note of directions about
the way, for our more sure finding thereof; but therein we
have also forgotten to read, and have not kept ourselves
from the paths of the destroyer. Here David was wiser
than we; for saith he. Concerning the tvorl^s of men, by
the word of thy lips I have f{ept me from the paths of the
destroyer. Thus they lay bewailing themselves in the Net.
At last they espied a Shining One coming towards them
with a Whip of small cord in his hand. When he was
come to the place where they were, he asked them whence
they came? and what they did there? They told him
that they were poor Pilgrims going to Sion, but were led
out of their way by a black man, cloathed in white, who
bid us, said they, follow him, for he was going thither too.
Then said he with the Whip, It is Flatterer, a false
Apostle, that hath transformed himself into an Angel of
Light. So he rent the Net, and let the men out. Then
said he to them. Follow me, that I may set you in your
way again: so he led them back to the way which they
had left to follow the Flatterer. Then he asked them,
saying, Where did you lie the last night? They said,
With the Shepherds up)on the Delectable Mountains. He
asked them then, If they had not of those Shepherds a
Note of direction for the way? They answered. Yes. But
did you, said he, when you were at a stand pluck out and
read your Note? They answered, No. He asked them,
Why ? They said they forgot. He asked moreover. If the
Shepherds did not bid them beware of the Flatterer?
They answered, Yes; but we did not imagine, said they,
that this fine-spo\en man had been he.

PILGRIM S PRCXiRESS 1 37

Then I saw in my Dream, that he commanded them to They are
lie down; which when they did, he chastised them sore, ^^^ ^„^ ^g
to teach them the good way wherein they should walk; 'heir way
and as he chastised them he said, As many as I love, I
rebul{e and chasten; be zealous therefore, and repent.
This done, he bid them go on their way, and take good
heed to the other directions of the Shepherds. So they
thanked him for all his kindness, and went softly along
the right way, singing,

Come hither, you that walk along the way.
See how the Pilgrims fare that go astray;
They catched are in an intangling Net,
'Cause they good Counsel lightly did forget;
'Tis true they rescu'd were, but yet you see
They're scourg'd to boot: Let this your caution be.

Now after a while, they perceived afar off one coming
softly and alone all along the High-way to meet them.
Then said Christian to his fellow. Yonder is a man with
his back toward Sion, and he is coming to meet us.

Hope. I see him, let us take heed to ourselves now, lest The Atheist
he should prove a Flatterer also. So he drew nearer and
nearer, and at last came up unto them. His name was
Atheist, and he asked them whither they were going.

Chr. We are going to the Mount Sion.

Then Atheist fell into a very great Laughter. He laughs at

Chr. What is the meaning of your Laughter?

Atheist. I laugh to see what ignorant persons you are,
to take upon you so tedious a Journey, and you are like
to have nothing but your travel for your pains.

Chr. Why man? Do you think we shall not be re- They reason
ceived? '°«"'*'"

Atheist. Received! There is no such place as you dream
of in all this World.

Chr. But there is in the World to come.

Atheist. When I was at home in mine own Country,
I heard as you now affirm, and from that hearing went
out to see, and have been seeking this City this t\v3n.tv

138 pilgrim's progress

years; but find no more of it than I did the first day I set

out.

Chr. We have both heard and believe that there is such

a place to be found.

The Atheist Atheist. Had not I when at home believed, I had not

content 'in " come thus far to seek; but finding none, (and yet I

this world should, had there been such a place to be found, for I

have gone to seek it further than you) I am going back

again, and will seek to refresh myself with the things that

I then cast away, for hopes of that which I now see is not

Christian Chr. Then said Christian to Hopeful his fellow, Is it

brother " ^"^"^ which this man hath said?

Hope. Take heed, he is one of the Flatterers; remember

Hopeful's what it hath cost us once already for our hearkening to

answer' ^"'-^ '^''^^ °^ fellows. What! no Mount Sion? Did we

not see from the Delectable Mountains the Gate of the

A reraem- City? Also, are we not now to walk by Faith. Let us

formed ° 8° °"' ^^'^ Hopeful, lest the man with the Whip overtake

chastise- us again. You should have taught me that lesson, which I

hclp'^gainst ^^''^ round you in the ears withal: Cease, my Son, to hear

present the instruction that causeth to err from the tvords of

tempuuons f^nowledge. I say my Brother, cease to hear him, and let

us believe to the saving of the Soul.

A fruit of ao Chr. My Brother, I did not put the question to thee for

Ijggjj that I doubted of the Truth of our belief myself, but to

prove thee, and to fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty

of thy heart. As for this man, I know that he is blinded

by the god of this World. Let thee and I go on, knowing

that we have belief of the Truth, and no lie is of the

Truth.

Hope. Now do I rejoice in hof)e of the glory of God.

So they turned away from the man; and he laughing at

them went his way.

They are \ saw then in my Dream, that they went till they come

come to the . • /-. 1 • n j j

Enchanted "^to ^ certam Country, whose air naturally tended to

Ground make one drowsy, if he came a stranger into it. And here

Hopeful began to be very dull and heavy of sleep; where-

139

Hopeful
begins to be
drowsy

Christian
keeps him
awake

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

fore he said unto Christian, I do now begin to grow so
drowsy that I can scarcely hold up mine eyes, let us lie
down here and take one nap.

Chr. By no means, said the other, lest sleeping we never
awake more.

Hope. Why my Brother ? Sleep is sweet to the labour-
ing man; we may be refreshed ii we take a nap.

Chr. Do you not remember that one of the Shepherds
bid us beware of the Inchanted Ground? He meant by
that, that we should beware of sleeping; wherefore let
us not sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober.

Hope. 1 acknowledge myself in a fault, and had I been
here alone I had by sleeping run the danger of death.
I see it is true that the Wise man saith, Two are better
than one. Hitherto hath thy company been my mercy,
and thou shah have a good reward for thy labour.

Now then, said Christian, to prevent drowsiness in this
place, let us fall into good discourse.

Hope. With all my heart, said the other.

Chr. Where shall we begin?

Hope. Where God began with us. But do you begin,
if you please.

Chr. I will sing you first this song:

When Saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither.
And hear how these two Pilgrims talk together:
Yea, let them learn of them in any wise,
Thus to keep ope their drowsy, slumbring eyes.
Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well.
Keeps them awake, and that in spite of Hell.

Chr. Then Christian began and said, I will ask you They begin
a question : How came you to think at first of doing as n^^g „( their
you do now?

Hope. Do you mean, how came I at first to look after
the good of my soul?

Chr. Yes, that is my meaning.

Hope. I continued a great while in the delight of those
things which were seen and sold at our Fair; things

He is
thankful

To prevent
drowsiness
they fall to
good
discourse

Good
discourse
prevents
drowsiness

The dream-
er's note

conversion

140

Hopeful's
life before
conversion

Hopeful at
first shuts
his eyes
against the
light

Reasons of
his resisting
•f the light

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

which I believe now would have (had I continued in
them still) drowned me in perdition and destruction.

Chr. What things were they?

Hope. All the Treasures and Riches of the World.
Also I delighted much in Rioting, Revelling, Drinking,
Swearing, Lying, Uncleanness, Sabbath-breaking, and
what not, that tended to destroy the Soul. But I found at
last, by hearing and considering of things that are Divine,
which indeed I heard of you, as also of beloved Faithful,
that was put to death for his faith and good living in
Vanity Fair, That the end of these things is death. And
that for these things' sake the wrath of God cometh upon
the children of disobedience.

Chr. And did you presently fall under the power of
this conviction?

Hope. No, I was not willing presently to know the
evil of sin, nor the damnation that follows upon the
commission of it; but endeavoured, when my mind at
first began to be shaken with the Word, to shut mine eyes
against the light thereof.

Chr. But what was the cause of your carrying of it
thus to the first workings of God's blessed Spirit upon
you?

Hope. The causes were, i. I was ignorant that this
was the work of God upon me. I never thought that by
awakenings for sin God at first begins the conversion of
a sinner. 2. Sin was yet very sweet to my flesh, and I was
loth to leave it. 3. I could not tell how to part with mine
old Companions, their presence and actions were so de-
sirable unto me. 4. The hours in which convictions were
upon me, were such troublesome and such heart-affright-
ing hours, that I could not bear, no not so much as the
remembrance of them upon my heart.

Chr. Then as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your
trouble.

Hope. Yes verily, but it would come into my mind

PILGRIM S PRCXiRESS I4I

again, and then I should be as bad, nay worse, than I
was before.
Chr. Why, what was it that brought your sins to mind ^hen he

again. jenje of jin^

Hope. Many things; as what

1. If I did but meet a good man in the Streets; or, ag^

2. If I have heard any read in the Bible; or,

3. If mine Head did begin to ake; or,

4. If I were told that some of my Neighbors were sick;
or,

5. If I heard the Bell toll for some that were dead;
or,

6. If I thought of Dying myself; or,

7. If I heard that sudden Death happened to others;

8. But especially, when I thought of myself, that I must
quickly come to Judgment.

Chr. And could you at any time with ease get off the
guilt of sin, when by any of these ways it came upon
you?

Hope. No, not latterly, for then they got faster hold
of my conscience; and then, if I did but think of going
back to sin, (though my mind was turned against it)
it would be double torment to me.

Chr. And how did you do then?

Hope. I thought I must endeavour to mend my life; when he
for else, thought I, I am sure to be damned. longer shake

Chr. And did you endeavour to mend? of his guilt

Hope. Yes, and fled from not only my sins, but sinful courl^,"then
Gsmpany too; and betook me to religious duties, as he en-
Prayer, Reading, Weeping for Sin, speaking Truth to my ^^^j
Neighbors, &c. These things did I, with many others, too
much here to relate.

Chr. And did you think yourself well then?

Hope. Yes, for a while; but at the last my trouble came TT>cn he
tumbling upon me again, and that over the neck of all my him«lf well
reformations.

142 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chr. How came that about, since you were now re-
formed ?
Reformation Hope. There were several things brought it upon me,
could not esf)ecially such sayings as these: All our righteousnesses
help, and are as filthy rags. By the tvorl{^s of the Lmiv no man shall
be justified. When you have done all things, say. We are
unprofitable: with many more such Uke. From whence
I began to reason with myself thus: If all my righteous-
nesses are filthy rags, if by the deeds of the Law, no man
can be justified; and if, when we have done all, we are
yet unprofitable, then 'tis but a folly to think of Heaven
by the Law. I further thought thus: If a man runs lool.
His being a into the Shop-keeper's debt, and after that shall pay
the law for 3II that he shall fetch; yet his old debt stands still
troubled Jn the Book uncrossed, for the which the Shop-keeper
may sue him, and cast him into Prison till he shall pay
the debt.

Chr. Well, and how did you apply this to yourself?
Hope. Why, I thought thus with myself: I have by my
sins run a great way into God's Book, and that my now
reforming will not pay off that score; therefore I should
think still under all my present amendments. But how
shall I be freed from that damnation that I have brought
myself in danger of by my former transgressions.''
Chr. A very good application : but pray go on.
Hope. Another thing that hath troubled me, even since
His espying my late amendments, is, that if I look narrowly into the
in his"'^t ^^^ of what I do now, I still see sin, new sin, mixing
duties itself with the best of that I do; so that now I am forced

lu^ to conclude, that notwithstanding my former fond con-

ceits of myself and duties, I have committed sin enough
in one duty to send me to Hell, though my former life had
This made been faultless,
his mind to ^^'"' ^"^ what did you do then ?
Faithful, Hope. Do! I could not tell what to do, till I brake my

him the way "^'1^ to Faithful, for he and I were well acquainted. And
to be saved he told me, that unless I could obtain the righteousness of

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

a man that never had sinned, neither mine own, nor all
the righteousness of the world could save me.

Chr. And did you think he spake true?

Hope. Had he told me so when I was pleased and
satisfied with mine own amendments, I had called him
Fool for his pains: but now, since I see mine own infirm-
ity, and the sin that cleaves to my best performance, I
have been forced to be of his opinion.

Chr. But did you think, when at first he suggested it
to you, that there was such a man to be found, of whom
it might justly be said, That he never committed sin?

Hope. I must confess the words at first sounded
strangely; but after a little more talk and company with
him, I had full conviction about it.

Chr. And did you ask him what man this was, and
how you must be justified by him?

Hope. Yes, and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, that
dwelleth on the right hand of the Most High. And thus,
said he, you must be justified by him, even by trusting
to what he hath done by himself in the days of his flesh,
and suffered when he did hang on the Tree. I asked him
further. How that man's righteousness could be of that
efficacy to justify another before God? And he told me
he was the mighty God, and did what he did, and died
the death also, not for himself, but for me; to whom his
doings, and the worthiness of them should be imputed, if
I believed on him.

Chr. And what did you do then?

Hope. I made my objections against my believing, for
that I thought he was not willing to save me.

Chr. And what said Faithful to you then ?

Hope. He bid me go to him and see: then I said it was
presumption: but he said, No, for I was invited to come.
Then he gave me a Book of Jesus his inditing, to encour-
age me the more freely to come; and he said concerning
that Book, that every jot and tittle thereof stood firmer
than Heaven and Earth. Then I asked him. What I

143

At which he
started at
present

A more
particular
discover)' of
the way to
be saved

He doubts
of accepta-
tion

He is better
instructed

144

He is bid to

pray

He prays

He thought
to leave off
praying

He durst
not leave
off praying,
and why

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

must do when I came? and he told me, I must entreat
upon my knees with all my heart and soul, the Father to
reveal him to me. Then I asked him further. How I
must make my suppHcation to him? And he said. Go,
and thou shalt find him upon a mercy-seat, where he sits
all the year long, to give pardon and forgiveness to them
that come. I told him that I knew not what to say when
I came. And he bid me say to this effect : God be merciful
to me a sinner, and ma/^e me to l^noiv and believe in
Jesus Christ; for I see that if his righteousness had not
been, or 1 have not faith in that righteousness, I am
utterly cast away: Lord, I have heard that thou art a
merciful God, and hast ordained that thy Son Jesus
Christ should be the Saviour of the world; and moreover,
that thou art willing to bestow him upon such a poor
sinner as I am, {and I am a sinner indeed^ Lord, ta/(e
therefore this opportunity, and magnify thy grace in the
Salvation of my soul, through thy Son Jesus Christ.
Amen.

Chr. And did you do as you were bidden?

Hope. Yes, over and over and over.

Chr. And did the Father reveal his Son to you?

Hope. Not at the first, nor second, nor third, nor
fourth, nor fifth, no nor at the sixth time neither.

Chr. What did you do then?

Hope. What! why I could not tell what to do.

Chr. Had you not thought of leaving off praying?

Hope. Yes, an hundred times twice told.

Chr. And what was the reason you did not?

Hope. I believed that that was true which had been
told me, to wit, that without the righteousness of this
Christ all the world could not save me; and therefore
thought I with myself. If I leave off, I die, and can but
die at the Throne of Grace. And withal, this came into
my mind, // it tarry, wait for it, because it will surely
come, it will not tarry. So I continued praying until the
Father shewed me his Son.

pilgrim's progress 145

Chr. And how was he revealed unto you ?

Hope. I did not see him with my bodily eyes, but Christ jj
with the eyes of mine understanding; and thus it was: ,0 him.
One day I was very sad, I think sadder than at any one >°<1 •><"*
time in my life, and this sadness was through a fresh
sight of the greatness and vileness of my sins: and as I
was then looking for nothing but Hell, and the everlast-
ing damnation of my Soul, suddenly, as I thought, I saw
the Lord Jesus look down from Heaven upon me, and
saying, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt
be saved.

But I replied. Lord, I am a great, a very great sinner.
And he answered My grace is sufficient for thee. Then I
said, But Lord, what is believing? And then I saw from
that saying, He that cometh to me shall never hunger,
and he that helieveth on me shall never thirst, that believ-
ing and coming was all one; and that he that came, that,
is, ran out in his heart and affections after salvation by
Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then the water
stood in mine eyes, and I asked further. But Lord, may
such a great sinner as I am be indeed accepted of thee, and
be saved by thee? And I heard him say. And him that
cometh to me I will in no wise cast out. Then I said,
But how. Lord, must I consider of thee in my coming to
thee, that my faith may be placed aright uf)on thee ? Then
he said, Christ Jesus came into the World to save sinners.
He is the end of the Law for righteousness to every one
that believes. He died for our sins, and rose again for
our Justification. He loved us and washed us from our
sins in his own blood. He is Mediator between God and
us. He ever liveth to mal{e intercession for us. From all
which I gathered, that I must look for Righteousness in
his Person, and for Satisfaction for my Sins by his Blood;
that what he did in obedience to his Father's Law, and in
submitting to the p)enalty thereof, was not for himself,
but for him that will accept it for his Salvation, and be
thankful. And now was my heart full of joy, mine eyes

146

Young
Ignorance
comes up
again;
their ulk

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

full of tears, and mine affections running over with love
to the Name, People, and Ways of Jesus Christ.

Chr. This was a revelation of Christ to your soul in-
deed; but tell me particularly what effect this had upon
your spirit.

Hope. It made me see that all the World, notwith-
standing all the righteousness thereof, is in a state of con-
demnation. It made me see that God the Father, though
he be just, can justly justify the coming sinner. It made
me greatly ashamed of the vileness of my former life, and
confounded me with the sense of mine own ignorance;
for there never came thought into my heart before now,
that shewed me so the beauty of Jesus Christ. It made
me love a holy life, and long to do something for the
Honour and Glory of the Name of the Lord Jesus; yea,
I thought that had I now a thousand gallons of blood
in my body, I could spill it all for the sake of the Lord
Jesus.

I saw then in my Dream that Hopeful looked back and
saw Ignorance, whom they had left behind, coming after.
Look, said he to Christian, how far yonder youngster
loitereth behind.

Chr. Ay, ay, I see him; he careth not for our company.

Hope. But I tro it would not have hurt him, had he
kept pace with us hitherto.

Chr. That's true, but I warrant you he thinketh other-
wise.

Hope. That I think he doth, but however let us tarry
for him. So they did.

Then Christian said to him. Come away man, why do
you stay so behind ?

Ignor. I take my pleasure in walking alone, even more
a great deal than in Company, unless I like it the better.

Then said Christian to Hopeful (but softly) Did I not
tell you he cared not for our company? But however,
said he, come up, and let us talk away the time in this
solitary place. Then directing his speech to Ignorance, he

of it

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I47

said, Come, how do you? How stands it between God

and your Soul now?

Ignor. 1 hope well; for I am always full of good Ik"°-
1 . • J f T ranee's

motions, that come mto my mmd to comtort me as I hope, and

walk. the ground

Chr. What good motions? pray tell us.

Ignor. Why, I think of God and Heaven.

Chr. So do the Devils and damned Souls.

Ignor. But I think of them and desire them.

Chr. So do many that are never like to come there.
The Soul of the Sluggard desires, and hath nothing.

Ignor. But I think of them, and leave all for them.

Chr. That I doubt, for leaving all is an hard matter,
yea a harder matter than many are aware of. But why,
or by what, art thou persuaded that thou hast left all for
God and Heaven?

Ignor. My heart tells me so.

Chr. The wise man says. He that trusts his own heart
is a fool.

Ignor. This is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a
good one.

Chr. But how dost thou prove that ?

Ignor. It comforts me in hopes of Heaven.

Chr. That may be through its deceitfulness, for a
man's heart may minister comfort to him in the hopes of
that thing for which he yet has no ground to hope.

Ignor. But my heart and life agree together, and there-
fore my hop)e is well grounded.

Chr. Who told thee that thy heart and life agree to-
gether?

Ignor. My heart tells me so.

Chr. Ask my fellow if I be a Thief! Thy heart tells
thee so! Except the Word of God beareth witness in this
matter, other testimony is of no value.

Ignor. But is it not a good heart that has good
thoughts? and is not that a good life that is according to
God's Commandments?

148 pilgrim's progress

Chr. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good thoughts,
and that is a good Ufe that is according to God's Com-
mandments; but it is one thing indeed to have these,
and another thing only to think so.

Ignor. Pray, what count you good thoughts, and a hfe
according to God's Commandments?

Chr. There are good thoughts of divers kinds, some
respecting ourselves, some God, some Christ, some other
things.
What are Ignor. What be good thoughts respecting ourselves?
Smigha ^^'"* Such as agree with the Word of God.

Ignor. When do our thoughts of ourselves agree with
the Word of God?

Chr. When we pass the same Judgment upon our-
selves which the Word passes. To explain myself, the
Word of God saith of persons in a natural condition.
There is none righteous, there is none that doth good.
It saith also, That every imagination of the heart of man
is only evil, and that continually. And again. The imagi-
nation of man's heart is evil from his youth. Now then,
when we think thus of ourselves, having sense thereof,
then are our thoughts good ones, because according to the
Word of God.

Ignor. I will never believe that my heart is thus bad.

Chr. Therefore thou never hadst one good thought
concerning thyself in thy life. But let me go on: As the
Word passeth a Judgment upon our Heart, so it passeth
a Judgment upon our Ways; and when our thoughts of
our Hearts and Ways agree with the Judgment which
the Word giveth of both, then are both good, because
agreeing thereto.

Ignor. Make out your meaning.

Chr. Why, the Word of God saith that man's ways
are crooked ways, not good, but perverse. It saith they
are naturally out of the good way, that they have not
known it. Now when a man thus thinketh of his ways,
I say, when he doth sensibly, and with heart-humiliation

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I49

thus think, then hath he good thoughts of his own ways,
because his thoughts now agree with the Judgment of
the Word of God.

Ignor. What are good thoughts concerning God?

Chr. Even as I have said concerning ourselves, when
our thoughts of God do agree with what the Word saiih
of him; and that is, when we think of his Being and
Attributes as the Word hath taught, of which I cannot
now discourse at large: but to speak of him with refer-
ence to us, then we have right thoughts of God, when
we think that he knows us better than we know ourselves,
and can see sin in us when and where we can see none
in ourselves; when we think he knows our inmost
thoughts, and that our heart with ail its depths is always
of)en unto his eyes; also when we think that all our
Righteousness stinks in his nostrils, and that therefore he
cannot abide to see us stand before him in any confidence,
even in all our best performances.

Ignor. Do you think that I am such a fool as to think
God can see no further than I? or that I would come
to God in the best of my jjerformances ?

Chr. Why, how dost thou think in this matter?

Ignor. Why, to be short, I think I must believe in
Christ for Justification.

Chr. How! think thou must believe in Christ, when
thou seest not thy need of him! Thou neither seest thy
original or actual infirmities; but hast such an opinion
of thyself, and of what thou doest, as plainly renders
thee to be one that did never see a necessity of Christ's
personal righteousness to justify thee before God. How
then dost thou say I believe in Christ ?

Ignor. I believe well enough for all that.

Chr. How dost thou believe?

Ignor. I believe that Christ died for sinners, and that The
I shall be justified before God from the curse, through jgnoraice
his gracious acceptance of my obedience to his Law. Or
thus, Christ makes my Duties that are religious, acceptable

150 PILGRIMS PROGRESS

to his Father by virtue of his Merits; and so shall I be
justified.

Chr. Let me give an answer to this Confession of thy
Faith.

1. Thou believest with a fantastical Faith, for this
Faith is nowhere described in the Word.

2. Thou believest with a false Faith, because it taketh
Justification from the {personal righteousness of Christ,
and appUes it to thy own.

3. This Faith maketh not Christ a Justifier of thy per-
son, but of thy actions; and of thy person for thy actions'
sake, which is false.

4. Therefore this Faith is deceitful, even such as will
leave thee under wrath in the day of God Almighty; for
true Justifying Faith puts the soul (as sensible of its lost
condition by the Law) upon flying for refuge unto
Christ's righteousness, (which righteousness of his is not
an act of grace, by which he maketh for Justification thy
obedience accepted by God; but his personal obedience
to the Law, in doing and suffering for us what that re-
quired at our hands.) This righteousness, I say, true
Faith accepteth; under the skirt of which the soul being
shrouded, and by it presented as spotless before God, it is
accepted, and acquit from condemnation.

Ignor. What! would you have us trust to what Christ
in his own person has done without us? This conceit
would loosen the reins of our lust, and tolerate us to
live as we list. For what matter how we live, if we may
be Justified by Christ's personal righteousness from all,
when we believe it ?

Chr. Ignorance is thy name, and as thy name is, so art
thou; even this thy answer demonstrateth what I say.
Ignorant thou art of what Justifying Righteousness is,
and as ignorant how to secure thy Soul through the Faith
of it from the heavy wrath of God. Yea, thou also art
ignorant of the true effects of saving Faith in this Right-
eousness of Christ, which is to bow and win over the

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

heart to God in Christ, to love his Name, his Word, Ways,
and People, and not as thou ignorantly imaginest.

Hope. Ask him if ever he had Christ revealed to him
from Heaven.

Ignor. What! you are a man for revelations! I believe
that what both you, and all the rest of you, say about that
matter, is but the fruit of distracted brains.

Hope. Why man! Christ is so hid in God from the
natural apprehensions of all flesh, that he cannot by any
man be savingly known, unless God the Father reveals
him to them.

Ignor. That is your Faith, but not mine; yet mine I
doubt not is as good as yours, though I have not in my
head so many whimsies as you.

Chr. Give me leave to put in a word: You ought not
so slightly to speak of this matter: for this I will boldly
affirm (even as my good Companion hath done) that
no man can know Jesus Christ but by the revelation of
the Father; yea, and Faith too, by which the soul layeth
hold upon Christ, (if it be right) must be wrought by the
exceeding greatness of his mighty power; the working
of which Faith, I perceive, poor Ignorance, thou art
ignorant of.

Be awakened then, see thine own wretchedness, and
fly to the Lord Jesus; and by his righteousness, which is
the righteousness of God, (for he himself is God) thou
shalt be delivered from condemnation.

Ignor. You go so fast I cannot keep pace with you, do
you go on before, I must stay a while behind.

Then they said.

Well Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish be.
To slight good Counsel, ten times given thee?
And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt know
E're long the evil of thy doing so:
Remember, man, in time; stoop, do not fear.
Good Counsel taken well, saves; therefore hear:
But if thou yet shall slight it, thou wilt be
The loser. Ignorance, I'll warrant thee.

151

Ignorance
jangles
with them

He speaks

reproach-
fully of
what he
knows not

The talk
broke up

152 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Then Christian addressed thus himself to his fellow.

Chr. Well, come my good Hopeful, I perceive that
thou and I must walk by ourselves again.

So I saw in my Dream that they went on apace before,
and Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then said Chris-
tian to his Companion, It pities me much for this poor
man, it will certainly go ill with him at last.

Hope. Alas, there are abundance in our Town in his
condition, whole families, yea, whole Streets, and that
of Pilgrims too; and if there be so many in our parts,
how many think you, must there be in the place where
he was born ?

Chr. Indeed the Word saith. He hath blinded their
eyes, lest they should see, &c. But now we are by our-
selves, what do you think of such men? Have they at no
time, think you, convictions of sin, and so consequently
fears that their state is dangerous?

Hope. Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for
you are the elder man.
The good Chr. Then I say, sometimes (as I think) they may, but

they being naturally ignorant, understand not that such
convictions tend to their good; and therefore they do
desperately seek to stifle them, and presumptuously con-
tinue to flatter themselves in the way of their own hearts.

Hope. I do believe, as you say, that fear tends much
to men's good, and to make them right at their beginning
to go on Pilgrimage.

Chr. Without all doubt it doth, if it be right; for so
says the Word, The fear of the Lord is the beginning of
Wisdom.
Right fear Hope. How will you describe right fear?

Chr. True or right fear is discovered by three things:

1. By its rise; it is caused by saving convictions for sin.

2. It driveth the soul to lay fast hold of Christ for
salvation.

3. It begetteth and continueth in the soul a great rever-
ence of God, his Word, and Ways, keeping it tender, and

ticular

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 153

making it afraid to turn from them, to the right hand or
to the left, to anything that may dishonour God, break
its peace, grieve the Spirit, or cause the Enemy to speak
reproachfully.

Hope. Well said; I believe you have said the truth. Are
we now almost got past the Inchanted Ground?

Chr. Why, art thou weary of this discourse?

Hope. No, verily, but that I would know where we
are.

Chr. We have not now above two miles further to go why
thereon. But let us return to our matter. Now the Igno- Arsons
rant know not that such convictions as tend to put them s""*.
in fear are for their good, and therefore they seek to stifle
them. In general

Hope. How do they seek to stifle them ?

Chr. I. They think that those fears are wrought by the In P"-
Devil, (though indeed they are wrought of God) and
thinking so, they resist them as things that directly tend
to their overthrow. 2. They also think that these fears
tend to the spoiling of their Faith, when alas for them,
poor men that they are, they have none at all! and there-
fore they harden their hearts against them. 3. They
presume they ought not to fear, and therefore in despite
of them wax presumptuously confident. 4. They see that
these fears tend to take away from them their pitiful old
self-holiness, and therefore they resist them with all their
might.

Hope. I know something of this myself; for before I
knew myself it was so with me.

Chr. Well, we will leave at this time our Neighbor
Ignorance by himself, and fall upon another profitable
question.

Hope. With all my heart, but you shall still begin.

Chr. Well then, did you not know about ten years ago. Talk about
one Temporary in your parts, who was a forward man in x^porary
Religion then ?

Hope. Know him! yes, he dwelt in Graceless, a town

154

where he
dwelt

He was
towardly
once

ReaMins
why

towardly
ones
go back

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

about two miles off of Honesty, and he dwelt next door
to one Turn-bacl{.

Chr. Right, he dwelt under the same roof with him.
Well, that man was much awakened once; I believe that
then he had some sight of his sins, and of the wages that
were due thereto.

Hope. I am of your mind, for (my house not being
above three miles from him) he would oft-times come to
me, and that with many tears. Truly I pitied the man,
and was not altogether without hop)e of him; but one
may see it is not every one that cries. Lord, Lord.

Chr. He told me once, That he was resolved to go on
Pilgrimage, as we do now; but all of a sudden he grew
acquainted with one Saveself, and then he became a
stranger to me.

Hope. Now since we are talking about him, let us a
little enquire into the reason of the sudden backsliding
of him and such others.

Chr. It may be very profitable, but do you begin.

Hope. Well then, there are in my judgment four rea-
sons for it.

I. Though the consciences of such men are awakened,
yet their minds are not changed; therefore when the
power of guilt weareth away, that which provoked them
to be religious ceaseth. Wherefore they naturally turn
to their own course again, even as we see the Dog that
is sick of what he has eaten, so long as his sickness pre-
vails, he vomits and casts up all; not that he doth this of
a free mind, (if we may say a Dog has a mind) but be-
cause it troubleth his Stomach; but now when his sickness
is over, and so his Stomach eased, his desire being not at
all alienate from his vomit, he turns him about and licks
up all; and so it is true which is written. The Dog is
turned to his own vomit again. This I say, being hot
for Heaven by vertue only of the sense and fear of the
torments of Hell, as their sense of Hell and the fears of
damnation chills and cools, so their desires for Heaven

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I55

and Salvation ccx)l also. So then it comes to pass, that
when their guilt and fear is gone, their desires for Heaven
and Happiness die, and they return to their course again.

2. Another reason is, they have slavish fears that do
over-master them; I speak now of the fears that they
have of men, For the fear of men bringeth a snare. So
then, though they seem to be hot for Heaven, so long
as the flames of Hell are about their ears, yet when that
terror is a little over, they betake themselves to second
thoughts; namely, that 'tis good to be wise, and not to
run (for they know not what) the hazard of losing all;
or at least, of bringing themselves into unavoidable and
unnecessary troubles, and so they fall in with the world
again.

3. The shame that attends Religion lies also as a block
in their way; they are proud and haughty, and Religion
in their eye is low and contemptible; therefore when
they have lost their sense of Hell and wrath to come,
they return again to their former course.

4. Guilt, and to meditate terror, are grievous to them;
they like not to see their misery before they come into
it. Though perhaps the sight of it first, if they loved that
sight, might make them fly whither the righteous fly
and are safe. But because they do, as I hinted before,
even shun the thoughts of guilt and terror, therefore
when once they are rid of their awakenings about the
terrors and wrath of God, they harden their hearts gladly,
and chuse such ways as will harden them more and more.

Chr. You are pretty near the business, for the bottom
of all is, for want of a change in their mind and will.
And therefore they are but like the Felon that standeth
before the Judge, he quakes and trembles, and seems to
repent most heartily, but the bottom of all is the fear of
the Halter, not that he hath any detestation of the offence;
as is evident, because, let but this man have his liberty,
and he will be a Thief, and so a Rogue still; whereas, if
his mind was changed, he would be otherwise.

156 pilgrim's progress

Hope. Now I have shewed you the reasons of their
going back, do you show me the manner thereof.
Chr. So I will willingly.
How the I. They draw off their thoughts, all that they may,

go«'back from the remembrance of God, Death and Judgment
to come.

2. Then they cast off by degrees private Duties, as
Closet-prayer, Curbing their Lusts, Watching, Sorrow
for Sin, and the like.

3. Then they shun the company of lively and warm
Christians.

4. After that they grow cold to public Duty, as Hear-
ing, Reading, Godly Conference, and the like.

5. Then they begin to pick holes, as we say, in the
Coats of some of the Godly; and that devilishly, that
they may have a seeming colour to throw Religion (for
the sake of some infirmity they have spied in them)
behind their backs.

6. Then they begin to adhere to, and associate them-
selves with carnal, loose and wanton men.

7. Then they give way to carnal and wanton discourses
in secret; and glad are they if they can see such things
in any that are counted honest, that they may the more
boldly do it through their example.

8. After this, they begin to play with little sins openly.

9. And then, being hardened, they shew themselves as
they are. Thus being launched again into the gulf of
misery, unless a Miracle of Grace prevent it, they ever-
lastingly perish in their own deceivings.

Angels Now I saw in my Dream, that by this time the Pilgrims

were got over the Inchanted Ground, and entering into
the Country of Beulah, whose air was very sweet and
pleasant, the way lying directly through it, they solaced
themselves there for a season. Yea, here they heard con-
tinually the singing of Birds, and saw every day the
Flowers appear in the earth, and heard the voice of the
Turde in the land. In this Country the Sun shineth night

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I57

and day; wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, and also out of the reach of Giant
Despair, neither could they from this place so much as
see Doubting Castle. Here they were within sight of
the City they were going to, also here met them some
of the inhabitants thereof; for in this land the Shining
Ones commonly walked, because it was upon the borders
of Heaven. In this land also the contract between the
Bride and the Bridegroom was renewed; yea here, as the
Bridegroom rejoiceth over the Bride, so did their God
rejoice over them. Here they had no want of Corn and
Wine; for in this place they met with abundance of what
they had sought for in all their Pilgrimage. Here they
heard voices from out of the City, loud voices, saying,
Say ye to the daughter of Zion Behold thy salvation
cometh, behold his reward is with him. Here all the
inhabitants of the Country called them, The holy People,
The redeemed of the Lord, Sought out, &c.

Now as they walked in this land, they had more re-
joicing than in parts more remote from the Kingdom to
which they were bound; and drawing near to the City,
they had yet a more perfect view thereof. It was builded
of Pearls and Precious Stones, also the Street thereof was
paved with Gold; so that by reason of the natural glory
of the City, and the reflections of the Sun-beams upon it,
Christian with desire fell sick. Hopeful also had a fit or
two of the same disease. Wherefore here they lay by it a
while, crying out because of their pangs, // you see my
Beloved, tell him that I am sicl{ of love.

But being a little strengthened, and better able to bear
their sickness, they walked on their way, and came yet
nearer and nearer, where were Orchards, Vineyards, and
Gardens, and their gates opened into the High-way.
Now as they came up to these places, behold the Gardener
stood in the way, to whom the Pilgrims said. Whose
goodly Vineyards and Gardens are these? He answered.
They are the King's and are planted here for his own

158 pilgrim's progress

delights, and also for the solace of Pilgrims. So the
Gardener had them into the Vineyards, and bid them
refresh themselves with Dainties. He also shewed them
there the King's walks, and the Arbors where he delighted
to be; and here they tarried and slept.

Now I beheld in my Dream, that they talked more in
their sleep at this time than ever they did in all their
Journey; and being in a muse thereabout, the Gardener
said even to me. Wherefore musest thou at the matter.'
It is the nature of the fruit of the Grapes of these Vine-
yards to go down so sweetly as to cause the lips of them
that are asleep to speak.

So I saw that when they awoke, they addressed them-
selves to go up to the City. But, as I said, the reflection
of the Sun upon the City (for the City was pure Gold)
was so extremely glorious, that they could not as yet with
open face behold it, but through an Instrument made for
that purpose. So I saw that as they went on, there met
them two men, in Raiment that shone like Gold, also
their faces shone as the light.

These men asked the Pilgrims whence they came ? and
they told them. They also asked them where they had
lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts
and pleasures they had met in the way? and they told
them. Then said the men that met them. You have but
two difficulties more to meet with, and then you are in
the City.

Christian then and his Companion asked the men to
go along with them, so they told them they would. But,
said they, you must obtain it by your own Faith. So I
saw in my Dream that they went on together till they
came in sight of the Gate.
Death Now I further saw that betwixt them and the Gate

was a River, but there was no Bridge to go over, the
River was very deep: at the sight therefore of this River
the Pilgrims were much stunned; but the men that went

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

with them said, You must go through, or you cannot
come at the Gate.

The Pilgrims then began to enquire if there was no
other way to the Gate; to which they answered, Yes, but
there hath not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah,
been permitted to tread that path, since the foundation
of the World, nor shall, until the last Trumpet shall
sound. The Pilgrims then, especially Christian, began to
dispond in his mind, and looked this way and that, but
no way could be found by them by which they might
escape the River. Then they asked the men if the Waters
were all of a depth? They said. No; yet they could not
help them in that case, for said they, you shall find it
deeper or shallower, as you believe in the King of the
place.

They then addressed themselves to the Water; and
entring, Christian began to sink, and crying out to his
good friend Hopeful, he said, I sink in deep Waters; the
Billows go over my head, all his Waves go over me,
Selah.

Then said the other. Be of good cheer my Brother, I
feel the bottom, and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah
my friend, the sorrows of death have compassed me
about, I shall not see the land that flows with milk and
honey. And with that a great darkness and horror fell
upon Christian, so that he could not see before him. Also
here he in great measure lost his senses, so that he could
neither remember, nor orderly talk of any of those sweet
refreshments that he had met with in the way of his
Pilgrimage. But all the words that he spake still tended
to discover that he had horror of mind, and heartfears
that he should die in that River, and never obtain en-
trance in at the Gate. Here also, as they that stood by
perceived, he was much in the troublesome thoughts of
the sins that he had committed, both since and before
he began to be a Pilgrim. 'Twas also observed that he

159

Death is
not wel-
come to
nature,
though by
it we pass
out of this
world in
to glory

Angels
help us
not com-
fortably
through
death

Christian's
conflict at
the hour
of death

i6o

christian
delivered
from his
fears in
death

The angels
do wait
for them,
so soon as
they are
passed
out of this
world

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

was troubled with apparitions of Hobgoblins and evil
Spirits, for ever and anon he would intimate so much by
words. Hopeful therefore here had much ado to keep
his Brother's head above water; yea sometimes he would
be quite gone down, and then ere a while he would rise
up again half dead. Hopeful also would endeavour to
comfort him, saying, Brother, I see the Gate, and men
standing by to receive us. But Christian would answer,
'Tis you, 'tis you they wait for, you have been hopeful
ever since I knew you. And so have you, said he to
Christian. Ah Brother, said he, surely if I was right, he
would now arise to help me; but for my sins he hath
brought me into the snare, and hath left me. Then said
Hopeful, My Brother, you have quite forgot the Text,
where it is said of the wicked. There is no band in their
death, but their strength is firm, they are not troubled as
other men, neither are they plagued like other men. These
troubles and distresses that you go through in these
Waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you, but are
sent to try you, whether you will call to mind that which
heretofore you have received of his goodness, and live
upon him in your distresses.

Then I saw in my Dream, that Christian was as in a
muse a while. To whom also Hopeful added this word.
Be of good cheer, Jesus Christ ma^eth thee whole; and
with that Christian brake out with a loud voice, Oh I
see him again, and he tells me, When thou passest through
the Waters, I will be with thee; and through the Rivers,
they shall not overflow thee. Then they both took cour-
age, and the Enemy was after that as still as a stone, until
they were gone over. Christian therefore presently found
ground to stand upon, and so it followed that the rest
of the River was but shallow. Thus they got over. Now
upon the bank of the River on the other side, they saw
the two shining men again, who there waited for them;
wherefore being come out of the River, they saluted
them saying. We are ministring Spirits, sent forth to

pilgrim's progress i6i

minister for those that shall be heirs of salvation. Thus
they went along towards the Gate.

Now, now, look how the holy Pilgrims ride,
Clouds are their Chariots, Angels are their Guide:
Who would not here tor him all hazards run.
That thus provides for his when this World's done?

Now you must note that the City stood upon a mighty They have
Hill, but the Pilgrims went up that Hill with ease be- morulity
cause they had these two men to lead them up by the
arms; also they had left their mortal Garments behind
them in the River, for though they went in with them,
they came out without them. They therefore went up
here with much agility and speed, though the foundation
upon which the City was framed was higher than the
Clouds. They therefore went up through the Regions
of the Air, sweetly talking as they went, being comforted,
because they safely got over the River, and had such
glorious Companions to attend them.

The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was
about the glory of the place, who told them that the
beauty and glory of it was inexpressible. There, said
they, is the Mount Zion, the heavenly ferusalem, the
innumerable company of Angels, and the Spirits of just
men made perfect. You are going now, said they, to the
Paradise of God, wherein you shall see the Tree of Life,
and eat of the never-fading fruits thereof; and when
you come there, you shall have white Robes given you,
and your walk and talk shall be every day with the King,
even all the days of Eternity. There you shall not see
again such things as you saw when you were in the lower
Region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness, affliction,
and death, for the former things are passed away. You
are now going to Abraham, to Isaac, and facob, and to
the Prophets, men that God hath taken away from the
evil to come, and that are now resting upon their beds,
each one walking in his righteousness. The men then
asked. What must we do in the holy place ? To whom it

1 62 pilgrim's progress

was answered, You must there receive the comfort of
all your toil, and have joy for all your sorrow; you must
reap what you have sown, even the fruit of all your
Prayers and Tears, and sufferings for the King by the
way. In that place you must wear Crowns of Gold, and
enjoy the perpetual sight and vision of the Holy one, for
there you shall see him as he is. There also you shall
serve him continually with praise, with shouting, and
thanksgiving, whom you desired to serve in the World,
though with much difficulty, because of the infirmity of
your flesh. There your eyes shall be delighted with see-
ing, and your ears with hearing the pleasant voice of the
Mighty One. There you shall enjoy your friends again,
that are gone thither before you; and there you shall with
joy receive even every one that follows into the holy place
after you. There also shall you be cloathed with Glory
and Majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out with
the King of Glory. When he shall come with sound of
Trumpet in the Clouds, as upon the wings of the Wind,
you shall come with him; and when he shall sit upon
the Throne of Judgment, you shall sit by him; yea, and
when he shall pass sentence upon all the workers of
iniquity, let them be Angels or Men, you also shall have
a voice in that Judgment, because they were his and your
Enemies. Also when he shall again return to the City,
you shall go too, with sound of Trumpet, and be ever
with him.

Now while they were thus drawing towards the Gate,
behold a company of the Heavenly Host came out to
meet them; to whom it was said by the other two Shining
Ones, These are the men that have loved our Lord when
they were in the World, and that have left all for his
Holy Name, and he hath sent us to fetch them, and we
have brought them thus far on their desired Journey,
that they may go in and look their Redeemer in the face
with joy. Then the Heavenly Host gave a great shout,
saying. Blessed are they that are called to the Marriage

pilgrim's progress 163

Supper of the Lamb. There came out also at this time to
meet them, several of the King's Trumpeters, cloathed
in white and shining Raiment, who with melodious
noises and loud, made even the Heavens to echo with
their sound. These Trumpeters saluted Christian and
his fellow with ten thousand welcomes from the World,
and this they did with shouting and sound of Trumpet.

This done, they compassed them round on every side;
some went before, some behind, and some on the right
hand, some on the left, (as 'twere to guard them through
the upper Regions) continually sounding as they went
with melodious noise, in notes on high: so that the very
sight was to them that could behold it, as if Heaven it-
self was come down to meet them. Thus therefore they
walked on together; and as they walked, ever and anon
these Trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, by
mixing their musick with looks and gestures, still signify
to Christian and his Brother, how welcome they were
into their company, and with what gladness they came
to meet them; and now were these two men as 'twere
in Heaven before they came at it, being swallowed up
with the sight of Angels, and with hearing of their
melodious notes. Here also they had the City itself in
view, and they thought they heard all the Bells therein
ring to welcome them thereto. But above all, the warm
and joyful thoughts that they had about their own dwell-
ing there, with such company, and that for ever and ever.
Oh, by what tongue or pen can their glorious joy be
expressed! And thus they came up to the Gate.

Now when they were come up to the Gate, there was
written over it in Letters of Gold, Blessed are they that
do his Commandments , that they may have right to the
Tree of Life, and may enter in through the Gates into
the City.

Then I saw in my Dream, that the Shining Men bid
them call at the Gate; the which when they did, some
from above looked over the Gate, to wit, Enoch, Moses,

164 pilgrim's progress

and Elijah, Src, to whom it was said, These Pilgrims
are come from the City of Destruction for the love that
they bear to the King of this place; and then the Pilgrims
gave in unto them each man his Certificate, which they
had received in the beginning; those therefore were car-
ried in to the King, who when he had read them, said.
Where are the men? To whom it was answered. They
are standing without the Gate. The King then com-
manded to open the Gate, That the righteous nation,
saith he, that l^eepeth Truth may enter in.

Now I saw in my Dream that these two men went in
at the Gate; and lo, as they entered, they were trans-
figured, and they had Raiment put on that shone like
Gold. There was also that met them with Harps and
Crowns, and gave them to them, the Harps to praise
withal, and the Crowns in token of honour. Then I
heard in my Dream that all the Bells in the City rang
again for joy, and that it was said unto them. Enter ye
into the joy of your Lord. I also heard the men them-
selves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, Blessing,
Honour, Glory, and Power, be to him that sitteth upon
the Throne, and to the Lamb for ever and ever.

Now just as the Gates were opened to let in the men,
I looked in after them, and behold, the City shone like
the Sun: the Streets also were paved with Gold, and in
them walked many men, with Crowns on their heads.
Palms in their hands, and golden Harps to sing praises
withal.

There were also of them that had wings, and they

answered one another without intermission, saying. Holy,

Holy, Holy, is the Lord. And after that they shut up the

Gates. Which when I had seen, I wished myself among

them.

Ignorance Now while I was gazing upon all these things, I turned

to the "^y head to look back, and saw Ignorance come up to the

river River-side; but he soon got over, and that without half

that difficulty which the other two men met with. For

pilgrim's progress 165

it happened that there was then in that place one Vain- Vain-hope
/tope a Ferry-man, that with his Boat helped him over; him over
so he, as the other I saw, did ascend the Hill to come up
to the Gate, only he came alone; neither did any man
meet him with the least encouragement. When he was
come up to the Gate, he looked up to the writing that
was above, and then began to knock, supposing that
entrance should have been quickly administered to him;
but he was asked by the men that looked over the top of
the Gate, Whence came you ? and what would you have ?
He answered, I have eat and drank in the presence of the
King, and he has taught in our Streets. Then they asked
him for his Certificate, that they might go in and shew
it to the King. So he fumbled in his bosom for one, and
found none. Then said they. Have you none? But the
man answered never a word. So they told the King, but
he would not come down to see him, but commanded
the two Shining Ones that conducted Christian and Hope-
ful to the City, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind
him hand and foot, and have him away. Then they took
him up, and carried him through the air to the door that
I saw in the side of the Hill, and put him in there. Then
I saw that there was a way to Hell even from the Gates of
Heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction. So I
awoke, and behold it was a Dream.

THE CONCLUSION

Now Reader, / have told my Dream to thee;
See if thou canst interpret it to me.
Or to thyself, or Neighbor; but tal(e heed
Of mis-interpreting; for that, instead
Of doing good, will but thyself abuse:
By mis-interpreting, evil insues.

Tal^e heed also, that thou be not extreme,
In playing with the out-side of my Dream:
Nor let my figure or similitude
Put thee into a laughter or a feud;
Leave this for Boys and Fools; but as for thee.
Do thou the substance of my matter see.

Put by the Curtains, lool^ within my Vail;
Turn up my Metaphors, and do not fail
There, if thou see^est them, such things to find
As will be helpful to an honest mind.

What of my dross thou findest there, be bold
To throw away, but yet preserve the Gold;
What if my Gold be wrapped up in Ore?
None throws away the Apple for the Core.
But if thou shalt cast away all as vain,
I know not but 'twill make me Dream again.

THE
PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

FROM THIS WORLD
TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME

THE SECOND PART

DEUVERED UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM

Wherein is set forth

the manner of the setting out of Christian's

Wife and Children, their Dangerous Journey, and

Safe Arrival at the Desired Country

ByJOHNBUNYAN

/ have used Similitudes. Hos. 12. 10.

THE AUTHOR'S WAY OF SENDING FORTH HIS

SECOND PART OF THE PILGRIM

Go now my little Bool^, to every place

Where my first Pilgrim has but shewn his Face:

Call at their door; If any say, Who's there?

Then answer thou, Christiana is here.

// they bid thee Come in, then enter thou.

With all thy Boys; and then, as thou ^now'st how.

Tell who they are, also from whence they came;

Perhaps they'll l(now them by their loo^s, or name.

But if they should not, asl(^ them yet again

If formerly they did not entertain

One Christian a Pilgrim ? // they say

They did, and was delighted in his Way;

Then 'et them ^now that those related were

Unto him, yea, his Wife and Children are.

Tell them that they have left their House and Home,
Are turned Pilgrims, seel{^ a World to come;
That they have met with Hardships in the way:
That they do meet with Troubles night and day;
That they have trod on Serpents, fought with Devils,
Have also overcame a many evils.
Yea, tell them also of the next, who have
Of love to Pilgrimage been stout and brave
Defenders of that Way, and how they still
Refuse this World, to do their Father's will.

Go tell them also of those dainty things.
That Pilgrimage unto the Pilgrim brings.
Let them acquainted be too, how they are
Beloved of their King, under his care;
What goodly Mansions for them he provides,
Tho' they meet with rough Winds and swelling Tides,
How brave a Calm they will enjoy at last.
Who to their Lord, and by his ways hold fast.
169

170 THE AUTHORS APOLOGY

Perhaps with heart and hand they will embrace
Thee, as they did my Firstling, and will grace
Thee, and thy fellows, with such cheer and fare.
As shew will they of Pilgrims loi/ers are.

1 Objection

But how if they will not believe of me

That I am truly thine, 'cause some there be

That counterfeit the Pilgrim and his name,

Seek by disguise to seem the very same,

And by that means have wrought themselves into

The hands and houses of I know not who?

Answer

'Tis true, some have of late, to counterfeit
My Pilgrim, to their own my Title set;
Yea others half my Name and Title too
Have stitched to their Boo]{^, to mal(e them do;
But yet they by their Features do declare
Themselves not mine to be, whose ere they are.

If such thou meetst with, then thine only way
Before them all is to say out thy say,
In thine own native language, which no man
Now useth, nor with ease dissemble can.
If after all they still of you shall doubt.
Thinking that you lil{e Gipsies go about
In naughty wise the Country to defile.
Or that you seel(^ good people to beguile
With things unwarrantable; send for me.
And I will testifie you Pilgrims be;
Yea, I will testifie that only you
My Pilgrims are; and that alone will do.

2 Objection

But yet {jerhaps I may inquire for him,
Of those that wish him damned life and limb.
What shall I do, when I at such a door
For Pilgrims ask, and they shall rage the more?

THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY 171

Answer

Fright not thyself my Boo\, for such Bugbears
Are nothing else but ground for groundless fears:
My Pilgrim's Bool{^ has travell'd sea and land.
Yet could I never come to understand
That it was slighted, or turn'd out of door
By any Kingdom, were they rich or poor.

In France and Flanders, where men kjll each other.
My Pilgrim is esteem'd a Friend, a Brother.

In Holland too 'tis said, as I am told,
My Pilgrim is with some worth more than Gold.

Highlanders and Wild Irish can agree
My Pilgrim should familiar with them be.

'Tis in New England under such advance.
Receives there so much loving countenance.
As to be trimm'd, new cloth' d, and decl(t with Gems,
That it may shew its features and its limbs.
Yet more, so comely doth my Pilgrim wal^.
That of him thousands daily sing and tall^.

If you draw nearer home, it will appear
My Pilgrim t{nows no ground of shame or fear;
City and Country will him entertain
With Welcome Pilgrim; yea, they can't refrain
From smiling, if my Pilgrim be but by.
Or shews his head in any Company.

Brave Galants do my Pilgrim hug and love.
Esteem it much, yea, value it above
Things of a greater bull(^: yea, with delight.
Say my Lark's leg is better than a Kite.

Young Ladies, and young Gentle-women too.
Do no small l^indness to my Pilgrim shew;
Their Cabinets, their Bosoms, and their Hearts
My Pilgrim has, 'cause he to them imparts
His pretty riddles in such wholesome strains.
As yield them profit double to their pains
Of reading. Yea, I thinl{^ I may be bold
To say some prize him far above their Gold.

The very Children that do wall(^ the street.
If they do but my holy Pilgrim meet.

172 THE AUTHORS APOLOGY

Salute him will, will wish him well, and say.
He is the only Stripling 0/ the Day.

They that have never seen him, yet admire
What they have heard of him, and much desire
To have his company, and hear him tell
Those Pilgrim stories which he knows so well.

Yea, some who did not love him at the first.
But call'd him Fool and Noddy, say they must
Now they have seen and heard him, him commend;
And to those whom they love they do him send.

Wherefore my Second Part, thou need'st not be
Afraid to shew thy Head; none can hurt thee.
That wish but well to him that went before,
'Cause thou com'st after with a second store
Of things as good, as rich, as profitable.
For Young, for Old, for Stagg'ring, and for Stable.

3 Objection

But some there be that say he laughs too loud;
And some do say his Head is in a Cloud.
Some say his Words and Stories are so dark,
They know not how by them to find his mark.

Answer

One may (I thin]() say. Both his laughs and cries
May well be guess'd at by his watery eyes.
Some things are of that nature as to mal{e
One's Fancie chucl{le, while his Heart doth a^e.
When Jacob saw his Rachel with the sheep.
He did at the same time both ]{iss and weep.

Whereas some say, A Cloud is in his Head,
That doth but shew how Wisdom's covered
With its own mantles, and to stir the mind
To a search after what it fain would find:
Things that seem to be hid in words obscure.
Do but the Godly mind the more allure;
To study what those sayings should contain
That spea\ to us in such a Cloudy strain.

I also l(now a darl( Similitude

THE author's apology 1 73

Will on the Fancie more itself intrude.

And will stic/(^ faster in the Heart and Head,

Than things from Similies not borrowed.

Wherefore my Boo/(^, let no discouragement
Hinder thy travels. Behold, thou art sent
To Friends, not foes: to Friends that will give place
To thee, thy Pilgrims and thy words embrace.

Besides, what my first Pilgrim left conceal'd,
Thou my brave Second Pilgrim hast reveal'd;
What Christian left locl(t up, and went his way.
Sweet Christiana opens with her Key.

4 Objection

But some love not the method of your first,
Romance they count it, throw't away as dust.
If I should meet with such, what should I say?
Must I slight them as they slight me, or nay?

Answer

My Christiana, // with such thou meet.
By all means in all loving tvise them greet;
Render them not reviling for revile;
But if they frown, I prithee on them smile;
Perhaps 'tis Nature, or some ill report.
Has made them thus despise, or thus retort.

Some love no Cheese, some love no Fish, and some
Love not their Friends, nor their own House or Home;
Some start at Pig, slight Chicken, love not Fowl,
More than they love a Cuc^ow or an Owl;
Leave such, my Christiana, to their choice.
And seek t^ose who to find thee will rejoice;
By no means strive, but in all humble wise
Present thee to them in thy Pilgrim's guise.

Go then my little Boo^, and shew to all
That entertain, and bid thee welcome shall.
What thou shalt keep close, shut up from the rest.
And wish what thou shalt shew them may be blest
To them for good, may make them chuse to be
Pilgrims better by far than thee or me.

174 THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY

Go then, I say, tell all men who thou art.
Say, I am Christiana, and my part
Is now, with my jour Sons, to tell you what
It is for men to ta^e a Pilgrim's lot:

Go also tell them who and what they be,
That now do go on Pilgrimage with thee;
Say, Here's my Neighbor Mercy, she is one
That has long time with me a Pilgrim gone.
Come see her in her Virgin Face, and learn
'Twixt Idle ones and Pilgrims to discern.
Yea, let young Damsels learn of her to prize
The World which is to come, in any wise.
When little tripping Maidens follow God,
And leave old doting Sinners to his Rod;
'Tis lil^e those days wherein the young ones cried
Hosanah, to whom old ones did deride.

Next tell them of old Honest, who you found
With his white hairs treading the Pilgrim's ground.
Yea, tell them how plain-hearted this man was.
How after his good Lord he bare his Cross;
Perhaps with some grey Head this may prevail
With Christ to fall in Love, and Sin bewail.

Tell them also how Master Fearing went
On Pilgrimage, and how the time he spent
In Solitariness, with Fears and Cries,
And how at last he won the joyful Prize.
He was a good man, though much down in Spirit,
He is a good man, and doth Life inherit.

Tell them of Master Feeble-mind also.
Who not before, but still behind would go;
Shew them also how he had li^e been slain.
And how one Great-heart did his life regain.
This man was true of Heart, tho' wea\ in Grace,
One might true Godliness read in his Face.
Then tell them oj Master Ready-to-halt,
A man with Crutches, but much without jault;
Tell them how Master Feeble-mind and he
Did love, and in opinions much agree.
And let all \now, tho' weal^ness was their chance.
Yet sometimes one could sing, the other dance.

THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY 1 75

Forget not Master Valiant-for-the-truth,
That Man of courage, though a very Youth.
Tell every one his Spirit was so stout,
No man could ever mal^e him face about,
And how Great-heart and he could not forbear.
But put-down Doubting Castle, slay Despair.

Overlook not Master Despondancie,
Nor Much-afraid, his daughter, tho' they lie
Under such Mantles as may ma^e them lool{^
( With some) as if their God had them forsoo^.
They softly went, but sure, and at the end
Found that the Lord of Pilgrims was their Friend.
When thou hast told the world of all these things.
Then turn about, my Boo/(^, and touch these strings.
Which if but touched, will such Music/^ mal^e.
They'll mal(e a Cripple dance, a Giant quake.

These Riddles that lie couch't within thy breast.
Freely propound, expound; and for the rest
Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain
For those whose nimble Fancies shall them gain.

Now may this little Boo\ a blessing be
To those who love this little Bool^ and me.
And may its Buyer have no cause to say,
His Money is but lost or thrown away;
Yea, may this Second Pilgrim yield that fruit,
As may with each good Pilgrim's Fancie suit;
And may it persuade some that go astray.
To turn their Feet and Heart to the right way:

Is the Hearty Prayer

of the Author

]OHN BUNYAN.

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

IN THE SIMIUTUDE OF A DREAM

THE SECOND PART

COURTEOUS Companions, some time since, to
tell you my Dream that I had of Christian the
Pilgrim, and of his dangerous Journey toward
the Coelestial Country, was pleasant to me, and profitable
to you. I told you then also what I saw concerning his
Wife and Children, and how unwilling they were to go
with him on Pilgrimage, insomuch that he was forced
to go on his Progress without them; for he durst not
run the danger of that destruction which he feared would
come by staying with them in the City of Destruction.
Wherefore as I then shewed you, he left them and
departed.

Now it hath so happened, through the multiplicity
of Business, that I have been much hindred and kept back
from my wonted Travels into those parts whence he
went, and so could not till now obtain an opportunity
to make further enquiry after whom he left behind, that
I might give you an account of them. But having had
some concerns that way of late, I went down again
thitherward. Now having taken up my Lodgings in a
Wood about a mile off the place, as I slept I dreamed
again.

And as I was in my Dream, behold an aged Gentleman
came by where I lay; and because he was to go some
part of the way that I was travelling, methought I got
up and went with him. So as we walked, and as Travel-
lers usually do, I was as if we fell into discourse, and our

'77

178

Christians
are well
spoken of
when gone;
though
called £(X>I$
while they
are here

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

talk happened to be about Christian and his Travels;
for thus I began with the old man.

Sir, said I, what Town is that there below, that lieth
on the left hand of our way ?

Then said Mr Sagacity, (for that was his name) It is
the City of Destruction, a populous place, but possessed
with a very ill-conditioned and idle sort of People.

I thought that was the City, quoth I, I went once my-
self through that Town, and therefore know that this
report you give of it is true.

Sag. Too true, I wish I could speak truth in speaking
better of them that dwell therein.

Well, Sir, quoth I, then I perceive you to be a well-
meaning man; and so one that takes pleasure to hear and
tell of that which is good : pray did you never hear what
happened to a man some time ago in this Town (whose
name was Christian) that went on Pilgrimage up towards
the higher Regions?

Sag. Hear of him! Ay, and I also heard of the Molesta-
tions, Troubles, Wars, Captivities, Cries, Groans, Frights,
and Fears that he met with and had in his Journey.
Besides, I must tell you, all our Country rings of him;
there are but few houses that have heard of him and his
doings but have sought after and got the Records of his
Pilgrimage; yea, I think I may say that his hazardous
Journey has got a many well-wishers to his ways; for
though when he was here, he was Fool in every man's
mouth, yet now he is gone, he is highly commended of
all. For 'tis said he lives bravely where he is; yea, many
of them that are resolved never to run his hazards, yet
have their mouths water at his gains.

They may, quoth I, well think, if they think anything
that is true, that he liveth well where he is; for he now
lives at and in the Fountain of Life, and has what he
has without labour and sorrow, for there is no grief
mixed therewith.

Sag. Talk! the people talk strangely about him. Some

pilgrim's progress 179

say that he now walks in White, that he has a Chain of Christian's
Gold about his neck, that he has a Crown of Gold, beset ,vill take
with Pearls, upon his head. Others say that the Shining Christian'f
Ones that sometimes shewed themselves to him in his
Journey, are become his Companions, and that he is as
familiar with them in the place where he is, as here one
Neighbor is with another. Besides, 'tis confidently af-
firmed concerning him, that the King of the place where
he is has bestowed upon him already a very rich and
pleasant dwelling at Court; and that he every day eateth
and drinketh, and walketh, and talketh with him; and
receiveth of the smiles and favours of him that is Judge
of all there. Moreover, it is expected of some, that his
Prince, the Lord of that Country, will shortly come into
these parts, and will know the reason, if they can give
any, why his Neighbors set so little by him, and had him
so much in derision when they perceived that he would
be a Pilgrim. For they say, that now he is so in the affec-
tions of his Prince, and that his Sovereign is so much
concerned with the indignities that were cast upon Chris-
tian when he became a Pilgrim, that he will look upon
all as if done unto himself; and no marvel, for 'twas for
the love that he had to his Prince that he ventured as he
did.

I dare say, quoth I, 1 am glad on't; I am glad for the
poor man's sake, for that he now has rest from his labour,
and for that he now reapeth the benefit of his Tears with
Joy; and for that he has got beyond the Gun-shot of his
Enemies, and is out of the reach of them that hate him.
I also am glad for that a rumour of these things is noised
abroad in this Country; who can tell but that it may work
some good effect on some that are left behind ? But pray
Sir, while it is fresh in my mind, do you hear anything
of his Wife and Children } Poor hearts, I wonder in my
mind what they do!

Sag. Who! Christiana and her sons? They are like
to do as well as did Christian himself; for though they

i8o

Good
tidinf!S of
Christian's
wife and
children

First Part,
p. i6o

Mark this,
you that
are churls
to your
godly
relations

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

all play'd the fool at the first, and would by no means be
persuaded by either the tears or entreaties of Christian,
yet second thoughts have wrought wonderfully with
them; so they have packt up, and are also gone after him.

Better and better, quoth I. But what! Wife and Chil-
dren and all ?

Sag. It is true; I can give you an account of the matter,
for I was upon the spot at the instant, and was thor-
oughly acquainted with the whole affair.

Then, said I, a man it seems may report it for a Truth?

Sag. You need not fear to affirm it, I mean that they
are all gone on Pilgrimage, both the good Woman and
her four Boys. And being we are, as I perceive, going
some considerable way together, I will give you an
account of the whole of the matter.

This Christiana (for that was her name from the day
that she with her Children betook themselves to a Pil-
grim's life) after her Husband was gone over the River,
and she could hear of him no more, her thoughts began
to work in her mind. First, for that she had lost her
Husband, and for that the loving bond of that relation
was utterly broken betwixt them. For you know, said he
to me. Nature can do no less but entertain the living with
many a heavy cogitation in the remembrance of the loss
of loving Relations. This therefore of her Husband did
cost her many a tear. But this was not all, for Christiana
did also begin to consider with herself, whether her
unbecoming behaviour towards her Husband was not
one cause that she saw him no more, and that in such
sort he was taken away from her. And upon this came
into her mind by swarms, all her unkind, unnatural, and
ungodly carriages to her dear Friend; which also clogged
her Conscience, and did load her with guilt. She was
moreover much broken with calling to remembrance the
restless groans, brinish tears, and self-bemoanings of her
Husband, and how she did harden her heart against all
his entreaties and loving persuasions (of her and her

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

i8i

Sons) to go with him; yea, there was not anything that

Christian either said to her, or did before her all the while

that his Burden did hang on his back, but it returned

upon her like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul of

her Heart in sunder. Specially that bitter outcry of his, R^st P"*

What shall I do to be saved? did ring in her ears most

dolefully.

Then said she to her Children, Sons, we are all undone.
I have sinned away your Father, and he is gone: he
would have had us with him; but I would not go myself,
I also have hindred you of Life. With that the Boys
fell all into tears, and cried out to go after their Father.
Oh! said Christiana, that it had been but our lot to go
with him, then had it fared well with us, beyond what 'tis
like to do now; for tho' I formerly foolishly imagin'd con-
cerning the troubles of your Father, that they proceeded
of a foolish Fancy that he had, or for that he was over-
run with melancholy Humours; yet now 'twill not out
of my mind but that they sprang from another cause, to
wit, for that the Light of Light was given him, by the
help of which, as I perceive, he has escaped the snares
of Death. Then they all wept again, and cried out, O
Wo worth the day.

The next night Christiana had a Dream; and behold Chra-
she saw as if a broad Parchment was opened before her, dream
in which were recorded the sum of her ways; and the
times, as she thought, look'd very black upon her. Then
she cried out aloud in her sleep, Lord have Mercy upon
me a Sinner; and the little Children heard her.

After this she thought she saw two very ill-favoured Mark this,
ones standing by her Bedside, and saying. What shall we quintes-
do with this Woman? for she cries out for Mercy waging sen'^e
and sleeping; if she be suffered to go on as she begins, we
shall lose her as we have lost her Husband. Wherefore
we must by one way or other, seek to take her off from
the thoughts of what shall be hereafter, else all the World
cannot help it but she will become a Pilgrim.

1 82

Help

against
discour-
agement

Convic-
tions sec-
onded with
fresh
tidings
of God's
readiness
to pardon

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Now she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling was
upon her, but after a while she fell to sleeping again.
And then she thought she saw Christian her Husband in
a place of Bliss among many Immortals, with an Harp
in his Hand, standing and playing upon it before one that
sat on a Throne with a Rainbow about his Head. She
saw also as if he bowed his Head with his Face to the
pav'd-work that was under the Prince's feet, saying, /
heartily thanl{ my Lord and King for bringing of me
into this Place. Then shouted a company of them that
stood round about, and harped with their Harps; but no
man living could tell what they said, but Christian and
his Companions.

Next morning when she was up, had prayed to God,
and talked with her Children a while, one knocked hard
at the door, to whom she spake out, saying, // thou
earnest in God's name, come in. So he said Amen, and
opened the Door, and saluted her with Peace be to this
house. The which when he had done, he said, Christiana,
knowest thou wherefore I am come? Then she blushed
and trembled, also her Heart began to wax warm with
desires to know whence he came, and what was his
errand to her. So he said unto her. My name is Secret,
I dwell with those that are high. It is talked of where I
dwell, as if thou hadst a desire to go thither; also there
is a report that thou art aware of the evil thou hast
formerly done to thy Husband, in hardening of thy Heart
against his way, and in keeping of these thy Babes in
their Ignorance. Christiana, the Merciful One has sent
me to tell thee that he is a God ready to forgive, and that
he taketh delight to multiply to pardon offences. He
would also have thee know that he inviteth thee to come
into his presence, to his Table, and that he will feed thee
with the Fat of his house, and with the Heritage of
Jacob thy Father.

There is Christian thy Husband that was, with Legions
more his Companions, ever beholding that Face that

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

doth minister Life to beholders; and they will all be glad
when they shall hear the sound of thy feet step over thy
Father's threshold.

Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, and
bowing her head to the ground, this Visitor proceeded
and said, Christiana, here is also a Letter for thee, which
I have brought from thy Husband's King. So she took it
and opened it, but it smelt after the manner of the best
Perfume, also it was written in letters of Gold. The con-
tents of the Letter was. That the King would have her
do as did Christian her Husband; for that tvas the way
to come to his City, and to dwell in his Presence with
Joy for ever. At this the good Woman was quite over-
come; so she cried out to her Visitor, Sir, will you carry
me and my Children with you, that we also may go and
worship this King?

Then said the Visitor, Christiana, the bitter is before
the sweet: thou must through troubles, as did he that
went before thee, enter this Coclestial City. Wherefore I
advise thee to do as did Christian thy Husband: Go to
the Wicket-gate yonder, over the Plain, for that stands
in the head of the way up which thou must go, and I
wish thee all good speed. Also I advise that thou put this
Letter in thy bosom; that thou read therein to thyself and
to thy Children, until you have got it by rote of heart, for
it is one of the Songs that thou must sing while thou art
in this House of thy Pilgrimage; also this thou must
deliver in at the further Gate.

Now I saw in my Dream, that this old Gentleman, as
he told me this story, did himself seem to be greatly
affected therewith. He moreover proceeded and said. So
Christiana called her Sons together, and began thus to
address herself unto them: My Sons, I have as you may
perceive, been of late under much exercise in my Soul
about the Death of your Father; not for that I doubt at
all of his Happiness, for I am satisfied now that he is well.
I have also been much affected with the thoughts of mine

183

Christiana
quite

Further
instruc-
tion to
Christiana

Christiana
prays well
for her
journey

i84

Chra-

tiana's

new

language

stuns

her old

neighbors

First Part,
p. 46

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

own state and yours, which I verily believe is by nature
miserable. My carriages also to your Father in his dis-
tress, is a great load to my Conscience; for I hardened
both my own heart and yours against him, and refused
to go with him on Pilgrimage.

The thoughts of these things would now kill me out-
right, but that for a Dream which I had last night, and
but for the encouragement that this stranger has given
me this morning. Come my Children, let us pack up and
be gone to the Gate that leads to the Coelestial Country,
that we may see your Father, and be with him and his
Companions in peace, according to the Laws of that
Land.

Then did her Children burst out into tears for joy that
the heart of their Mother was so inclined. So their Visitor
bid them farewell, and they began to prepare to set out
for their Journey.

But while they were thus about to be gone, two of the
women that were Christiana's Neighbors, came up to
her house and knocked at her door. To whom she said
as before, // you come in God's name, come in. At this
the women were stunned, for this kind of language they
used not to hear, or to perceive to drop from the lips
of Christiana. Yet they came in: but behold they
found the good woman a preparing to be gone from her
house.

So they began and said, Neighbor, pray what is your
meaning by this?

Christiana answered and said to the eldest of them,
whose name was Mrs Timorous, I am preparing for a
Journey. (This Timorous was daughter to him that met
Christian upon the Hill Difficulty, and would a had him
gone back for fear of the Lions.)

Tim. For what Journey I pray you?

Chris. Even to go after my good Husband. And with
that she fell a weeping.

Tim. I hope not so, good Neighbor, pray for your poor

pilgrim's progress 185

Children's sakes, do not so unwomanly cast away your- Timorous

., / ^ » comes

sell. to visit

Chris. Nay, my Children shall go with me, not one of Christiana,
them is willing to stay behind. Mercy, one

Tim. I wonder in my very heart, what or who has °^''"
brought you into this mind.

Chris. Oh, Neighbor, knew you but as much as I do,
I doubt not but that you would go with me.

Tim, Prithee what new knowledge hast thou got, that
so worketh off thy mind from thy Friends, and that
tempteth thee to go nobody knows where?

Chris. Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely Death
afflicted since my Husband's departure from me, but
specially since he went over the River. But that which
troubleth me most, is my churlish carriages to him when
he was under his distress. Besides, I am now as he was
then; nothing will serve me but going on Pilgrimage.
I was a dreaming last night that I saw him. O that my
Soul was with him. He dwelleth in the presence of the
King of the Country, he sits and eats with him at his
table, he is become a Companion of Immortals, and has a
House now given him to dwell in, to which the best
Palaces on Earth if compared, seem to me to be but as a
Dunghill. The Prince of the place has also sent for me,
with promise of entertainment if I shall come to him;
his messenger was here even now, and has brought me a
Letter, which invites me to come. And with that she
pluck'd out her Letter, and read it, and said to them,
What now will you say to this?

Tim. Oh the madness that has possessed thee and thy Fi"^' ^"^>
Husband, to run yourselves upon such difficulties! You
have heard, I am sure, what your Husband did meet with,
even in a manner at the first step that he took on his
way, as our Neighbor Obstinate can yet testify, for he
went along with him; yea and Pliable too, until they
like wise men, were afraid to go any further. We also
heard over and above, how he met with the Lions, Apol-

i86

The rea-
sonings of
the flesh

A perti-
nent reply
to fleshly
reasonings

Mercy's
bowels
yearn over
Christiana

Timorous
forsakes
her, but
Mercy
cleaves
to her

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

lyon, the Shadow of Death, and many other things. Nor
is the danger that he met with at Vanity Fair to be for-
gotten by thee; for if he, tho' a Man, was so hard put
to it, what canst thou, being but a poor Woman, do?
Consider also that these four sweet Babes are thy Chil-
dren, thy Flesh and thy Bones. Wherefore though thou
shouldest be so rash as to cast away thyself, yet for the
sake of the Fruit of thy Body keep thou at home.

But Christiana said unto her, tempt me not, my Neigh-
bor. I have now a price put into mine hand to get gain,
and I should be a Fool of the greatest size if I should
have no heart to strike in with the opportunity. And
for that you tell me of all these Troubles that I am like
to meet with in the way, they are so far off from being to
me a discouragement, that they shew I am in the right.
The bitter must come before the sweet, and that also
will make the sweet the sweeter. Wherefore since you
came not to my house in God's name, as I said, I
pray you to be gone, and not to disquiet me farther.

Then Timorous also revil'd her, and said to her fellow,
Come Neighbor Mercy, let us leave her in her own hands,
since she scorns our Counsel and Company. But Mercy
was at a stand, and could not so readily comply with her
Neighbor, and that for a twofold reason. First, her bowels
yearned over Christiana: so she said within herself. If my
Neighbor will needs be gone, I will go a little way with
her and help her. Secondly, her bowels yearned over her
own Soul, (for what Christiana had said had taken
some hold upon her mind.) Wherefore she said within
herself again, I will yet have more talk with this Chris-
tiana, and if I find Truth and Life in what she shall say,
myself with my heart shall also go with her. Wherefore
Mercy began thus to reply to her Neighbor Timorous.

Mercy. Neighbor, I did indeed come with you to see
Christiana this morning; and since she is, as you see, a
taking of her last farewell of her Country, I think to
walk this Sun-shine morning a little way with her to

pilgrim's progress 187

help her on the way. But she told her not o£ her second
reason, but kept that to herself.

Tim. Well, I see you have a mind to go a fooling too, Timorous
but take heed in time, and be wise: while we are out of JJcr friends
danger, we are out; but when we are in, we are in. So what the
Mrs Timorous returned to her house, and Christiana be- Christiana
took herself to her Journey. But when Timorous was got intends
home to her house, she sends for some of her Neighbors,
to wit, Mrs Bat's-eyes, Mrs Inconsiderate, Mrs Light-
mind, and Mrs Know-nothing. So when they came to her
house, she falls to telling of the story of Christiana and of
her intended Journey. And thus she began her tale.

Tim. Neighbors, having had little to do this morning,
I went to give Christiana a visit; and when I came at the
door, I knocked, as you know 'tis our custom. And she
answered, // you come in God's name, come in. So in I
went, thinking all was well. But when I came in, I found
her preparing herself to depart the Town, she and also
her Children. So I asked her what was her meaning by
that? And she told me in short, that she was now of a
mind to go on Pilgrimage, as did her Husband. She told
me also a Dream that she had, and how the King of the
Country where her Husband was had sent her an inviting
Letter to come thither.

Then said Mrs Know-nothing, And what do you think Mrs.
she will go? ^o"^*g

Tim. Ay, go she will, whatever come on't; and me-
thinks I know it by this, for that which was my great
argument to persuade her to stay at home (to wit, the
Troubles she was like to meet with in the way) is one
great argument with her to put her forward on her
Journey. For she told me in so many words. The bitter
goes before the sweet. Yea, and for as much as it so doth,
it makes the sweet the sweeter.

Mrs Bat's-eyes. Oh this blind and foolish woman, said Mrs Bat'$-
she, will she not take warning by her Husband's afflic-
tions ? For my part I see if he was here again, he would

eyes

i88

Mrs In-
considerate

Mrs

Light-mind
Madame
Wanton,
she that
had like
to have
been too
hard for
Faithful
in time
past

First Part,
p. 72

Discourse
betwixt
Mercy
and good
Christiana

Mercy
inclines
to go

Christiana
would
have her
neighbour
with her

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

rest him content in a whole skin, and never run so many
hazards for nothing.

Mrs Inconsiderate also replied, saying. Away with such
Fantastical Fools from the Town! A good riddance for
my part I say of her. Should she stay where she dwells,
and retain this her mind, who could live quietly by her?
for she will either be dumpish or unneighborly, or talk
of such matters as no wise body can abide; wherefore for
my part I shall never be sorry for her departure; let her
go, and let better come in her room: 'twas never a good
World since these whimsical Fools dwelt in it.

Then Mrs Light-mind added as foUoweth: Come put
this kind of talk away. I was yesterday at Madam Wan-
ton's, where we were as merry as the maids. For who do
you think should be there, but I and Mrs Love-the-flesh.
and three or four more, with Mr Lechery, Mrs Filth, and
some others. So there we had musick and dancing, and
what else was meet to fill up the pleasure. And I dare
say my Lady herself is an admirably well-bred Gentle-
woman, and Mr Lechery is as pretty a fellow.

By this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy
went along with her. So as they went, her Children being
there also, Christiana began to discourse. And Mercy,
said Christiana, I take this as an unexpected favour, that
thou shouldst set foot out of doors with me, to accom-
pany me a little in my way.

Mercy. Then said young Mercy (for she was but
young) If I thought it would be to purpose to go with
you, I would never go near the Town any more.

Chris. Well Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy lot with
me: I well know what will be the end of our Pilgrimage;
my Husband is where he would not but be for all the
Gold in the Spanish Mines. Nor shalt thou be rejected,
though thou goest but upon my Invitation. The King
who hath sent for me and my Children is one that de-
lighteth in Mercy. Besides, if thou wilt, I will hire thee,
and thou shalt go along with me as my servant; yet we

pilgrim's progress 189

will have all things in common betwixt thee and me,
only go along with me.

Mercy. But how shall I be ascertained that I also shall Mercy
be entertained? Had I this hope but from one that can jccepunce
tell, I would make no stick at all, but would go, being
helped by him that can help, tho' the way was never so
tedious.

Chris. Well loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou Christiana
shalt do. Go with me to the Wicl{et-gate, and there I ,„ ,i,e gate,
will further enquire for thee; and if there thou shalt not which is
meet with encouragement, I will be content that thou promiseth
shalt return to thy place. I also will pay thee for thy jhere to
kindness which thou shewest to me and my Children, f"? h^^
in thy accompanying us in our way as thou doest.

Mercy. Then I will go thither, and will take what Mercy
shall follow, and the Lord grant that my lot may there ''"'"
fall even as the King of Heaven shall have his heart
upon me.

Christiana then was glad at her heart, not only thai she Christiana
had a Companion, but also for that she had prevailed ^j^rcy's
with this poor Maid to fall in love with her own Salvation, company
So they went on together, and Mercy began to weep.
Then said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth my Sister so?

Mercy. Alas! said she, who can but lament, that shall Mercy
but rightly consider what a state and condition my poor fJJ^her
Relations are in that yet remain in our sinful Town: and carnal
that which makes my grief the more heavy is, because
they have no Instructor, nor any to tell them what is to
come.

Chris. Bowels becometh Pilgrims; and thou dost for Chris-
thy Friends as my good Christian did for me when he p""yers
left me; he mourned for that I would not heed nor were
regard him, but his Lord and ours did gather up his *",'"![
Tears, and put them into his Bottle; and now both I and relations
thou and these my sweet Babes, are reaping the fruit and Jj,j,"jead
benefit of them. I hope, Mercy, these Tears of thine will
not be lost; for the truth hath said, That they that sow in

ipo

Rm Part,
p. 19

Their own
carnal
conclu-
sions, in-
stead of
the Word
of life

Mercy
the boldest
at the
Slough of
Dispond

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Tears shall reap in Joy, in singing. And he that goeth
forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless
come again with rejoicing, bringing his Sheaves with
him.
Then said Mercy,

Let the Most Blessed be my guide.
If 't be his blessed will,
Unto his Gate, unto his Fold,
Up to his Holy Hill.

And let him never sufler me
To swerve or turn aside
From his free grace and holy ways,
Whate'er shall me betide.

And let him gather them of mine.
That I have left behind;
Lx)rd make them pray they may be thine,
With all their heart and mind.

Now my old Friend proceeded and said: But when
Christiana came up to the Slough of Dispond, she began
to be at a stand; for said she, This is the place in which
my dear Husband had like to have been smothered with
mud. She perceived also, that notwithstanding the com-
mand of the King to make this place for Pilgrims good,
yet it was rather worse than formerly. So I asked if that
was true. Yes, said the Old Gentleman, too true, for
that many there be that pretend to be the King's
Labourers, and that say they are for mending the King's
High-way, that bring dirt and dung instead of stones,
and so mar instead of mending. Here Christiana there-
fore with her Boys, did make a stand; but said Mercy,
Come let us venture, only let us be wary. Then they
looked well to the steps, and made a shift to get stagger-
ingly over.

Yet Christiana had like to a been in, and that not once
nor twice. Now they had no sooner got over, but they
thought they heard words that said unto them, Blessed

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I9I

is she that believeth, for there shall be a performance of
the things that have been told her from the Lord.

Then they went on again; and said Mercy to Chris-
tiana, Had I as good ground to hope for a loving recep-
tion at the Wicl^et-gate as you, I think no Slough of
Dispond would discourage me.

Well, said the other, you know your sore, and 1 know
mine; and good friend, we shall all have enough evil
before we come at our Journey's end.

For can it be imagined, that the people that design to
attain such excellent Glories as we do, and that are so
envied that Happiness as we are; but that we shall
meet with what Fears and Scares, with what Troubles
and Afflictions, they can possibly assault us with that
hate us?

And now Mr Sagacity left me to dream out my Dream ''"y*'
by myself. Wherefore me-thought I saw Christiana and majp „;,[,
Mercy and the Boys go all of them up to the Gate; to cpnsidera-
which when they were come, they betook themselves to fe^r, as
a short debate about hotv they must manage their calling *«" «
at the Gate, and what should be said to him that did jjjj i,opg
open to them. So it was concluded, since Christiana was
the eldest, that she should knock for entrance, and that
she should speak to him that did open for the rest. So Fi"« ?»«•
Christiana began to knock, and as her poor Husband did,
she l^nocl^ed and \nocked again. But instead of any
that answered, they all thought that they heard as if a
Dog came barking upon them; a Dog, and a great one l"''<^ <'°k>
too, and this made the Women and Children afraid: nor ^n enemy
durst they for a while to knock any more, for fear the »» prayer
Mastiff should fly upon them. Now therefore they were
greatly tumbled up and down in their minds, and knew Christiana
not what to do. Knock they durst not, for fear of the compan-
Dog; go back they durst not, for fear that the Keepier of '""s pcr-
that Gate should espy them as they so went, and should ^i^ut
be offended with them. At last they thought of knocking prayer
again, and knocked more vehemently than they did at the

192

How

Christiana
is enter-
tained at
the gate

Christiana's
prayer for
her friend
Mercy

The delays
make the
hungering
soul the
ferventcr

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

first. Then said the Keeper of the Gate, Who is there?
So the Dog left off to bark, and he opened unto them.

Then Christiana made low obeisance and said. Let not
our Lord be offended with his Hand-maidens, for that
we have knocked at this princely Gate. Then said the
Keeper, Whence come ye, and what is that you would
have ?

Christiana answered. We are come from whence Chris-
tian did come, and upon the same Errand as he; to wit,
to be if it shall please you, graciously admitted by this
Gate into the way that leads to the Coelestial City. And I
answer, my Lord, in the next place, that I am Christiana,
once the Wife of Christian that now is gotten above.

With that the Keeper of the Gate did marvel, saying,
What is she become now a Pilgrim, that but a while ago
abhorred that life? Then she bowed her head, and said,
Yes, and so are these my sweet Babes also.

Then he took her by the hand, and let her in, and said
also. Suffer the little Children to come unto me; and with
that he shut up the Gate. This done, he called to a
Trumpeter that was above over the Gate, to entertain
Christiana with shouting and sound of Trumpet for joy.
So he obeyed and sounded, and filled the air with his
melodious notes.

Now all this while poor Mercy did stand without,
trembling and crying for fear that she was rejected. But
when Christiana had gotten admittance for herself and
her Boys, then she began to make intercession for Mercy.

Chris. And she said, My Lord, I have a Companion
of mine that stands yet without, that is come hither upon
the same account as myself; one that is much dejected in
her mind, for that she comes, as she thinks, without send-
ing for, whereas I was sent to by my Husband's King to
come.

Now Mercy began to be very impatient, for each
minute was as long to her as an hour, wherefore she pre-
vented Christiana from a fuller interceding for her, by

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 193

knocking at the Gate herself. And she knocked then so
loud, that she made Christiana to start. Then said the
Keeper of the Gate, Who is there? and said Christiana,
It is my Friend.

So he opened the Gate, and looked out; but Mercy Mercy
was fallen down without in a swoon, for she fainted, and
was afraid that no Gate would be opened to her.

Then he took her by the hand, and said, Damsel, I bid
thee arise.

Oh Sir, said she, I am faint; there is scarce life left in
me. But he answered, That one once said, When my soul
jointed within me; I remembered the Lord, and my
prayer came in unto thee, into thy Holy Temple. Fear
not, but stand upon thy feet, and tell me wherefore thou
art come.

Mercy. I am come for that unto which I was never "^^ ""*'
invited as my Friend Christiana was. Hers was from the fainting
King, and mine was but from her: wherefore I fear I
presume.

Did she desire thee to come with her to this Place?

Mercy. Yes; and as my Lord sees I am come. And if
there is any grace or forgiveness of sins to spare, I beseech
that I thy poor Handmaid may be partaker thereof.

Then he took her again by the hand, and led her gently Mirk this
in, and said, I pray for all them that believe on me, by
what means soever they come unto me. Then said he
to those that stood by. Fetch something, and give it to
Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her fainting. So they
fetch'd her a bundle of Myrrh, and a while after she was
revived.

And now was Christiana and her Boys and Mercy,
received of the Lord, at the head of the way, and spoke
kindly unto by him.

Then said they yet further unto him. We are sorry for
our sins, and beg of our Lord his Pardon, and further
information what we must do.

I grant Pardon, said he, by word and deed; by word, in

194

Christ cru-
cificd seen
afar od

Talk be-
tween the
Christians

First Part,
p. 29

Christiana
thinks her
companion
prays
better
than she

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

the promise of forgiveness; by deed, in the way I obtained
it. Take the first from my lips with a kiss, and the other
as it shall be revealed.

Now I saw in my Dream that he spake many good
words unto them, whereby they were greatly gladded.
He also had them up to the top of the Gate, and shewed
ihem by what deed they were saved; and told them
withal that that sight they would have again as they went
along in the way, to their comfort.

So he left them a while in a Summer Parlor below,
where they entred into talk by themselves; and thus
Christiana began: O Lord! how glad am 1 that we are
got in hither.

Mercy. So you well may; but I of all have cause to
leap for joy.

Chris. I thought one time, as I stood at the Gate (be-
cause I had knocked and none did answer) that all our
labour had been lost, specially when that ugly Cur made
such a heavy barking against us.

Mercy. But my worst fear was after I saw that you
was taken into his favour and that I was left behind.
Now thought I 'tis fulfilled which is written, Two women
shall be grinding together, the one shall be ta/^en and the
other left. I had much ado to forbear crying out, Undone,
undone.

And afraid I was to knock any more; but when I
looked up to what was written over the Gate, I took
courage. I also thought that I must either knock again,
or die; so I knocked, but I cannot tell how, for my spirit
now struggled betwixt life and death.

Chris. Can you not tell how you knocked? I am sure
your knocks were so earnest, that the very sound of them
made me start; I thought I never heard such knocking
in all my life; I thought you would a come in by violent
hands, or a took the Kingdom by storm.

Mercy. Alas, to be in my case, who that so was could
but a done so? You saw that the Door was shut u[X)n

PILGRIM S PROGRESS I95

me, and that there was a most cruel Dog thereabout.
Who, I say, that was so faint-hearted as I, that would not
have knocked with all their might' But pray what said
my Lord to my rudeness? was he not angry with me?

Chris. When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave ^''"'^
a wonderful innocent smile; I believe what you did „i,h loud
pleased him well enough, for he shewed no sign to the and rest-
contrary. But I marvel in my heart why he keeps such a
Dog; had I known that afore, I fear I should not have '^ 'he soul
had heart enough to a ventured myself in this manner, ^now all it

But now we are in, we are in, and I am glad with all my should meet
I with in its

neart. journey to

Mercy. I will ask if you please next time he comes heaven, it
down, why he keeps such a filthy Cur in his yard; I hardly even
hope he will not take it amiss. set o"t

Ay do, said the Children, and persuade him to hang
him, for we are afraid he will bite us when we go hence. The chil-

So at last he came down to them again, and Mercy afraid^of
fell to the ground on her face before him and worshipped, the dog
and said. Let my Lord accept of the sacrifice of Praise
which I now offer unto him with the calves of my lips.

So he said unto her, Peace be to thee, stand up. But Mercy ex-
she continued upon her face and said. Righteous art thou j^out
Lord when I plead with thee, yet let me tal^ with thee the dog
of thy Judgments. Wherefore dost thou keep so cruel a
Dog in thy yard, at the sight of which such Women and
Children as we are ready to fly from thy Gate for fear ?

He answered and said. That Dog has another owner; Devil
he also is kept close in another man's ground only my
Pilgrims hear his barking; he belongs to the Castle which
you see there at a distance, but can come up to the walls
of this place. He has frighted many an honest Pilgrim F'"t Part,
from worse to better, by the great voice of his roaring.
Indeed he that owneth him doth not keep him of any
good will to me or mine, but with intent to keep the
Pilgrims from coming to me, and that they may be afraid
to knock at this Gate for entrance. Sometimes also he

p. 30

196

A check
to the car-
nal fear
of the
pilgrims

Christians,
when wise
enough,
acquiesce
in the
wisdom of
their Lord

First Part,
p. 32

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

has broken out, and has worried some that I love; but I
take all at present patiently. I also give my Pilgrims
timely help, so they are not delivered up to his power, to
do to them what his doggish nature would prompt him
to. But what! my purchased one, I tro, hadst thou known
never so much beforehand, thou wouldest not have been
afraid of a Dog.

The Beggars that go from Door to Door, will, rather
than they will lose a supposed Alms, run the hazard of
the bawling barking and biting too of a Dog; and shall
a Dog, a Dog in another man's yard, a Dog whose bark-
ing I turn to the profit of Pilgrims, keep any from coming
to me? I deliver them from the Lions, their Darling
from the power of the Dog.

Mercy. Then said Mercy, I confess my ignorance; I
spake what I understood not; I acknowledge that thou
doest all things well.

Chris. Then Christiana began to talk of their Journey,
and to enquire after the way. So he fed them, and washed
their feet, and set them in the way of his steps, according
as he had dealt with her Husband before. So I saw in
my Dream that they walk'd on their way, and had the
weather very comfortable to them.

Then Christiana began to sing, saying,

Bless'd be the Day that I began
A Pilgrim for to be;
And blessed also be that man
That thereto moved me.

'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began
To seek to live jor ever:
But now I run fast as I can;
"Tis better late than never.

Our Tears to Joy, our Fears to Faith,
Are turned, as we see.
Thus our beginning (as one saith,)
Shews what our end will be.

PILGRIM S PRCXJRESS 1 97

Now there was, on the other side of the Wall that The devil's
fenced in the way up which Christiana and her Compan-
ions were to go, a Garden, and that Garden belonged to
him whose was that barl^ing Dog of whom mention was
made before. And some of the Fruit-Trees that grew in
that Garden shot their branches over the Wall; and being
mellow, they that found them did gather them up, and
oft eat of them to their hurt. So Christiana's Boys, as Boys T''e '^''il-
are apt to do, being pleas'd with the trees, and with the of (he
Fruit that did hang thereon, did plash' them, and began enemy's
to eat. Their mother did also chide them for so doing,
but still the Boys went on.

Well, said she, my Sons, you transgress, for that Fruit Two ill-
is none of ours; but she did not know that they did belong „„£,
to the Enemy; I'll warrant you if she had, she would a
been ready to die for fear. But that passed, and they went
on their way. Now by that they were gone about two
bow-shots from the place that let them into the way, they
espied two very ill-fafoured ones coming down apace to
meet them. With that Christiana and Mercy her Friend
covered themselves with their Vails, and so kept on their
Journey; the Children also went on before, so that at
last they met together. Then they that came down to They
meet them, came just up to the Women as if they would Christiana
embrace them; but Christiana said. Stand back, or go
peaceably by as you should. Yet these two, as men that The
are deaf, regarded not Christiana's words, but began to ft'rug^c
lay hands upon them. At that Christiana waxing very w'th 'hem
wroth, spurned at them with her feet. Mercy also as well
as she could, did what she could to shift them. Christiana
again said to them, Stand back, and be gone, for we have
no money to lose, being Pilgrims as ye see, and such too as
live upon the Charity of our Friends.

lll-jav. Then said one of the two of the men. We make
no assault upon you for your Money, but are come out to

' Bend them down with sticks.

198

she cries
out

It is good
to cry out
when
we are
assaulted

The

Reliever

comes

The ill
ones fly to
the devil
for relief

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

tell you, that if you will grant one small request which
we shall ask, we will make Women of you for ever.

Chris. Now Christiana imagining what they should
mean, made answer again, We will neither hear, nor
regard, nor yield to what you shall ask. We are in
haste, cannot stay, our business is a business of Life and
Death. So again she and her Companions made a fresh
assay to go past them, but they letted them in their
way.

Ill-fat/. And they said, We intend no hurt to your lives,
'tis another thing we would have.

Chris. Ah, quoth Christiana, you would have us Body
and Soul, for I know 'tis for that you are come; but we
will die rather upon the spot, than suffer ourselves to be
brought into such snares as shall hazard our well-being
hereafter. And with that they both shrieked out, and
cried. Murder, murder: and so put themselves under
those Laws that are provided for the Protection of
Women. But the men still made their approach upon
them, with design to prevail against them: they therefore
cried out again.

Now they being, as I said, not far from the Gate in at
which they came, their voice was heard from where they
was, thither. Wherefore some of the House came out, and
knowing that it was Christiana's tongue they made haste
to her relief. But by that they was got within sight of
them, the Women was in a very great scuffle, the children
also stood crying by. Then did he that came in for their
relief call out to the Ruffians, saying. What is that thing
that you do? Would you make my Lord's people to
transgress? He also attempted to take them, but they
did make their escapie over the Wall into the Garden of
the man to whom the great Dog belonged; so the Dog
became their Protector. This Reliever then came up to
the Women, and asked them how they did. So they
answered. We thank thy Prince, pretty well, only we have
been somewhat affrighted; we thank thee also for that

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

thou earnest in to our help, for otherwise we had been
overcome.

Reliever. So after a few more words, this Reliever said
as foUoweth; I marvelled much when you were enter-
tained at the Gate above, being ye know that ye were but
weak Women, that you petitioned not the Lord there for
a Conductor; then might you have avoided these trou-
bles and dangers, for he would have granted you one.

Chris. Alas! said Christiana, we were so taken with our
present blessing, that dangers to come were forgotten by
us; besides, who could have thought that so near the
King's Palace there should have lurked such naughty
ones? Indeed it had been well for us, had we asked our
Lord for one; but since our Lord knew 'twould be for
our profit, I wonder he sent not one along with us!

Rel. It is not always necessary to grant things not asked
for, lest by so doing they become of litde esteem; but
when the want of a thing is felt, it then comes under, in
the eyes of him that feels it, that estimate that properly
is its due, and so consequently will be thereafter used.
Had my Lord granted you a Conductor, you would not
neither so have bewailed that oversight of yours in not
asking for one as now you have occasion to do. So all
things work for good, and tend to make you more wary.

Chris. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and confess
our folly, and ask one?

Rel. Your confession of your folly I will present him
with. To go back again you need not; for in all places
where you shall come, you will find no want at all, for
in every of my Lord's Lodgings which he has prepared
for the reception of his Pilgrims, there is sufficient to
furnish them against all attempts whatsoever. But as I
said, he will be enquired of by them to do it for them:
and 'tis a poor thing that is not worth asking for. When
he had thus said, he went back to his place, and the
Pilgrims went on their way.

Mercy. Then said Mercy, What a sudden blank is

199

The
Reliever
talks to the
women

Mark this

We lose
for want
of asking
for

The mis-
take of
Mercy

200

Chris-
tiana's
guilt

Chris-
tiana's
dream
repeated

Mercy
makes
good use
of their
neglect of
duty

Talk in
the Inter-
preter's
house
about
Chris-
tiana's
going on
pilgrimage

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

here! I made account we had now been past all danger,
and that we should never see sorrow more.

Chris. Thy innocency, My Sister, said Christiana to
Mercy, may excuse thee much; but as for me, my fault is
so much the greater, for that I saw this danger before I
came out of the Doors, and yet did not provide for it
where provision might a been had. I am therefore much
to be blamed.

Mercy. Then said Mercy, How knew you this before
you came from home? Pray open to me this riddle.

Chris. Why, I will tell you. Before I set foot out of
doors, one night as I lay in my bed, I had a Dream about
this; for methought I saw two men as like these as ever
the world they could look, stand at my bed's feet, plotting
how they might prevent my Salvation. I will tell you
their very words. They said ('twas when I was in my
Troubles) What shall we do with this Woman? for she
cries out walking and sleeping, for forgiveness: if she be
suffered to go on as she begins, we shall lose her as we
have lost her Husband. This you know might a made me
take heed, and have provided when provision might a
been had.

Mercy. Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect we have
an occasion ministred unto us to behold our own im-
perfections, so our Lord has taken occasion thereby to
make manifest the riches of his Grace. For he, as we
see, has followed us with unasked kindness, and has
delivered us from their hands that were stronger than we,
of his mere good pleasure.

Thus now when they had talked away a little more
time, they drew nigh to an House which stood in the
way, which House was built for the relief of Pilgrims; as
you will find more fully related in the First Part of these
Records of the Pilgrim's Progress. So they drew on
towards the House (the House of the Interpreter) ; and
when they came to the door, they heard a great talk in the
House. They then gave ear, and heard, as they thought,

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Christiana mentioned by name. For you must know that
there went along, even before her, a talk of her and her
Children's going on Pilgrimage. And this thing was the
more pleasing to them, because they had heard that she
was Christian's Wife, that Woman who was some time
ago so unwilling to hear of going on Pilgrimage. Thus
therefore they stood still and heard the good people
within commending her, who they little thought stood
at the door. At last Christiana knocked as she had done
at the Gate before. Now when she had knocked, there
came to the door a young Damsel, and opened the door
and looked, and behold two Women was there.

Damsel. Then said the Damsel to them, With whom
would you speak in this place?

Chris. Christiana answered. We understand that this
is a privileged place for those that are become Pilgrims,
and we now at this door are such; wherefore we pray
that we may be partakers of that for which we at this
time are come; for the day, as thou seest, is very far spent,
and we are loth to-night to go any further.

Damsel. Pray what may I call your name, that I may
tell it to my Lord within?

Chris. My name is Christiana; I was the Wife of that
Pilgrim that some years ago did travel this way, and these
be his four Children. This Maiden also is my Companion,
and is going on Pilgrimage too.

Innocent. Then ran Innocent in (for that was her
name) and said to those within. Can you think who is
at the door? There is Christiana and her Children and
her Companion, all waiting for entertainment here. Then
they leaped for joy, and went and told their Master. So
he came to the door, and looking upon her, he said. Art
thou that Christiana whom Christian the Good-man left
behind him, when he betook himself to a Pilgrim's hfe?

Chris. I am that Woman that was so hard-hearted
as to slight my Husband's Troubles, and that left him to
go on in his Journey alone, and these are his four Chil-

201

She knocks
at the door

The door
is opened
to tiiem by
Innocent

Joy in
the house
of the
Interpreter
that

Christiana
is turned
pilgrim

202

Old saints
glad to see
the youn)(
ones walk
in God's
ways

The Sig-
nificant
Roonu

First Part,
pp. 32-41

The man
with the
muck-rake
expounded

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

dren; but now I also am come, for I am convinced that
no way is right but this.

Inter. Then is fulfilled that which is written of the
man that said to his Son, Go work to-day in my Vine-
yard; and he said to his Father, I will not; but afterwards
repented and went.

Chris. Then said Christiana, So be it. Amen. God
make it a true saying u{X)n me, and grant that I may
be found at the last of him in peace without spot and
blameless.

Inter. But why standest thou thus at the door? Come
in, thou Daughter of Abraham. We was talking of thee
but now, for tidings have come to us before how thou art
become a Pilgrim. Come Children, come in; come Mai-
den, come in. So he had them all into the House.

So when they were within, they were bidden sit down
and rest them; the which when they had done, those that
attended upon the Pilgrims in the House, came into the
Room to see them. And one smiled, and another smiled,
and they all smiled for joy that Christiana was become
a Pilgrim. They also looked upon the Boys: they stroked
them over the faces with the hand, in token of their kind
reception of them. They also carried it lovingly to Mercy,
and bid them all welcome into their Master's House.

After a while, because Supper was not ready, the
Interpreter took them into his significant Rooms, and
shewed them what Christian, Christiana's Husband, had
seen some time before. Here therefore they saw the Man
in the Cage, the Man and his Dream, the Man that cut his
way through his Enemies, and the Picture of the biggest
of them all, together with the rest of those things that
were then so profitable to Christian.

This done and after these things had been somewhat
digested by Christiana and her company, the Interpreter
takes them apart again, and has them first into a Room
where was a Man that could look no way but down-
wards, with a Muck-rake in his hand. There stood also

pilgrim's progress 203

one over his head with a Coelestial Crown in his hand,
and proffered him that Crown for his Muck-rake;
but the man did neither look up, nor regard, but raked
to himself the straws, the small sticks and dust of the
floor.

Then said Christiana, I persuade myself that I know
something of the meaning of this; for this is a figure of
a Man of this World, is it not, good Sir ?

Inter. Thou hast said the right said he, and his Muck-
rake doth shew his carnal mind. And whereas thou
seest him rather give heed to rake up straws and sticks
and the dust of the floor, than to what he says that calls to
him from above with the Coelestial Crown in his hand, it
is to shew that Heaven is but as a fable to some, and that
things here are counted the only things substantial. Now
whereas it was also shewed thee that the man could look
no way but downwards, it is to let thee know that earthly
things when they are with power upon men's minds,
quite carry their hearts away from God.

Chris. Then said Christiana. O deliver me from this Chris-
Muck-rake, prayer

Inter. That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by against

.,,,., '^ ' „. _/, , .' the muck-

till tis almost rusty. Oive me not Riches, is scarcely the rake

prayer of one of ten thousand. Straws and sticks and

dust with most are the great things now looked after.

With that Mercy and Christiana wept, and said, It is
alasl too true.

When the Interpreter had shewed them this, he had
them into the very best Room in the House (a very brave
Room it was) so he bid them look round about, and see
if they could find anything profitable there. Then they
looked round and round, for there was nothing there
to be seen but a very great Spider on the wall, and that
they overlook'd.

Mercy. Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing; but ChriS'
tiana held her peace.

Inter. But said the Interpreter, Look again; she there- spider

204

Talk about
the spider

The inter-
pretation

Of the
hen and
chickens

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

fore look'd again and said, Here is not anything but an
ugly Spider, who hangs by her hands upon the wall.
Then said he, Is there but one Spider in all this spacious
Room? Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes, for
she was a woman quick of apprehension; and she said,
Yes, Lord, there is here more than one. Yea, and Spiders
whose Venom is far more destructive than that which is
in her. The Interpreter then looked pleasantly upon her,
and said, Thou hast said the truth. This made Mercy
blush, and the Boys to cover their faces, for they all
began now to understand the Riddle.

Then said the Interpreter again, The Spider taketh hold
with her hands as you see, and is in King's Palaces. And
wherefore is this recorded, but to shew you, that how full
of the Venom of sin soever you be, yet you may by the
hand of faith lay hold of and dwell in the best Room that
belongs to the King's House above?

Chris. I thought, said Christiana, of some thing of this,
but I could not imagine it all. I thought that we were like
Spiders, and that we looked like ugly creatures, in what
fine Room soever we were; but that by this Spider, this
venomous and ill-favoured creature, we were to learn
how to act Faith, came not into my mind. And yet
she has taken hold with her hands, as I see, and dwells
in the best Room in the House. God has made nothing
in vain.

Then they seemed all to be glad, but the water stood in
their eyes; yet they looked one upon another, and also
bowed before the Interpreter.

He had them then into another Room where was a Hen
and Chickens, and bid them observe a while. So one of
the Chickens went to the trough to drink, and every time
she drank she lift up her head and her eyes towards
Heaven. See, said he, what this little Chick doth, and
learn of her to acknowledge whence your mercies come,
by receiving them with looking up. Yet again, said he,
observe and look; so they gave heed and perceived that

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 205

the Hen did walk in a four-fold method towards her
Chickens, i. She had a common call, and that she hath
all day long. 2. She had a special call, and that she had
but sometimes. 3. She had a brooding note. And 4. She
had an out-cry.

Now said he, compare this Hen to your King, and these
Chickens to his obedient ones. For answerable to her,
himself has his methods which he walketh in towards
his People; by his common call he gives nothing; by his
special call he always has something to give; he has also
a brooding voice for them that are under his wing; and
he has an out-cry to give the alarm when he seeth the
Enemy come. I chose, my Darlings, to lead you into the
Room where such things are, because you are Women,
and they are easy for you.

Chris. And Sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some
more. So he had them into the Slaughter-house, where Of ••'«
was a Butcher a killing of a Sheep; and behold the Sheep j^j (he
was quiet, and took her death patiently. Then said the steep
Interpreter, You must learn of this Sheep to suffer, and to
put up wrongs without murmurings and complaints.
Behold how quietly she taketh her death, and without
objecting she suflereth her skin to be pulled over her
ears. Your King doth call you his Sheep.

After this he led them into his Garden, where was Of the
great variety of Flowers, and he said. Do you see all ^" *°
these? So Christiana said, Yes. Then said he again.
Behold the Flowers are diverse in stature, in quality and
colour and smell and vertue, and some are better than
some; also where the Gardener has set them there they
stand, and quarrel not with one another.

Again, he had them into his Field, which he had Of the
sowed with Wheat and Corn ; but when they beheld, the
tops of all was cut off, only the straw remained. He said
again, This ground was dunged and plowed and sowed,
but what shall we do with the Crop? Then said Chris-
tiana, Burn some, and make muck of the rest. Then said

field

206 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

the Interpreter again, Fruit you see is that thing you
look for, and for want of that you condemn it to the fire,
and to be trodden under foot of men; beware that in this
you condemn not yourselves.
Of the Then as they were coming in from abroad, they espied

the'lpidcr ^ ^'''^^ Robitt with a great Spider in his mouth. So the
Interpreter said, Lxx)k here. So they looked, and Mercy
wondered; but Christiana said. What a disparagement
is it to such a little pretty bird as the Robin-red-breast is,
he being also a bird above many that loveth to maintain
a kind of sociableness with man; I had thought they had
lived u{X)n crums of bread, or upon other such harmless
matter. I like him worse than I did.

The Interpreter then replied. This Robin is an emblem

very apt to set forth some Professors by; for to sight they

are as this Robin, pretty of note, colour and carriage.

They seem also to have a very great love for Professors

that are sincere; and above all other to desire to associate

with, and to be in their company, as if they could live

upon the good man's crums. They pretend also that

therefore it is that they frequent the house of the godly,

and the appointments of the Lord: but when they are

by themselves, as the Robin, they can catch and gobble

up Spiders, they can change their diet, drink Iniquity, and

swallow down Sin like water.

Pray, and So when they were come again into the house, because

get at Supper as yet was not ready, Christiana again desired

that which that the Interpreter would either shew or tell of some

unrevealed Other things that are profitable.

Then the Interpreter began and said. The fatter the
Sow is, the more she desires the Mire; the fatter the Ox is,
the more gamesomely he goes to the slaughter; and the
more healthy the lusty man is, the more prone he is unto
evil.

There is a desire in Woman to go neat and fine and
it is a comely thing to be adorned with that that in God's
sight is of great price.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 207

'Tis easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a
whole year together; so 'tis easier for one to begin to
profess well, than to hold out as he should to the end.

Every Ship-master when in a Storm, will willingly cast
that overboard that is of the smallest value in the vessel;
but who will throw the best out first? None but he that
feareth not God.

One Leak will sink a ship, and one sin will destroy a
Sinner.

He that forgets his Friend is ungrateful unto him, but
he that forgets his Saviour is unmerciful to himself.

He that lives in Sin, and lool^s for Happiness hereafter,
is lit{e him that soweth Cocl{le, and thinl^s to fill his Barn
with Wheat or Barley.

If a man would live well, let him fetch his last day to
him, and make it always his Com pany-/(eeper.

Whispering and change of thoughts proves that Sin is
in the World.

If the World which God sets light by, is counted a
thing of that worth with men, what is Heaven which
God commendeth?

If the Life that is attended with so many Troubles, is
so loth to be let go by us, what is the Life above?

Everybody wtll cry up the Goodness of Men; but who
is there that is, as he should, affected with the goodness
of God?

We seldom sit down to meat, but we eat and leave;
so there is in Jesus Christ more Merit and Righteousness
than the whole World has need of.

When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out into Of the
his Garden again, and had them to a Tree whose inside ;, rotten
was all rotten and gone, and yet it grew and had Leaves, at heart
Then said Mercy, What means this ? This Tree, said he,
whose outside is fair, and whose inside is rotten, it is to
which many may be compared that are in the Garden of
God; who with their mouths speak high in behalf of
God, but indeed will do nothing for him; whose Leaves

208

They are
at supper

Talk at
(upper

A repeti-
tion of
Chris-
tiana's
experience

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

are fair, but their heart good for nothing but to be tinder
for the Devil's tinder-box.

Now Supper was ready, the Table spread, and all things
set on the board; so they sate down and did eat when one
had given thanks. And the Interpreter did usually enter-
tain those that lodged with him with Musick at Meals,
so the Minstrels played. There was also one that did
sing, and a very fine voice he had. His Song was this:

The Lxjrd is only my support.

And he that doth me feed;
How can I then want anything

Whereof I stand in need?

When the Song and Musick was ended, the Interpreter
asked Christiana, What it was that at first did move her
to betake herself to a Pilgrim's life?

Christiana answered. First, the loss of my Husband
came into my mind, at which I was heartily grieved; but
all that was but natural affection. Then after that came
the Troubles and Pilgrimage of my Husband's into my
mind, and also how like a churl I had carried it to him as
to that. So guilt took hold of my mind, and would have
drawn me into the Pond; but that opportunely I had a
Dream of the well-being of my Husband, and a Letter
sent me by the King of that Country where my Husband
dwells, to come to him. The Dream and the Letter
together so wrought upon my mind, that they forced me
to this way.

Inter. But met you with no opposition afore you set
out of doors?

Chris. Yes, a Neighbor of mine, one Mrs Timorous
(she was akin to him that would have persuaded my
Husband to go back for fear of the Lions). She all to-
befooled^ me for as she called it my intended desperate
adventure; she also urged what she could to dishearten
me to it, the hardship and Troubles that my Husband
met with in the way: but all this I got over pretty well.
*The force of the "to" is intensive.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 209

But a Dream that I had of two ill-looked ones, that I
thought did plot how to make me miscarry in my Jour-
ney, that hath troubled me much; yea, it still runs in my
mind, and makes me afraid of every one that I meet, lest
they should meet me to do me a mischief, and to turn
me out of the way. Yea, I may tell my Lord, tho' I would
not have everybody know it, that between this and the
Gate by which we got into the way, we were both so
sorely assaulted, that we were made to cry out Murder,
and the two that made this assault upon us were hke the
two that I saw in my Dream.

Then said the Interpreter, Thy beginning is good, thy A question
latter end shall greatly increase. So he addressed himself Mercy
to Mercy, and said unto her, And what moved thee to
come hither sweet heart ?

Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while
continued silent.

Inter. Then said he. Be not afraid, only believe, and
speak thy mind.

Mercy. So she began and said. Truly Sir, my want of Mercy's
Experience is that that makes me covet to be in silence,
and that also that fills me with fears of coming short at
last. I cannot tell of Visions and Dreams as my friend
Christiana can, nor know I what it is to mourn for my
refusing of the counsel of those that were good Relations.

Inter. What was it then, dear heart, that hath prevailed
with thee to do as thou hast done."*

Mercy. Why, when our friend here was packing up to
be gone from our Town, I and another went accidently to
see her. So we knocked at the door and went in. When
we were within and seeing what she was doing, we asked
what was her meaning. She said she was sent for to go
to her Husband; and then she up and told us how she had
seen him in a Dream, dwelling in a curious place among
Immortals, wearing a Crown, playing upon a Harp, eat-
ing and drinking at his Prince's Table, and singing
Praises to him for bringing him hither, S-c. Now me-

210

They
address
themselves
for bed

Mercy's
good
night's rest

The bath

Sanctifi-

cation

PILGRIM S PRCXJRESS

thought while she was teUing these things unto us, my
heart burned within me; and I said in my heart, If this
be true, I will leave my Father and my Mother and the
Land of my Nativity, and will, if I may, go along with
Christiana.

So I asked her further of the truth of these things, and
if she would let me go with her; for I saw now that there
was no dwelling, but with the danger of ruine, any longer
in our Town. But yet I came away with a heavy heart,
not for that 1 was unwilling to come away, but for that
so many of my Relations were left behind. And I am
come with all the desire of my heart, and will go, if I
may, with Christiana, unto her Husband and his King.

Inter. Thy setting out is good, for thou hast given
credit to the truth. Thou art a Ruth, who did for the
love she bore to Naomi and to the Lord her God, leave
Father and Mother and the Land of her Nativity, to
come out, and go with a people that she knew not hereto-
fore. The Lord recompense thy tvorl^, and a full reward
be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose
Wings thou art come to trust.

Now Supper was ended, and Preparation was made for
Bed; the Women were laid singly alone, and the Boys by
themselves. Now when Mercy was in Bed, she could not
sleep for joy, for that now her doubts of missing at last
were removed further from her than ever they were be-
fore. So she lay blessing and praising God who had had
such favour for her.

In the morning they arose with the Sun, and prepared
themselves for their departure; but the Interpreter would
have them tarry awhile, for said he, you must orderly go
from hence. Then said he to the Damsel that at first
opened unto them, Take them and have them into the
Garden to the Bath, and there wash them, and make
them clean from the soil which they gathered by travel-
ling. Then Innocent the Damsel took them, and had
them into the Garden, and brought them to the Bath; so

PILGRIM S PRCX3RESS 211

she told them that there they must wash and be clean,

for so her Master would have the Women to do that

called at his house, as they were going on Pilgrimage.

They then went in and washed, yea they and the Boys They wash

and all; and they came out of that Bath, not only sweet "^ '

and clean, but also much enlivened and strengthened in

their joints. So when they came in, they looked fairer a

deal than when they went out to the washing.

When they were returned out of the Garden from the ^f^, "'
Bath, the Interpreter took them and looked upon them
and said unto them, Fair as the Moon. Then he called for
the Seal wherewith they used to be sealed that were
washed in his Bath. So the Seal was brought, and he set
his Mark upxjn them, that they might be known in the
places whither they were yet to go. Now the Seal was
the contents and sum of the Passover which the Children
of Israel did eat when they came out from the land of
Egypt, and the Mark was set between their eyes. This
Seal greatly added to their beauty, for it was an ornament
to their faces. It also added to their gravity, and made
their countenances more like them of Angels.

Then said the Interpreter again to the Damsel that "^^V^
waited upon these Women, Go into the Vestry and fetch
out Garments for these people; so she went and fetched
out white Raiment, and laid it down before him; so he
commanded them to put it on. It was fine linen, white
and clean. When the Women were thus adorned, they
seemed to be a terror one to the other, for that they could
not see that glory each one on herself which they could
see in each other. Now therefore they began to esteem
each other better than themselves. For you are fairer than True
I am, said one; and you are more comely than I am, said "™ '*''
another. The Children also stood amazed to see into what
fashion they were brought.

The Interpreter then called for a Man-servant of his,
one Great-heart, and bid him take sword and helmet and
shield; and take these my Daughters, said he, and conduct

212

A comment
upon what
was said
at the
gate, or a
discourse
of our
bcini; jus-
tified by
Christ

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

them to the house called Beautiful, at which place they
will rest next. So he took his Weapons and went before
them, and the Interpreter said, God speed. Those also
that belonged to the Family sent them away with many
a good wish. So they went on their way and sung,

This place has been our second stage.
Here we have heard and seen
Those good things that from age to age.
To others hid have been.

The Dunghill-raker, the Spider, Hen,
The Chicken too to me
Hath taught a lesson; let me then
Conformed to it be.

The Butcher, Garden, and the Field,
The Robin and his bait,
Also the Rotten Tree doth yield
Me argument of weight.

To move me for to watch and pray.
To strive to be sincere.
To take my Cross up day by day.
And serve the Lord with fear.

Now I saw in my Dream that they went on, and Great-
heart went before them; so they went and came to the
place where Christian's Burden fell ofl his back and tum-
bled into a Sepulchre. Here then they made a pause, and
here also they blessed God. Now said Christiana, it comes
to my mind what was said to us at the Gate, to wit, that
we should have pardon by tvord and deed: by tvord, that
is, by the promise; by deed, to wit, in the way it was
obtained. What the promise is, of that I know something;
but what it is to have pardon by deed, or in the way that
it was obtained, Mr Great-heart, I suppose you know;
wherefore if you please let us hear your discourse thereof.

Great-heart. Pardon by the deed done, is pardon ob-
tained by some one for another that hath need thereof,
not by the person pardoned, but in the way, saith another,
in which I have obtained it. So then to speak to the
question more large, the pardon that you and Mercy and
these Boys have attained, was obtained by another, to wit,

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 2I3

by him that let you in at the Gate; and he hath obtain'd
it in this double way, he has performed Righteousness to
cover you, and spilt Blood to wash you in.

Chris. But if he parts with his Righteousness to us,
what will he have for himself?

Great-heart. He has more Righteousness than you have
need of, or than he needeth himself.

Chris. Pray make that appear.

Great-heart. With all my heart; but first I must pre-
mise that he of whom we are now about to speak is one
that has not his fellow. He has two Natures in one
Person, plain to be distinguished, impossible to be
divided. Unto each of these Natures a Righteousness
belongeth, and each Righteousness is essential to that
Nature; so that one may as easily cause the Nature to be
extinct, as to separate its Justice or Righteousness from
it. Of these Righteousnesses therefore we are not made
partakers, so as that they, or any of them, should be put
upon us that we might be made just, and live thereby.
Besides these there is a Righteousness which this Person
has, as these two Natures are joined in one. And this is
not the Righteousness of the Godhead, as distinguished
from the Manhood; nor the Righteousness of the Man-
hood, as distinguished from the Godhead; but a Right-
eousness which standeth in the union of both Natures,
and may properly be called, the Righteousness that is
essential to his being prepared of God to the capacity
of the Mediatory Office which he was to be intrusted
with. If he parts with his first Righteousness, he parts
with his Godhead; if he parts with his second Righteous-
ness, he parts with the purity of his Manhood; if he parts
with this third, he parts with that perfection that capaci-
tates him to the Office of Mediation. He has therefore
another Righteousness, which standeth in performance,
or obedience to a revealed will, and that is that he puts
upon Sinners, and that by which their sins are covered.
Wherefore he saith, as by one man's disobedience many

214 PILGRIM S PRCX3RESS

were made Sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many
be made Righteous.

Chris. But are the other Righteousnesses of no use to
us?

Great-heart. Yes, for though they are essential to his
Natures and Office, and so cannot be communicated unto
another, yet it is by venue of them that the Righteousness
that justifies is for that purpose efficacious. The Right-
eousness of his Godhead gives virtue to his Obedience;
the Righteousness of his Manhood giveth capabiUty to
his obedience to justify; and the Righteousness that stand-
eth in the union of these two Natures to his Office, giveth
authority to that Righteousness to do the work for which
it is ordained.

So then here is a Righteousness that Christ as God has
no need of, for he is God without it; here is a Righteous-
ness that Christ as Man has no need of to make him so,
for he is perfect Man without it; again, here is a Right-
eousness that Christ as God-man has no need of, for he is
perfectly so without it. Here then is a Righteousness that
Christ, as God, as Man, as God-man, has no need of, with
reference to himself, and therefore he can spare it; a justi-
fying Righteousness that he for himself wanteth not,
and therefore he giveth it away; hence 'tis called the gift
of Righteousness. This Righteousness, since Christ Jesus
the Lord has made himself under the Law, must be given
away: for the Law doth not only bind him that is under
it to do justly, but to use Charity. Wherefore he must, he
ought by the Law, if he hath two Coats, to give one to
him that hath none. Now our Lord indeed hath two
Coats, one for himself, and one to spare; wherefore he
freely bestows one upon those that have none. And thus
Christiana, and Mercy, and the rest of you that are here,
doth your pardon come by deed, or by the work of an-
other man. Your Lord Christ is he that has worked, and
has given away what he wrought for to the next poor
beggar he meets.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 215

But again, in order to pardon by deed, there must
something be paid to God as a price, as well as something
prepared to cover us withal. Sin has delivered us up to the
just curse of a righteous Law; now from this curse we
must be justified by way of redemption, a price being paid
for the harms we have done; and this is by the Blood of
your Lord, who came and stood in your place and stead,
and died your death for your transgressions. Thus has
he ransomed you from your transgressions by Blood, and
covered your polluted and deformed souls with Right-
eousness. For the sake of which God passeth by you,
and will not hurt you when he comes to judge the World.

Chris. This is brave. Now I see that there was some- Christiana
thing to be learned by our being pardoned by word and ^j^ jj^j^
deed. Good Mercy, let us labour to keep this in mind, way of re-
and my Children, do you remember it also. But Sir, was ^"*'' '°°
not this it that made my good Christian's Burden fall
from off his shoulder, and that made him give three leaps
for joy?

Great-heart. Yes, 'twas the belief of this that cut those How the
strings that could not be cut by other means, and 'twas ,h""^und
to give him a proof of the vertue of this, that he was Christian's
suffered to carry his Burden to the Cross. to hUn

Chris. I thought so, for tho' my heart was lightful and were cut
joyous before, yet it is ten times more lightsome and
joyous now. And I am persuaded by what I have felt,
tho' I have felt but little as yet, that if the most burdened
man in the world was here, and did see and believe as I
now do, 'twould make his heart the more merry and
blithe.

Great-heart. There is not only comfort, and the ease of How af-
a Burden brought to us, by the sight and consideration (^^st is
of these, but an indcared affection begot in us by it; for ^s°^ 'o
who can, if he doth but once think that pardon comes, not
only by promise but thus, but be affected by the way and
means of his redemption, and so with the man that hath
wrought it for him?

the soul

2l6

Firjt Part,
p. 41

Cause of
admiration

To be af-
fected with
Christ and
with what
he has
done, is a
thinj;
special

Simple,
and Sloth,
and Pre-
sumption
hanged,
and why

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Chris. True, methinks it makes my heart bleed to
think that he should bleed for me. Oh! thou loving One.
Oh! thou blessed One. Thou deservest to have me, thou
hast bought me: thou deservest to have me all; thou hast
paid for me ten thousand times more than I am worth.
No marvel that this made the water stand in my Hus-
band's eyes, and that it made him trudge so nimbly on;
I am persuaded he wished me with him; but vile wretch
that I was, I let him come all alone. O Mercy, that thy
Father and Mother were here; yea, and Mrs Timorous
also; nay, I wish now with all my heart, that here was
Madam Wanton too. Surely, surely, their hearts would be
affected; nor could the fear of the one, nor the pxiwerful
lusts of the other, prevail with them to go home again,
and to refuse to become good Pilgrims.

Great-heart. You speak now in the warmth of your
affections: will it, think you, be always thus with you?
Besides, this is not communicated to every one, nor to
every one that did see your Jesus bleed. There was that
stood by, and that saw the Blood run from his heart to
the ground, and yet were so far off this, that instead of
lamenting, they laughed at him; and instead of becoming
his Disciples, did harden their hearts against him. So that
all that you have, my Daughters, you have by a peculiar
impression made by a divine contemplating upon what I
have spoken to you. Remember that 'twas told you, that
the Hen by her common call gives no meat to the
Chicf(ens. This you have therefore by a special Grace.

Now I saw still in my Dream, that they went on until
they were come to the place that Simple and Sloth and
Presumption lay and slept in, when Christian went by on
Pilgrimage. And behold they were hanged up in irons, a
little way off on the other side.

Mercy. Then said Mercy to him that was their Guide
and Conductor, What are those three men ? and for what
are they hanged there?

Great-heart. These three men were men of very bad

crimes

PILGRIMS PRCX3RESS 21 7

qualities, they had no mind to be Pilgrims themselves,
and whosoever they could they hindered. They were for
sloth and folly themselves, and whoever they could per-
suade with, they made so too, and withal taught them to
presume that they should do well at last. They were
asleep when Christian went by, and now you go by they
are hanged.

Behold here how the slothful are a sign.

Hung up 'cause holy ways they did decline.

See here too how the child doth play the man,

And weak grow strong when Great-heart leads the van.

Mercy. But could they persuade any to be of their
opinion ?

Great-heart. Yes, they turned several out of the way. Their
There was Slow-pace that they persuaded to do as they.
They also prevailed with one Short-wind, with one No-
heart, with one Linger-after-lust, and with one Sleepy-
head, and with a young woman her name was Dull, to Who they
turn out of the way and become as they. Besides they u[x>n'to
brought up an ill report of your Lord, persuading others turn <>"»
that he was a Task-master. They also brought up an evil
report of the good Land, saying 'twas not half so good
as some pretend it was. They also began to vilify his
Servants, and to count the very best of them meddlesome
troublesome busy-bodies. Further, they would call the
Bread of God Husl{s, the Comforts of his Children
Fancies, the Travel and Labour of Pilgrims things to no
purpose.

Chris. Nay, said Christiana, if they were such, they
shall never be bewailed by me. They have but what they
deserve, and I think it is well that they hang so near the
High-way that others may see and take warning. But
had it not been well if their crimes had been ingraven in
some plate of iron or brass, and left here, even where they
did their mischiefs, for a caution to other bad men?

Great-heart. So it is, as you well may perceive if you
will go a little to the Wall.

2l8'

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Mercy. No, no, let them hang, and their names rot,
and their crimes live for ever against them. I think it a
high favour that they were hanged afore we came hither,
who knows else what they might a done to such poor
women as we are? Then she turned it into a Song saying,

First Part,

P- 45

It is

difficult
getting
of good
doctrine in
erroneous
times

By-paths,
though
barred up,
will not
keep all
from going
in them

Now then you three, hang there and be a sign
To all that shall against the truth combine.
And let him that comes after fear this end.
If unto Pilgrims he is not a Friend.
And thou, my soul, of all such men beware.
That unto holiness opposers are.

Thus they went on, till they came at the foot of the
Hill Difficulty, where again their good Friend Mr Great-
heart, took an occasion to tell them of what happened
there when Christian himself went by. So he had them
first to the Spring. Lo, saith he, this is the Spring that
Christian drank of before he went up this Hill, and then
'twas clear and good, but now 'tis dirty with the feet of
some that are not desirous that Pilgrims here should
quench their thirst. Thereat Mercy said. And why so
envious, tro.^ But said the Guide, It will do, if taken up,
and put into a vessel that is sweet and good; for then
the dirt will sink to the bottom, and the water will come
out by itself more clear. Thus therefore Christiana and
her Companions were compelled to do. They took it up,
and put it into an earthen pot, and so let it stand till
the dirt was gone to the bottom, and then they drank
thereof.

Next he shewed them the two by-ways that were at
the foot of the Hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost
themselves. And said he, these are dangerous Paths. Two
were here cast away when Christian came by; and al-
though, as you see, these ways are since stopped up with
chains, posts and a ditch, yet there are that will chuse to
adventure here, rather than take the pains to go up this
Hill.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 219

Chris. The way of transgressors is hard. 'Tis a wonder
that they can get into those ways without danger of break-
ing their necks.

Great-heart. They will venture; yea, if at any time any
of the King's servants doth happen to see them, and doth
call unto them, and tell them that they are in the wrong
ways, and do bid them beware the danger, then they will
railingly return them answer and say. As for the word
that thou hast spo/^en unto us in the name of the King,
we will not hearl^en unto thee; but we will certainly do
whatsoever thing goeth out of our own mouths, &c. Nay
if you look a little farther, you shall see that these ways
are made cautionary enough, not only by these posts and
ditch and chain, but also by being hedged up; yet they
will chuse to go there.

Chris. They are idle, they love not to take pains, uphill "^ reason
way is unpleasant to them. So it is fulfilled unto them as j,, choose
it is written, The way of the slothful man is a Hedge of '» R" '"
Thorns. Yea, they will rather chuse to walk upon a
Snare, than to go up this Hill, and the rest of this way to
the City.

Then they set forward, and began to go up the Hill, ""^^ *•'"
and up the Hill they went; but before they got to the top, pilgrims
Christiana began to pant, and said, I dare say this is a •" •'
breathing Hill. No marvel if they that love their ease
more than their souls, chuse to themselves a smoother
way. Then said Mercy, I must sit down; also the least of
the Children began to cry. Come, come, said Great-heart,
sit not down here, for a little above is the Prince's Arbor.
Then took he the little Boy by the hand, and led him up
thereto.

When they were come to the Arbor, they were very They sit
willing to sit down, for they were all in a pelting heat, ^bo,*
Then said Mercy, How sweet is rest to them that labour.
And how good is the Prince of Pilgrims to provide such
resting-places for them. Of this Arbor I have heard much, R"» P»rt>
but I never saw it before. But here let us beware of ^^' ^^' ^

220

The little
boy's an-
fwer to
the guide,
and also
to Mercy

Which is
hardest,
up hill or
down hill?

They

refresh
themselves

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

sleeping; for as I have heard, for that it cost poor Christian
dear.

Then said Mr Great-heart to the Httle ones, Come my
pretty Boys, how do you do? What think you now of
going on Pilgrimage? Sir, said the least, I was almost
beat out of heart, but I thank you for lending me a hand
at my need. And I remember now what my Mother has
told me, namely. That the way to Heaven is as up a Lad-
der, and the way to Hell is as down a Hill. But I had
rather go up the Ladder to Life, than down the Hill to
Death.

Then said Mercy, But the Proverb is. To go down the
Hill is easy. But James said (for that was his name) The
day is coming when in my opinion going down Hill will
be the hardest of all. 'Tis a good Boy, said his Master,
thou hast given her a right answer. Then Mercy smiled,
but the little Boy did blush.

Chris. Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bit, a little
to sweeten your mouths, while you sit here to rest your
legs ? For I have here a piece of Pomgranate, which Mr
Interpreter put in my hand, just when I came out of his
doors. He gave me also a piece of an Hony<omb, and a
little Bottle of Spirits. I thought he gave you something,
said Mercy, because he called you a to-side. Yes, so he
did, said the other; but Mercy, it shall still be, as I said it
should, when at first we came from home, thou shalt be
a sharer in all the good that I have, because thou so will-
ingly didst become my Companion. Then she gave to
them, and they did eat, both Mercy and the Boys. And
said Christiana to Mr Great-heart, Sir, will you do as we ?
But he answered, You are going on Pilgrimage, and
presently I shall return: much good may what you have
do to you, at home I eat the same every day. Now when
they had eaten and drank, and had chatted a little longer,
their Guide said to them. The day wears away, if you
think good, let us prepare to be going. So they got up to
go, and the little Boys went before. But Christiana forgat

pp. 47. 48

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 221

to take her Bottle of Spirits with her, so she sent her little Christiana
Boy back to fetch it. Then said Mercy, I think this is a her bottle
losing place. Here Christian lost his Roll, and here Chris- of sp'"t*
tiana left her Bottle behind her. Sir, what is the cause of
this."* So their Guide made answer and said, The cause
is sleep or forgetfulness: some sleep when they should
keep aiva/^e, and some forget when they should remem-
ber; and this is the very cause, why often at the resting-
places, some Pilgrims in some things come off losers. Mark thb
Pilgrims should watch, and remember what they have
already received under their greatest enjoyment; but for
want of doing so, oft-times their Rejoicing ends in Tears, Rw Pat^
and their Sun-shine in a Cloud: witness the story of
Christian at this place.

When they were come to the place where Mistrust and
Timorous met Christian to persuade him to go back for
fear of the Lions, they perceived as it were a Stage, and
before it towards the Road a broad plate with a Copy of
Verses written thereon, and underneath, the reason of
raising up of that Stage in that place rendered. The
Verses were these:

Let him that sees this Stage take heed
Unto his Heart and Tongue;
Lest if he do not, here he speed
As some have long agone.

The words underneath the Verses were. This Stage
was built to punish such upon, who through timorous-
ness or mistrust, shall be afraid to go further on Pil-
grimage. Also on this Stage both Mistrust and Tim-
orous were burned through the Tongue with an hot
Iron, for endeavouring to hinder Christian in his Jour-
ney.

Then said Mercy, This is much like to the saying of the
Beloved, What shall be given unto thee? or what shall
be done unto thee, thou false Tongue? Sharp Arrows of
the mighty, with coals of Juniper.

222

First Part,

p. 48

An emblem
of those
that no on
bravely
when there
is no dan-
ger, but
shrink when
troubles
come

Of Grim
the Giant,
and of his
backing
the lions

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

So they went on, till they came within sight of the
Lions. Now Mr Great-heart was a strong man, so he was
not afraid of a Lion; but yet when they were come up to
the place where the Lions were, the Boys that went before
were glad to cringe behind, for they were afraid of the
Lions; so they stept back, and went behind. At this their
Guide smiled, and said, How now, my Boys, do you love
to go before when no danger doth approach, and love to
come behind so soon as the Lions appear?

Now as they went up, Mr Great-heart drew his Sword,
with intent to make a way for the Pilgrims in spite of the
Lions. Then there appeared one, that it seems, had taken
upon him to back the Lions; and he said to the Pilgrims'
Guide, What is the cause of your coming hither? Now
the name of that man was Grim, or Bloody-man, because
of his slaying of Pilgrims, and he was of the race of the
Giants.

Great-heart. Then said the Pilgrims' Guide, These
Women and Children are going on Pilgrimage, and this
is the way they must go, and go it they shall in spite of
thee and the Lions.

Grim. This is not their way, neither shall they go there-
in. I am come forth to withstand them, and to that end
will back the Lions.

Now to say truth, by reason of the fierceness of the
Lions, and of the grim carriage of him that did back
them, this way had of late lain much unoccupied, and
was almost all grown over with Grass.

Chris. Then said Christiana, Tho' the High-ways have
been un-occupied heretofore, and tho' the Travellers have
been made in time past to walk through by-paths, it
must not be so now I am risen, now I am risen a Mother
in Israel.

Grim. Then he swore by the Lions, but it should, and
therefore bid them turn aside, for they should not have
passage there.

Great-heart. But their Guide made first his approach

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 223

unto Grim, and laid so heavily at him with his Sword,
that he forced him to a retreat.

Grim. Then said he (that attempted to back the Lions)
Will you slay me upon mine own ground?

Great-heart. 'Tis the King's High-way that we are in, A fight

DCtWlXt

and in his way it is that thou hast placed thy Lions; but orim and

these Women and these Children, tho' weak, shall hold on ^'^**'

their way in spite of thy Lions. And with that he gave

him again a downright blow, and brought him upon his

knees. With this blow he also broke his Helmet, and with

the next he cut off an arm. Then did the Giant roar

so hideously, that his voice frighted the Women, and yet

they were glad to see him lie sprawling upon the ground.

Now the Lions were chained, and so of themselves could ^h^.

do nothing. Wherefore when old Grim that intended to

back them was dead, Mr Great-heart said to the Pilgrims,

Come now and follow me, and no hurt shall happen to

you from the Lions. They therefore went on, but the T^'V P»"

' Vt.wr M«M la AMU

Women trembled as they passed by them; the Boys also
looked as if they would die, but they all got by without
further hurt.

Now then they were within sight of the Porter's Lodge, Th«y <^o'"«
and they soon came up unto it; but they made the more ter'stoS^
haste after this to go thither, because 'tis dangerous
travelling there in the Night. So when they were come to
the Gate, the Guide knocked, and the Porter cried, Who
is there? But as soon as the Guide had said, It is I, he
knew his voice, and came down (for the Guide had oft
before that come thither as a Conductor of Pilgrims).
When he was come down, he opened the Gate, and see-
ing the Guide standing just before it (for he saw not the
Women, for they were behind him) he said unto
him, How now, Mr Great-heart, what is your business
here so late to-night? I have brought, said he, some Pil-
grims hither, where by my Lord's commandment they
must lodge. I had been here some time ago, had I not been
opposed by the Giant that did use to back the Lions; but

victory

by the lions

224

Great-heart
attempts to
go back

The pilgrims
implore his
company still

Help lost
for want
of asking
for

First Part,
P- 49

Christiana
makes her-
self known
to the
porter; he
tells it to
a damsel

Joy at
the noise
of the
pilgrims'
coming

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

I after a long and tedious combat with him, have cut
him off, and have brought the Pilgrims hither in
safety.

Porter. Will you not go in, and stay till morning?

Great-heart. No, I will return to my Lord to-night.

Chris. Oh Sir, I know not how to be willing you should
leave us in our Pilgrimage, you have been so faithful and
so loving to us, you have fought so stoutly for us, you
have been so hearty in counselling of us, that I shall
never forget your favour towards us.

Mercy. Then said Mercy, O that we might have thy
company to our Journey's end. How can such poor
Women as we hold out in a way so full of troubles as
this way is, without a Friend and Defender?

James. Then said James, the youngest of the Boys,
Pray Sir, be persuaded to go with us, and help us, because
we are so weak, and the way so dangerous as it is.

Great-heart. I am at my Lord's commandment. If he
shall allot me to be your Guide quite through, I will will-
ingly wait upon you. But here you failed at first; for
when he bid me come thus far with you, then you should
have begged me of him to have gone quite through with
you, and he would have granted your request. However
at present I must withdraw, and so, good Christiana,
Mercy, and my brave Children, Adieu.

Then the Porter, Mr Watchful, asked Christiana of her
Country, and of her Kindred. And she said, I came
from the City of Destruction, I am a Widow woman, and
my Husband is dead, his name was Christian the Pil-
grim. How, said the Porter, was he your Husband ? Yes,
said she, and these are his Children; and this, pointing to
Mercy, is one of my Towns-women. Then the Porter
rang his bell, as at such times he is wont, and there came
to the door one of the Damsels, whose name was Humble-
mind. And to her the Porter said. Go tell it within that
Christiana the Wife of Christian, and her Children, are
come hither on Pilgrimage. She went in therefore and

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 225

told it. But O what a noise for gladness was there within,
when the Damsel did but drop that word out of her
mouth.

So they came with haste to the Porter, for Christiana chrisuaiu'
stood still at the door. Then some of the most grave said kindled at
unto her, Come in Christiana, come in thou Wife of that '^le s'gbt
good man, come in thou blessed woman, come in with mother
all that are with thee. So she went in, and they followed
her that were her Children and her Companions. Now
when they were gone in, they were had into a very large
room, where they were bidden to sit down; so they sat
down, and the Chief of the house was called to see and
welcome the Guests. Then they came in, and understand-
ing who they were, did salute each other with a kiss, and
said. Welcome ye Vessels of the Grace of God, welcome
to us your Friends.

Now because it was somewhat late, and because the
Pilgrims were weary with their Journey, and also made
faint with the sight of the Fight and of the terrible Lions,
therefore they desired as soon as might be, to prepare to
go to rest. Nay, said those of the Family, refresh your-
selves first with a morsel of Meat. For they had prepared
for them a Lamb, with the accustomed Sauce belonging
thereto; for the Porter had heard before of their coming,
and had told it to them within. So when they had supped,
and ended their Prayer with a Psalm, they desired they
might go to rest. But let us, said Christiana, if we may be ^"" ^"*'
so bold as to chuse, be in that Chamber that was my
Husband's when he was here. So they had them up
thither, and they lay all in a room. When they were at Chrisfj
rest, Christiana and Mercy entred into discourse about -^ i^^\
things that were convenient. pilgrinu

Chris. Little did I think once, that when my Husband
went on Pilgrimage, I should ever a followed.

Mercy. And you as little thought of lying in his Bed
and in his Chamber to rest, as you do now.

Chris. And much less did I ever think of seeing his

226

Mercy did
laugh in
her sleep

Mercy's
dream

What her
dream was

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

face with comfort, and of worshipping the Lord the King
with him, and yet now I believe I shall.

Mercy. Hark, don't you hear a noise?

Chris. Yes, 'tis as I believe, a noise of Musick for joy
that we are here.

Mercy. Wonderful! Musick in the House, Musick in
the Heart, and Musick also in Heaven, for joy that we
are here.

Thus they talked awhile, and then betook themselves to
sleep. So in the morning, when they were awake, Chris-
tiana said to Mercy:

Chris. What was the matter that you did laugh in your
sleep to-night. I suppose you was in a Dream.

Mercy. So I was, and a sweet Dream it was, but are
you sure I laughed?

Chris. Yes, you laughed heartily; but prithee Mercy,
tell me thy dream.

Mercy. I was a dreamed that I sat all alone in a solitary
place, and was bemoaning of the hardness of my Heart.

Now I had not sat there long, but methought many
were gathered about me, to see me, and to hear what it
was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went on be-
moaning the hardness of my Heart. At this some of them
laughed at me, some called me Fool, and some began to
thrust me about. With that, methought I looked up, and
saw one coming with Wings towards me. So he came
directly to me, and said, Mercy, what aileth thee? Now
when he had heard me make my complaint, he said.
Peace he to thee. He also wiped mine eyes with his
Handkerchief, and clad me in Silver and Gold: he put
a Chain about my Neck, and Ear-rings in mine Ears, and
a beautiful Crown upon my Head. Then he took me by
the Hand, and said Mercy, come after me. So he went
up, and I followed, till we came at a Golden Gate. Then
he knocked; and when they within had opened, the
man went in, and I followed him up to a Throne, upon
which one sat, and he said to me, Welcome Daughter.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 227

The place looked bright and twinkling like the Stars, or
rather like the Sun, and I thought that I saw your Hus-
band there. So I awoke from my Dream. But did I
laugh ?

Chris. Laugh: ay, and well you might, to see yourself
so well. For you must give me leave to tell you, that I
believe it was a good Dream, and that as you have begun
to find the first part true, so you shall find the second
at last. Cod speal^s once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it
not. In a Dream, in a Vision of the night, when deep
sleep falleth upon men, in shimbring upon the bed. We
need not, when a-bed, lie awake to talk with God. He can
visit us while we sleep, and cause us then to hear his
voice. Our heart oft-times wakes when we sleep; and
God can speak to that, either by words, by Proverbs, by
Signs and Similitudes, as well as if one was awake.

Mercy. Well, I am glad of my Dream, for I hope ere Mercy
long to see it fulfilled, to the making of me laugh again, jrcam

Chris. I think it is now high time to rise, and to know
what we must do.

Mercy. Pray, if they invite us to stay a while, let us
willingly accept of the proffer. I am the willinger to stay
a while here, to grow better acquainted with these Maids.
Methinks Prudence Piety and Charity have very comely
and sober countenances.

Chris. We shall see what they will do. So when they
were up and ready, they came down. And they asked
one another of their rest, and if it was comfortable or not.

Mercy. Very good, said Mercy; it was one of the best
night's Lodging that ever I had in my life.

Then said Prudence and Piety, If you will be p)ersuaded They stay
to stay here a while, you shall have what the house will ^^ """*
afford.

Char. Ay, and that with a very good will, said Charity. Prudence
So they consented, and stayed there about a month or caTecWse
above, and became very profitable one to another. And Christiana's
because Prudence would see how Christiana had brought

228 pilgrim's progress

up her Children, she asked leave of her to catechise them.

So she gave her free consent. Then she began at the

youngest, whose name was fames.

Jama Prudence. And she said, Come fames, canst thou tell

catechised , i i ■<

who made thee:

fames. God the Father, God the Son, and God the
Holy Ghost.

Prud. Good Boy. And canst thou tell me who saves
thee?

fames. God the Father, God the Son, and God the
Holy Ghost.

Prud. Good Boy still. But how doth God the Father
save thee?

fames. By his Grace.

Prud. How doth God the Son save thee?

fames. By his Righteousness, Death, and Blood, and
Life.

Prud. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save
thee?

fames. By his Illumination, by his Renovation, and
by his Preservation.

Then said Prudence to Christiana, You are to be com-
mended for thus bringing up your Children. I suppose
I need not ask the rest these questions, since the young-
est of them can answer them so well. I will therefore now
apply myself to the youngest next.
Joseph Prud. Then she said, Come foseph (for his name was

foseph) will you let me catechise you?

foseph. With all my heart.

Prud. What is Man ?

foseph. A Reasonable Creature, so made by God, as
my Brother said.

Prud. What is supposed by this word saved?

foseph. That Man by Sin has brought himself into a
state of Captivity and Misery.

Prud. What is supposed by his being saved by the
Trinity ?

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 229

Joseph. That Sin is so great and mighty a Tyrant, that
none can pull us out of its clutches but God; and that
God is so good and loving to man, as to pull him indeed
out of this miserable state.

Prud. What is God's design in saving of poor Men?

Joseph. The glorifying of his Name, of his Grace and
Justice, &e. and the everlasting Happiness of his Crea-
ture.

Prud. Who are they that must be saved.

Joseph. Those that accept of his Salvation.

Prud. Good Boy, Joseph, thy Mother has taught thee
well, and thou hast hearkened to what she hath said unto
thee.

Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest but
one.

Prud. Come Samuel, are you willing that I should Samuel
catechise you also?

Samuel. Yes, forsooth, if you please.

Prud. What is Heaven?

Sam. A place and state most blessed, because God
dwelleth there.

Prud. What is Hell?

5am. A place and state most woful, because it is the
dwelling place of Sin, the Devil, and Death.

Prud. Why wouldst thou go to Heaven?

Sam. That I may see God, and serve him without
weariness; that I may see Christ, and love him everlast-
ingly; that I may have that fulness of the Holy Spirit in
me that I can by no means here enjoy.

Prud. A very good Boy also, and one that has learned
well.

Then she addressed herself to the eldest, whose name Matthew
was Matthew; and she said to him, Come Matthew, shall
I also catechise you?

Matthew. With a very good will.

Prud. I ask then, if there was ever anything that had a
being antecedent to or before God,

catechised

230

Prudence's
conclusion
upon the
catechising
of the boys

Mercy
hat a
sweetheart

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Matt. No, for God is eternal, nor is there anything
excepting himself that had a being until the beginning of
the first day. For in six days the Lord made Heaven and
Earth, the Sea and all that in them is.

Prud. What do you think of the Bible?

Matt. It is the Holy Word of God.

Prud. Is there nothing written therein but what you
understand ?

Matt. Yes a great deal.

Prud. What do you do when you meet with such places
therein that you do not understand ?

Matt. I think God is wiser than I. I pray also that he
will please to let me know all therein that he knows will
be for my good.

Prud. How believe you as touching the Resurrection of
the Dead?

Matt. I believe they shall rise, the same that was buried,
the same in nature, tho' not in corruption. And I believe
this upon a double account. First, because God has
promised it. Secondly, because he is able to perform it.

Then said Prudence to the Boys, You must still hearken
to your Mother, for she can learn you more. You must
also dihgently give ear to what good talk you shall hear
from others, for for your sakes do they speak good things.
Observe also and that with carefulness, what the Heavens
and the Earth do teach you; but especially be much in the
meditation of that Book that was the cause of your
Father's becoming a Pilgrim. I for my part, my Children,
will teach you what I can while you are here, and shall
be glad if you will ask me Questions that tend to godly
edifying.

Now by that these Pilgrims had been at this place a
week, Mercy had a visitor that pretended some good will
unto her, and his name was Mr Brisl{. A man of some
breeding, and that pretended to Religion, but a man that
stuck very close to the World. So he came once or twice
or more to Mercy, and offered love unto her. Now

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 23 1

Mercy was of fair countenance, and therefore the more
alluring.

Her mind also was, to be always busying of herself Mero's
in doing, for when she had nothing to do for herself, ^'"'*'"
she would be making of Hose and Garments for others,
and would bestow them upon them that had need. And
Mr Brisl{ not knowing where or how she disposed of
what she made, seemed to be greatly taken for that he
found her never idle. I will warrant her a good house-
wife, quoth he to himself.

Mercy then revealed the business to the Maidens that Mercy
were of the house, and enquired of them concerning him, tiK. maids
for they did know him better than she. So they told her concerning
that he was a very busy young man, and one that pre-
tended to Religion, but was as they feared, a stranger to
the Power of that which was good.

Nay then, said Mercy, I will look no more on him, for
I purpose never to have a clog to my soul.

Prudence then replied, That there needed no great mat-
ter of discouragement to be given to him, her continuing
so as she had began to do for the poor, would quickly cool
his courage.

So the next time he comes, he finds her at her old work, Tark
a making of things for the poor. Then said he. What, Merc" and
always at it ? Yes, said she, either for myself or for others. Mr Brisk
And what canst thou earn a day? quoth he. I do these
things, said she, that I may be rich in Good Worl{s, laying
up in store a good Foundation against the time to come,
that I may lay hold on Eternal Life. Why prithee what
dost thou with them ? said he. Cloath the naked, said she.
With that his countenance fell. So he forbore to come at He for-
her again. And when he was asked the reason why, he ^a%,hy'*
said that Mercy was a pretty lass, but troubled with ill
conditions.

When he had left her, Prudence said. Did I not tell
thee, that Mr Bris\ would soon forsake thee.? yea, he will
raise up an ill report of thee; for notwithstanding his

232

Mercy
in the
practice
of mercy
rejected;
while
Mercy in
the name
of mercy
is lilced

Mercy'i
resolution

How

Mercy's
sister was
served
by her
husband

Matthew
falU sick

Gripes of
conscience

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

pretence to Religion, and his seeming love to Mercy, yet
Mercy and he are of tempers so different, that I beheve
they will never come together.

Mercy. I might a had Husbands afore now, tho' I spake
not of it to any; but they were such as did not like my
Conditions, though never did any of them find fault with
my Person. So they and I could not agree.

Prud. Mercy in our days is little set by any further than
as to its Name; the Practice, which is set forth by thy
Conditions, there are but few that can abide.

Mercy. Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I
will die a Maid, or my Conditions shall be to me as a
Husband. For I cannot change my nature, and to have
one that lies cross to me in this, that I purpose never to
admit of as long as I live. I had a Sister named Bountiful,
that was married to one of these churls; but he and she
could never agree; but because my Sister was resolved to
do as she had began, that is, to shew kindness to the poor,
therefore her Husband first cried her down at the Cross,*
and then turned her out of his doors.

Prud. And yet he was a Professor, I warrant you.

Mercy. Yes, such a one as he was, and of such as he
the world is now full : but I am for none of them at all.

Now Matthew the eldest Son of Christiana fell sick,
and his sickness was sore upon him, for he was much
pained in his Bowels, so that he was with it at times,
pulled as 'twere both ends together. There dwelt also not
far from thence, one Mr S/^ill, an antient and well-ap-
proved Physician. So Christiana desired it, and they sent
for him, and he came. When he was entred the room, and
had a little observed the Boy, he concluded that he was
sick of the Gripes. Then he said to his Mother, What
diet has Matthew of late fed upon? Diet, said Chris-
tiana, nothing but that which is wholesome. The Physi-
cian answered. This Boy has been tampering with

' Gave notice that he would not be responsible for debts contracted
by his wife.

.»_

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 233

something that lies in his maw undigested, and that will The

not away without means. And I tell you he must be judgment'

purged, or else he will die.

Sam. Then said Samuel, Mother, Mother, what was Samuel
that which my Brother did gather up and eat, so soon mothe'/in
as we were cx)me from the Gate that is at the head of mind of the
this way? You know that there was an Orchard on the brmher*
left hand, on the other side of the wall, some of the did eat
trees hung over the wall, and my Brother did plash and
did eat.

Chris. True my Child, said Christiana, he did take
thereof and did eat, naughty Boy as he was. I did chide
him, and yet he would eat thereof.

5^/7/. I knew he had eaten something that was not
wholesome food, and that food, to wit, that Fruit, is even
the most hurtful of all. It is the Fruit of Beelzebub's
Orchard. I do marvel that none did warn you of it;
many have died thereof.

Chris. Then Christiana began to cry, and she said, O
naughty Boy, and O careless Mother, what shall I do for
my Son?

5^i7/. Come, do not be too much dejected; the Boy may
do well again, but he must purge and vomit.

Chris. Pray Sir, try the utmost of your skill with him
whatever it costs.

S^ill. Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable. So he made Potion
him a Purge, but it was too weak. *Twas said it was made
of the Blood of a Goat, the Ashes of a Heifer, and with
some of the Juice of Hyssop, &c. When Mr S/^ill had
seen that that Purge was too weak, he made him one to
the purpose, 'twas made Ex Carne & Sanguine Christi. The Latin
(You know Physicians give strange Medicines to their
Patients.) And it was made up into Pills, with a Promise
or two, and a proportionable quantity of Salt. Now he
was to take them three at a time fasting, in half a quarter
of a pint of the Tears of Repentance. When this Potion
was prepared and brought to the Boy he was loth to take

234

The boy
loath to
take the
physick

The mother
tastes it, and
persuades
him

A word of
God in the
hand of his
faith

This pill an

universal

remedy

In a glass

of the
tears of
repentance

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

it, tho' torn with the Gripes as if he should be pulled in
pieces. Come, come, said the Physician, you must take
it. It goes against my stomach, said the Boy. I must have
you take it, said his Mother. I shall vomit it up again,
said the Boy. Pray Sir, said Christiana to Mr Sl^ill, how
does it taste? It has no ill taste, said the Doctor, and with
that she touched one of the Pills with the tip of her
tongue. Oh Matthew, said she, this Potion is sweeter than
Hony. If thou lovest thy Mother, if thou lovest thy
Brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, if thou lovest thy Life, take
it. So with much ado, after a short prayer for the blessing
of God upon it, he took it, and it wrought kindly with
him. It caused him to purge, it caused him to sleep and
rest quiedy, it put him into a fine heat and breathing
sweat, and did quite rid him of his Gripes.

So in Utde time he got up and walked about with a
staff, and would go from room to room, and talk with
Prudence Piety and Charity of his Distemper, and how
he was healed.

So when the Boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr
Sl{ill, saying Sir, what will content you for your pains and
care to and of my Child ? And he said, You must pay the
Master of the College of Physicians, according to rules
made in that case and provided.

Chris. But Sir, said she, what is this Pill good for
else?

Sl{ill. It is a universal Pill, it is good against all the
diseases that Pilgrims are incident to, and when it is well
prepared, it will keep good time out of mind.

Chris. Pray Sir, make me up twelve boxes of them,
for if I can get these, I will never take other Physick.

5^///. These Pills are good to prevent diseases, as well
as to cure when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, and stand
to it, that if a man will but use this Physick as he should,
it will ma/^e him Hue for ever. But good Christiana, thou
must give these Pills no other way but as I have pre-
scribed, for if you do, they will do no good. So he gave

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

235

Of the
effects of
physick

Of Rre anil
of the sun

unto Christiana Physick for herself and her Boys and
for Mercy, and bid Matthew take heed how he eat any
more green Plums, and kissed them and went his way.

It was told you before that Prudence bid the Boys,
that if at any time they would, they should ask her some
Questions that might be profitable, and she would say
something to them.

Matt. Then Matthew who had been sick, asked her, <^ physick
Why for the most part Physicl^ should be hitter to our
palates?

Prud. To shew how unwelcome the Word of God and
the effects thereof are to a Carnal Heart.

Matt. Why does Physick, if it does good, purge, and
cause that we vomit?

Prud. To shew that the Word, when it works effec-
tually, cleanseth the Heart and Mind. For look, what the
one doth to the Body the other doth to the Soul.

Matt. What should we learn by seeing the Flame of
our Fire go upwards? and by seeing the Beams and sweet
Influences of the Sun strike downwards?

Prud. By the going up of the Fire we are taught to
ascend to Heaven by fervent and hot desires; and by the
Sun his sending his Heat Beams and sweet Influences
downwards, we are taught that the Saviour of the world,
tho' high, reaches down with his Grace and Love to us
below.

Matt. Where have the Clouds their water ?

Prud. Out of the Sea.

Matt. What may we learn from that?

Prud. That Ministers should fetch their Doctrine from
God.

Matt. Why do they empty themselves upon the Earth?

Prud. To shew that Ministers should give out what
they know of God to the World.

Matt. Why is the Rainbow caused by the Sun?

Prud. To shew that the covenant of God's Grace is
confirmed to us in Christ.

Of the
clouds

Of the
rainbow

236

Of the
springs

Of the
candl*

Of the
pelkan

Of the
cock

The weak
may some-
times call
the strong
to prayers

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Matt. Why do the Springs come from the Sea to us
through the Earth?

Prud. To shew that the Grace of God comes to us
through the Body of Christ.

Matt. Why do some of the Springs rise out of the tops
of high Hills?

Prud. To shew that the Spirit of Grace shall spring up
in some that are Great and Mighty, as well as in many
that are Poor and Low.

Matt. Why doth the Fire fasten upon the Candlewick ?

Prud. To shew that unless Grace doth kindle upon the
Heart, there will be no true Light of Life in us.

Matt. Why is the Wick and Tallow and all, spent to
maintain the light of the Candle?

Prud. To shew that Body and Soul and all, should be
at the service of, and spend themselves to maintain in
good condition, that Grace of God that is in us.

Matt. Why doth the Pelican pierce her own Breast
with her Bill?

Prud. To nourish her young ones with her Blood, and
thereby to shew that Christ the blessed so loved his young,
his p)eople, as to save them from Death by his Blood.

Matt. What may one learn by hearing the Cock to
crow ?

Prud. Learn to remember Peter's sin, and Pete/s re-
pentance. The Cock's crowing shews also that Day is
coming on; let then the crowing of the Cock put thee in
mind of that last and terrible Day of Judgment.

Now about this time their month was out, wherefore
they signified to those of the house that 'twas convenient
for them to up and be going. Then said Joseph to his
Mother, It is convenient that you forget not to send to the
house of Mr Interpreter, to pray him to grant that Mr
Great-heart should be sent unto us, that he may be our
Conductor the rest of our way. Good Boy, said she, I had
almost forgot. So she drew up a Petition, and prayed Mr
Watchful the Porter to send it by some fit man to her

sin IS
amazing

PILGRIM S PRCX3RESS 237

good Friend Mr Interpreter: who when it was come, and
he had seen the contents of the Petition, said to the Mes-
senger, Go tell them that 1 will send him.

When the Family where Christiana was, saw that they They pro-
had a purpose to go forward, they called the whole house gone on
together, to give thanks to their King for sending of them '*>eir way
such profitable Guests as these. Which done, they said to
Christiana, And shall we not shew thee something, ac-
cording as our custom is to do to Pilgrims, on which thou
mayest meditate when thou art upon the way? So they
took Christiana her Children and Mercy, into the closet,
and shewed them one of the Apples that Eve did eat of, EWi apple
and that she also did give to her Husband, and that for
the eating of which they both were turned out of Paradise,
and asked her what she thought that was? Then Chris-
tiana said, 'Tis Food or Poison, I know not which. So 4_"?*" °^
they opened the matter to her, and she held up her hands
and wondered.

Then they had her to a place, and shewed her Jacob's f^'°'' *
Ladder. Now at that time there were some Angels
ascending up)on it. So Christiana looked and looked, to
see the Angels go up, and so did the rest of the Company.
Then they were going in to another place to shew them
something else, but James said to his Mother, Pray bid A sight of
them stay here a little longer, for this is a curious sight. ,aking
So they turned again, and stood feeding their eyes with
this so pleasant a prospect. After this they had them into
a place where did hang up a Golden Anchor, so they bid Golden
Christiana take it down. For, said they, you shall have
it with you, for 'tis of absolute necessity that you should,
that you may lay hold of that within the vail, and stand
steadfast, in case you should meet with turbulent weather.
So they were glad thereof. Then they took them, and
had them to the Mount upon which Abraham our Father ^ Abra-
had offered up Isaac his Son, and shewed them the Altar, jn^ up
the Wood, the Fire, and the Knife, for they remain to be ■"»:
seen to this very day. When they had seen it, they held

238

Prudence's
virginals

Mr Great-
heart come
again

He brings
a token
from his
Lord
with him

Robbery

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

up their hands and blest themselves, and said, Oh what a
man for love to his Master, and for denial to himself was
Abraham. After they had shewed them all these things,
Prudence took them into the Dining-room, where stood
a pair of excellent Virginals, so she played upon them,
and turned what she had shewed them into this excellent
song, saying.

Eve's Apple we have shew'd you.

Of that be you aware;
You have seen Jacob's Ladder too.

Upon which Angels are.
An Anchor you received have,

But let not these suffice.
Until with Abr'am you have gave

Your best a Sacrifice.

Now about this time, one knocked at the door; so the
Porter opened, and behold Mr Great-heart was there; but
when he was come in, what joy was there? For it came
now fresh again into their minds, how but a while ago
he had slain old Grim Bloody-man the Giant, and de-
livered them from the Lions.

Then said Mr Great-heart to Christiana and to Mercy,
My Lord has sent each of you a Bottle of Wine, and also
some parched Corn, together with a couple of Pom-
granates. He has also sent the Boys some Figs and Raisins
to refresh you on your way.

Then they addressed themselves to their Journey, and
Prudence and Piety went along with them. When they
came at the gate, Christiana asked the Porter if any of late
went by.' He said, No, only one some time since, who
also told me that of late there had been a great robbery
committed on the King's Highway, as you go; but he
saith the thieves are taken, and will shortly be tried for
their lives. Then Christiana and Mercy were afraid, but
Matthew said. Mother fear nothing, as long as Mr Great-
heart is to go with us and to be our Conductor.

Then said Christiana to the Porter, Sir, I am much

pilgrim's PRCX3RESS 239

obliged to you for all the kindnesses that you have shewed Christiana
me since I came hither, and also for that you have been so \g^yg „(
loving and kind to my Children. I know not how to '^c Porter
gratify your kindness. Wherefore pray as a token of my
respects to you, accept of this small mite. So she put a
gold Angel in his hand, and he made her a low obeisance. The
and said, Let thy Garments be always white, and let thy blessing
Head want no Ointment. Let Mercy live and not die,
and let not her works be few. And to the Boys he said,
Do you fly youthful lusts, and follow after Godliness with
them that are grave and wise, so shall you put gladness
into your Mother's heart, and obtain praise of all that are
sober-minded. So they thanked the Porter and departed.
Now I saw in my Dream that they went forward until
they were come to the brow of the Hill, where Piety
bethinking herself, cried out, Alas! I have forgot what
I intended to bestow upon Christiana and her Com-
panions, I will go back and fetch it. So she ran and
fetched it. While she was gone, Christiana thought she
heard in a Grove a little way off on the right hand, a
most curious, melodious note, with words much like
these.

Through all my Life thy Favour is
So frankly shew'd to me,

That in thy House for evermore
My dwelling-place shall be.

And Ustening still she thought she heard another an-
swer it, saying,

For why? The Lord our God is good,

His Mercy is for ever sure;
His Truth at all times firmly stood.

And shall from age to age endure.

So Christiana asked Prudence what 'twas that made
those curious notes? They are, said she, our Country
Birds; they sing these notes but seldom, except it be at
the Spring, when the Flowers appear, and the Sun shines
warm, and then you may hear them all day long. I often.

240

Piety
bestoweth
something
on them
at parting

First Part,
p. 60

Mr Great-
heart at
the Valley
of Hu-
miliation

First Part,
p. 60

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

said she, go out to hear them, we also oft-times keep them
tame in our house. They are very fine company for us
when we are melancholy, also they make the Woods and
Groves and Solitary places, places desirous to be in.

By this time Piety was come again; so she said to
Christiana, Look here, I have brought thee a scheme of all
those things that thou hast seen at our house, uf)on which
thou mayest look when thou findest thyself forgetful,
and call those things again to remembrance for thy edifi-
cation and comfort.

Now they began to go down the Hill into the Valley of
Humiliation. It was a steep Hill, and the way was slip-
pery; but they were very careful, so they got down pretty
well. When they were down in the Valley, Piety said to
Christiana, This is the place where Christian your Hus-
band met with that foul Fiend Apollyon, and where they
had that Fight that they had; I know you cannot but have
heard thereof. But be of good courage; as long you have
here Mr Great-heart to be your Guide and Conductor, we
hope you will fare the better. So when these two had
committed the Pilgrims unto the conduct of their Guide,
he went forward and they went after.

Great-heart. Then said Mr Great-heart, we need not
to be so afraid of this Valley, for here is nothing to hurt us
unless we procure it to ourselves. 'Tis true. Christian did
here meet with Apollyon, with whom he also had a sore
Combat; but that jray was the fruit of those slips that he
got in his going down the Hill; for they that get slips
there, must look for combats here. And hence it is that
this Valley has got so hard a name; for the common
people when they hear that some frightful thing has
befallen such a one in such a place, are of an opinion
that that place is haunted with some foul Fiend or evil
Spirit; when alas it is for the fruit of their doing, that
such things do befall them there.

This Valley of Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a
place as any the Crow flies over; and I am persuaded if

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 24 1

we could hit upon it, we might find somewhere here- The ■■"-
abouts, something that might give us an account why christian
Christian was so hardly beset in this place. "" ^

Then James said to his Mother, Lo, yonder stands a
Pillar, and it looks as if something was written thereon, A pillar
let us go and see what it is. So they went, and found inscription
there written. Let Christian's slips before he came hither. °" "
and the Battles that he met with in this place, be a warn-
ing to those that come after. Lo, said their Guide, did not
I tell you that there was something hereabouts that would
give intimation of the reason why Christian was so hard
beset in this place? Then turning himself to Christiana,
he said. No disparagement to Christian more than to
many others whose hap and lot his was; for 'tis easier
going up than down this Hill, and that can be said but
of few Hills in all these parts of the world. But we will
leave the good man, he is at rest, he also had a brave
Victory over his Enemy, let him grant that dwelleth
above, that we fare no worse when we come to be tried
than he.

But we will come again to this Valley of Humiliation. This valley
It is the best and most fruitful piece of ground in all pij"'
those parts. It is fat ground, and as you see, consisteth
much in meadows; and if a man was to come here in the
Summer-time, as we do now, if he knew not anything
before thereof, and if he also delighted himself in the
sight of his eyes, he might see that that would be delight-
ful to him. Behold how green this Valley is, also how
beautified with Lillies. I have also known many labour-
ing men that have got good estates in this Valley of Men thrive
Humiliation (for God resisteth the Proud, but gives more \^y „£ hu-
Grace to the Humble) for indeed it is a very fruitful soil, miliation
and doth bring forth by handfuls. Some also have wished
that the next way to their Father's house were here, that
they might be troubled no more with either Hills or
Mountains, to go over; but the way is the way, and there's
an end.

242

Phil. iv.
12, 13

Heb. xiii. 5

Christ,
when in
the flesh,
had his
country-
house
in the Val-
ley of Hu-
Ruliation

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Now as they were going along and talking, they espied
a Boy feeding his Father's Sheep. The Boy was in very
mean cloaths, but of a very fresh and well-favoured coun-
tenance, and as he sate by himself, he sung. Hark, said
Mr Great-heart, to what the Shepherd's Boy saith. So
they hearkened, and he said,

He that is down needs fear no fall,

He that is low no pride;
He that is humble, ever shall

Have God to be his Guide.
I am content with what I have,

Little be it, or much:
And Lord, contentment still I crave.

Because thou savest such.
Fulness to such a burden is

That go on Pilgrimage;
Here litde, and hereafter Bliss,

Is best from age to age.

Then said their Guide, Do you hear him.' I will dare
to say, that this Boy lives a merrier life, and wears more
of that Herb called Heart's-ease in his bosom, than he
that is clad in Silk and Velvet; but we will proceed in
our discourse.

In this Valley our Lord formerly had his Country-
house; he loved much to be here; he loved also to walk
these Meadows, for he found the air was pleasant. Be-
sides here a man shall be free from the noise, and from
the hurryings of this life. All states are full of Noise
and Confusion, only the Valley of Humiliation is that
empty and solitary place. Here a man shall not be so let
and hindred in his Contemplation, as in other places he is
apt to be. This is a Valley that nobody walks in, but
those that love a Pilgrim's life. And tho' Christian had
the hard hap to meet here with Apollyon, and to enter
with him a brisk encounter, yet I must tell you, that in
former times men have met with Angels here, have
found Pearls here, and have in this place found the words
of Life.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 243

Did I say our Lord had here in former days his Coun-
try-house, and that he loved here to walk? I will add,
in this place, and to the people that live and trace these
Grounds, he has left a yearly revenue to be faithfully
payed them at certain seasons, for their maintenance by
the way, and for their further encouragement to go on in
their Pilgrimage.

Samuel. Now as they went on, Samuel said to Mr
Great-heart, Sir, I perceive that in this Valley my Father
and Apollyon had their Battle, but whereabout was the
Fight, for I perceive this Valley is large?

Great-heart. Your Father had that Battle with Apol- Forgetful
lyon at a place yonder before us, in a narrow passage just
beyond Forgetful Green. And indeed that place is the
most dangerous place in all these parts. For if at any
time the Pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they
forget what favours they have received, and how un-
worthy they are of them. This is the place also where
others have been hard put to it; but more of the place
when we are come to it; for I persuade myself that to this
day there remains either some sign of the Battle, or some
Monument to testify that such a Battle there was fought.

Mercy. Then said Mercy, I think I am as well in this Humility
Valley as I have been anywhere else in all our Journey, grace
the place methinks suits with my spirit. I love to be in
such places where there is no rattling with Coaches, nor
rumbling with Wheels. Methinks here one may without
much molestation, be thinking what he is, whence he
came, what he has done, and to what the King has called
him. Here one may think, and break at heart, and melt
in one's spirit, until one's eyes become like the Fishpools
of Heshbon. They that go rightly through this Valley
of Baca make it a Well, the Rain that God sends down
from Heaven upon them that are here also filleth the
Pools. This Valley is that from whence also the King
will give to their vineyards, and they that go through
it shall sing, as Christian did for all he met with Apollyon.

244

An experi-
ment of it

The place
where
Christian
and the
fiend did
fight

Some signs
of the
battle
remain

A monu-
ment of
the battle

A monu-
ment of
Christian's
victory

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Great-heart. 'Tis true, said their Guide, I have gone
through this Valley many a time, and never was better
than when here.

I have also been a Conduct to several Pilgrims, and they
have confessed the same. To this man will I lool{, saith
the King, even to him that is Poor, and of a Contrite
Spirit, and that trembles at my Word.

Now they were come to the place where the afore
mentioned Battle was fought. Then said the Guide to
Christiana her Children and Mercy, This is the place,
on this ground Christian stood, and up there came Apol-
lyon against him. And look, did not I tell you? Here is
some of your Husband's Blood upon these stones to this
day; behold also how here and there are yet to be seen
upon the place some of the shivers of Apollyon's broken
Darts. See also how they did beat the ground with their
feet as they fought, to make good their places against
each other, how also with their by-blows they did split
the very stones in pieces. Verily Christian did here play
the man, and shewed himself as stout, as could, had he
been there, even Hercules himself. When Apollyon was
beat, he made his retreat to the next Valley, that is called
the Valley of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall
come anon.

Lo yonder also stands a Monument, on which is en-
graven this Battle, and Christian's Victory, to his fame
throughout all ages. So because it stood just on the way-
side before them, they stept to it and read the writing,
which word for word was this.

Hard by here was a Battle fought.

Most strange, and yet most true;
Christian and Apollyon sought

Each other to subdue.
The Man so bravely play'd the Man,

He made the Fiend to fly;
Of which a Monument I stand,

The same to testify.

,»

p. 65

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 245

When they had passed by this place, they came upon First Pan,
the borders of the Shadow of Death; and this Valley was
longer than the other; a place also most strangely haunted
with evil things, as many are able to testify. But these
Women and Children went the better through it because
they had day-light, and because Mr Great-heart was their
Conductor.

When they were entred upon this Valley, they thought Groaningi
that they heard a groaning as of dead men, a very great
groaning. They thought also they did hear words of
Lamentation spoken, as of some in extreme Torment.
These things made the Boys to quake, the Women also
looked pale and wan; but their Guide bid them be of
good comfort.

So they went on a little further, and they thought that TJ" ground
they felt the ground begin to shake under them, as if
some hollow place was there; they heard also a kind of
hissing as of Serpents, but nothing as yet appeared. Then
said the Boys, Are we not yet at the end of this doleful
place? But the Guide also bid them be of good courage,
and look well to their feet, lest haply, said he, you be
taken in some Snare.

Now James began to be sick, but I think the cause !»>"« »^^
thereof was fear; so his Mother gave him some of that
glass of Spirits that she had given her at the Interpreter's
house, and three of the Pills that Mr 5^/7/ had prepared,
and the Boy began to revive. Thus they went on till they
came to about the middle of the Valley, and then Chris-
tiana said, Methinks I see something yonder upon the Th* fi*™*
road before us, a thing of such a shape such as I have
not seen. Then said Joseph, Mother, what is it ? An ugly
thing, Child, an ugly thing, said she. But Mother, what
is it like? said he. 'Tis like I cannot tell what, said she. J."?* .
And now it was but a little way off. Then said she, It are afraid
is nigh.

Well, well, said Mr Great-heart, Let them that are most

246

Great-
heart

encourages
them

A lion

A pit and
darkness

Christiana
now knows
what her
husband
felt

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

afraid keep close to me. So the Fiend came on, and the
Conductor met it; but when it was just come to him, it
vanished to all their sights. Then remembred they what
had been said some time ago, Resist the Devil, and he
will fly from you.

They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed; but
they had not gone far, before Mercy looking behind her,
saw, as she thought, something most like a Lion, and it
came a great padding pace after; and it had a hollow
Voice of Roaring, and at every Roar that it gave it made
all the Valley echo, and their hearts to ake, save the heart
of him that was their Guide. So it came up, and Mr
Great-heart went behind, and put the Pilgrims all before
him. The Lion also came on apace, and Mr Great-heart
addressed himself to give him Battle. But when he saw
that it was determined that resistance should be made,
he also drew back and came no further.

Then they went on again, and their Conductor did go
before them, till they came at a place where was cast up a
Pit the whole breadth of the way, and before they could
be prepared to go over that, a great Mist and a Darkness
fell upon them, so that they could not see. Then said the
Pilgrims, Alas! now what shall we do? But their Guide
made answer, Fear not, stand still and see what an end
will be put to this also. So they stayed there because
their path was marr'd. They then also thought that
they did hear more apparently the noise and rushing of
the Enemies, the fire also and the smoke of the Pit was
much easier to be discerned. Then said Christiana to
Mercy, Now I see what my poor Husband went through,
I have heard much of this place, but I never was here
afore now. Poor man, he went here all alone in the night;
he had night almost quite through the way; also these
Fiends were busy about him as if they would have torn
him in pieces. Many have spoke of it, but none can tell
what the Valley of the Shadow of Death should mean,
until they come in it themselves. The heart \nows its

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 247

own Bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its
Joy. To be here is a fearful thing.

Great-heart. This is like doing business in great Great-heart'*
Waters, or like going down into the deep; this is like ^^
being in the heart of the Sea, and like going down to the
bottoms of the Mountains; now it seems as if the Earth
with its bars were about us for ever. But let them that
wall{ in Darkness and have no Light, trust in the name of
the Lord, and stay upon their God. For my part, as I
have told you already, I have gone often through this
Valley, and have been much harder put to it than now I
am, and yet you see I am alive. I would not boast, for
that I am not mine own saviour, but I trust we shall have
a good Deliverance. Come let us pray for Light to him
that can lighten our Darkness, and that can rebuke not
only these, but all the Satans in Hell.

So they cried and prayed, and God sent Light and '^'V P"y
Deliverance, for there was now no let in their way, no not
there where but now they were stopt with a Pit. Yet they
were not got through the Valley; so they went on still,
and behold great stinks and loathsome smells, to the
great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to Christiana,
There is not such pleasant being here as at the Gate, or at
the Interpreter's, or at the house where we lay last.

Oh but, said one of the Boys, it is not so bad to go One of the
through here as it is to abide here always, and for ought *' "'^ ^
I know, one reason why we must go this way to the
house prepared for us, is, that our home might be made
the sweeter to us.

Well said Samuel, quoth the Guide, thou hast now
spoke like a man. Why, if ever I get out here again, said
the Boy, I think I shall prize light and good way better
than ever I did in all my life. Then said the Guide, We
shall be out by and by.

So on they went, and Joseph said. Cannot we see to the Heedless is
end of this Valley as yet? Then said the Guide, Look Take-heed
to your feet, for you shall presently be among the Snares, preserved

248

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

So they looked to their feet and went on, but they were
troubled much with the Snares. Now when they were
come among the Snares, they espied a man cast into the
Ditch on the left hand, with his flesh all rent and torn.
Then said the Guide, That is one Heedless, that was a
going this way, he has lain there a great while. There
was one Taf^e-heed with him when he was taken and
slain, but he escaped their hands. You cannot imagine
how many are killed hereabouts, and yet men are so
foolishly venturous, as to set out lightly on Pilgrimage,
Pint Part, and to come without a Guide. Poor Christian, it was
**■ ^ a wonder that he here escaped; but he was beloved of his

God, also he had a good heart of his own, or else he could
never a done it. Now they drew towards the end of the
way, and just there where Christian had seen the Cave
Maul, a when he went by, out thence came forth Maul a Giant.
*""' This A/a«/ did use to spoil young Pilgrims with Sophis-

try; and he called Great-heart by his name, and said unto
him, How many times have you been forbidden to do
these things? Then said Mr Great-heart, What things?
What things? quoth the Giant, you know what things,
but I will put an end to your trade. But pray, said Mr
Great-heart, before we fall to it, let us understand where-
He quarrels fore we must fight. Now the Women and Children stood
J^ ' trembling, and knew not what to do. Quoth the Giant,
You rob the Country, and rob it with the worst of thefts.
These are but generals, said Mr Great-heart, come to
particulars, man.
God's Then said the Giant, Thou practisest the craft of a

roumed as Kidnapper, thou gatherest up Women and Children,
kidnappers and carriest them into a strange Country, to the weaken-
ing of my master's Kingdom. But now Great-heart
replied, I am a servant of the God of Heaven, my busi-
ness is to persuade sinners to repentance, I am com-
manded to do my endeavour to turn Men Women and
Children, from darkness to light, and from the power of

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 249

Satan to God; and if this be indeed the ground of thy
quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt.

Then the Giant came up, and Mr Great-heart went to 1T>e giant
meet him; and as he went he drew his Sword, but the Mr. Great-
Giant had a Club. So without more ado they fell to it, heart must
and at the first blow the Giant stroke Mr Great-heart
down upon one of his knees; with that the Women and
Children cried out ; so Mr Great-heart recovering him- Weak folks'
self, laid about him in full lusty manner, and gave the son^etimes
Giant a wound in his arm; thus he fought for the space help strong
of an hour to that height of heat, that the breath came
out of the Giant's nostrils, as the heat doth out of a boil-
ing Caldron.

Then they sat down to rest them, but Mr Great-heart
betook him to prayer; also the Women and Children did
nothing but sigh and cry all the time that the Battle did
last.

When they had rested them, and taken breath, they The giant
both fell to it again, and Mr Great-heart with a full blow
fetched the Giant down to the ground. Nay hold and
let me recover, quoth he. So Mr Great-heart fairly let
him get up. So to it they went again, and the Giant
missed but little of all to breaking Mr Great-heart's skull
with his Club.

Mr Great-heart seeing that, runs to him in the full heat
of his spirit, and pierceth him under the fifth rib; with
that the Giant began to faint, and could hold up his
Club no longer. Then Mr Great-heart seconded his blow,
and smit the head of the Giant from his shoulders. Then
the Women and Children rejoiced, and Mr Great-heart
also praised God for the deliverance he had wrought.

When this was done, they among them erected a Pil- He is slain,
lar, and fastned the Giant's head thereon, and wrote disposed of
underneath in letters that Passengers might read.

He that did wear this head, was one
That Pilgrims did misuse;

250

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

He stopt their way, he sfiared none,
But did them all abuse;

Until that I Great-heart arose.
The Pilgrim's Guide to be;

Until that I did him oppose
That was their Enemy.

Fint Part,
p. 70

Discourse
of the fight

Matthew
here
admires
goodness

Now I saw that they went to the Ascent that was a
little way off cast up to be a Prospect for Pilgrims, (that
was the place from whence Christian had the first sight
of Faithful his Brother) wherefore here they sat down
and rested, they also here did eat and drink and make
merry, for that they had gotten deliverance from this so
dangerous an Enemy. As they sat thus and did eat,
Christiana asked the Guide if he had caught no hurt in
the Battle. Then said Mr Great-heart, No, save a little
on my flesh; yet that also shall be so far from being to
my determent, that it is at present a proof of my love to
my Master and you, and shall be a means by Grace to
increase my reward at last.

Chris. But was you not afraid, good Sir, when you see
him come out with his club?

Great-heart. It is my duty, said he, to distrust mine
own ability, that I may have reliance on him that is
stronger than all.

Chris. But what did you think when he fetched you
down to the ground at the first blow?

Great-heart. Why I thought, quoth he, that so my Mas-
ter himself was served, and yet he it was that conquered
at the last.

Matt. When you all have thought what you please, I
think God has been wonderful good unto us, both in
bringing us out of this Valley, and in delivering us out
of the hand of this Enemy; for my part I see no reason
why we should distrust our God any more, since he has
now, and in such a place as this, given us such testimony
of his love as this.

Then they got up and went forward. Now a little

pilgrim's progress 251

before them stood an Oak, and under it when they came O'd Honest
to it, they found an old Pilgrim fast asleep; they knew j^ ^^
that he was a Pilgrim by his Cloaths and his Staff and
his Girdle.

So the Guide Mr Great-heart awaked him, and the old
Gentleman as he lift up his eyes, cried out. What's the
matter ? who are you ? and what is your business here ?

Great-heart. Come man be not so hot, here is none
but Friends: yet the old man gets up and stands upon
his guard, and will know of them what they were. Then
said the Guide, My name is Great-heart, I am the Guide
of these Pilgrims which are going to the Ccelestial
Country.

Honest. Then said Mr Honest, I cry you mercy, I O"*^ s?'"'
fear'd that you had been of the company of those that takes
some time ago did rob Little-faith of his money; but now another
I look better about me, I perceive you are honester people, enemy

Great-heart. Why what would or could you a done Talk
to a helped yourself, if we indeed had been of that com- GrJa""
pany ? heart

Hon. Done! why I would a fought as long as breath
had been in me; and had I so done, I am sure you could
never have given me the worst on't; for a Christian can
never be overcome, unless he shall yield of himself.

Great-heart. Well said. Father Honest, quoth the
Guide, for by this I know thou art a cock of the right
kind, for thou hast said the truth.

Hon. And by this also I know that thou knowest what

true Pilgrimage is, for all others do think that we are

the soonest overcome of any.

Great-heart. Well now we are so happily met, pray let Whence

J , r u I Mr Honest

me crave your name, and the name of the place you came (.a^e

from.

Hon. My name I cannot, but I came from the Town
of Stupidity, it lieth about four degrees beyond the City
of Destruction.

Great-heart. Oh! are you that Countryman then.'' I

252

Stupefied
ones are
worse than
those
merely
carnal

Old Honest
and

Christiana
talk

He also
talks with
the boys

Old Mr

Honest's
blessioK
on them

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

deem I have half a guess of you, your name is Old Hori'
esty, is it not ? So the old Gentleman blushed, and said,
Not Honesty in the abstract, but Honest is my name, and
I wish that my nature shall agree to what I am called.

Hon. But Sir, said the old Gentleman, how could you
guess that I am such a man, since I came from such a
place ?

Great-heart. I had heard of you before, by my Master,
for he knows all things that are done on the Earth; but
I have often wondered that any should come from your
place, for your Town is worse than is the City of Destruc-
tion itself.

Hon. Yes, we lie more off from the Sun, and so are
more cold and senseless; but was a man in a Mountain
of Ice, yet if the Sun of Righteousness will arise uf)on
him, his frozen heart shall feel a thaw; and thus it hath
been with me.

Great-heart. I believe it. Father Honest, I believe it, for
I know the thing is true.

Then the old Gentleman saluted all the Pilgrims with
a holy kiss of charity, and asked them of their names,
and how they had fared since they set out on their
Pilgrimage.

Chris. Then said Christiana, My name I suppose you
have heard of, good Christian was my Husband.and these
four were his Children. But can you think how the old
Gentleman was taken, when she told them who she was!
He skipped, he smiled, and blessed them with a thousand
good wishes, saying,

Hon. I have heard much of your Husband, and of his
travels and Wars which he underwent in his days. Be
it spoken to your comfort, the name of your Husband
rings over all these parts of the world: his Faith, his
Courage, his Enduring, and his Sincerity under all, has
made his name famous. Then he turned him to the Boys,
and asked them of their names, which they told him.
And then said he unto them, Matthew, be thou like

,>_

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 253

Matthew the Publican, not in vice but in vertue. Samuel,
said he, be thou hke Samuel the Prophet, a man of jaith
and prayer. Joseph, said he, be thou Hke Joseph in Poti-
phar's house, chaste, and one that flies from temptation.
And James be thou hke James the Just and Hke James
the Brother of our Lord.

Then they told him of Mercy, and how she had left her JJ« blesseth
Town and her Kindred to come along with Christiana
and with her Sons. At that the old honest man said,
Mercy is thy name? by Mercy shall thou be sustained,
and carried through all those difficulties that shall assault
thee in thy way, till thou shalt come thither where thou
shah look the Fountain of Mercy in the face with comfort.

All this while the Guide Mr Great-heart was very much
pleased, and smiled upon his Companion.

Now as they walked along together, the Guide asked ^""'J'^
the old Gentleman if he did not know one Mr Fearing, Fearing
that came on Pilgrimage out of his parts?

Hon. Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had
the root of the matter in him, but he was one of the most
troublesome Pilgrims that ever I met with in all my days.

Great-heart. I perceive you knew him, for you have
given a very right character of him.

Hon. Knew him! I was a great Companion of his;
I was with him most an end; when he first began to
think of what would come upon us hereafter, I was with
him.

Great-heart. I was his Guide from my Master's house
to the gates of the Ccelestial City.

Hon. Then you knew him to be a troublesome one.

Great-heart. I did so, but I could very well bear it, for
men of my calling are oftentimes intrusted with the
conduct of such as he was.

Hon. Well then, pray let us hear a little of him, and
he managed himself under your conduct.

Great-heart. Why, he was always afraid that he should
come short of whither he had a desire to go. Everything

254

Mr Fear-
ing's trou-
blesome
pilgrimage

His be-
haviour at
the Slough
of Dispond

Hb be-
haviour at
the gate

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

frightned him that he heard anybody speak of, that had
but the least appearance of opp)osition in it. I hear that
he lay roaring at the Slough of Dispond for above a
month together, nor durst he, for all he saw several go
over before him, venture, tho' they, many of them, offered
to lend him their hand. He would not go back again
neither. The Coelestial City, he said, he should die if he
came not to it, and yet was dejected at every difficulty,
and stumbled at every Straw that anybody cast in his
way. Well, after he had lain at the Slough of Dispond a
great while, as I have told you; one Sun-shine morning,
I do not know how, he ventured, and so got over. But
when he was over, he would scarce believe it. He had, I
think, a Slough of Dispond in his mind, a Slough that
he carried everywhere with him, or else he could never
have been as he was. So he came up to the Gate, you
know what I mean, that stands at the head of this way,
and there also he stood a good while before he would
adventure to knock. When the Gate was opened he
would give back, and give place to others, and say that
he was not worthy; for for all he gat before some to the
Gate, yet many of them went in before him. There the
poor man would stand shaking and shrinking; I dare
say it would have pitied one's heart to have seen him,
nor would he go back again. At last he took the Ham-
mer that hanged on the Gate in his hand, and gave a
small Rap or two; then one opened to him, but he shrank
back as before. He that opened stept out after him, and
said, Thou trembling one, what wantest thou? With that
he fell down to the ground. He that spoke to him won-
dered to see him so faint. So he said to him. Peace be to
thee, up, for I have set ojjen the door to thee, come in,
for thou art blest. With that he gat up, and went in
trembling, and when he was in, he was ashamed to shew
his face. Well, after he had been entertained there a
while, as you know how the manner is, he was bid go on
his way, and also told the way he should take. So he

pilgrim's progress 255

came till he came to our house. But as he behaved him- ||'".'*'
self at the Gate, so he did at my Master the Interpreter's ,hc inter-
door. He lay thereabout in the cold a good while, before preter's
he would adventure to call, yet he would not go back, and
the nights were long and cold then. Nay he had a Note
of Necessity in his bosom to my Master, to receive him
and grant him the comfort of his house, and also to allow
him a stout and valiant Conduct because he was himself
so chicf^in-hearted a man; and yet for all that he was
afraid to call at the door. So he lay up and down there-
abouts till, poor man, he was almost starved. Yea so
great was his Dejection, that tho' he saw several others
for knocking got in, yet he was afraid to venture. At last,
I think I looked out of the window, and perceiving a
man to be up and down about the door, I went out to
him, and asked what he was; but, poor man, the water
stood in his eyes; so I perceived what he wanted. I went
therefore in and told it in the house, and we shewed the
thing to our Lord. So he sent me out again, to entreat How he
him to come in ; but I dare say I had hard work to do it. ^^° jJe„
At last he came in, and I will say that for my Lord, he
carried it wonderful lovingly to him. There were but few
good bits at the Table but some of it was laid upon his
trencher. Then he presented the Note, and my Lord
looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted.
So when he had been there a good while, he seemed to He is a
get some heart, and to be a little more comfortable; for c'ouraired
my Master, you must know, is one of very tender bowels, at the In-
specially to them that are afraid; wherefore he carried it ^^la^x "'
so towards him as might tend most to his encouragement.
Well, when he had had a sight of the things of the place,
and was ready to take his Journey to go to the City, my
Lord, as he did to Christian before, gave him a Bottle of
Spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we
set forward, and I went before him; but the man was
but of few words, only he would sigh aloud.
When we were come to where the three fellows were

256

He was

greatly
afraid
when he
saw the
gibbet;
cheery
when he
saw (he

Dumpish
at the
House
Beautiful

He went
down into,
and was
very pleas-
ant in the
Valley
of Hu-
miliation

Much per-
plexed in
the Valley of
the Shadow
of Death

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

hanged, he said that he doubted that that would be his
end also. Only he seemed glad when he saw the Cross
and the Sepulchre. There I confess he desired to stay a
little to look, and he seemed for a while after to be a little
cheery. When we came to the Hill Difficulty, he made
no stick at that, nor did he much fear the Lions; for you
must know that his trouble was not about such things
as those, his fear was about his acceptance at last.

I got him in at the House Beautiful, I think, before
he was willing. Also when he was in, I brought him
acquainted with the Damsels that were of the place, but
he was ashamed to make himself much for company.
He desired much to be alone, yet he always loved good
talk, and often would get behind the Screen to hear it.
He also loved much to see antient things, and to be
pondering them in his mind. He told me afterwards that
he loved to be in those two houses from which he came
last, to wit, at the Gate, and that of the Interpreters, but
that he durst not be so bold to ask.

When we went also from the House Beautiful, down
the Hill into the Valley of Humiliation, he went down
as well as ever I saw man in my life; for he cared not how
mean he was, so he might be happy at last. Yea, I think
there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that Valley and
him, for I never saw him better in all his Pilgrimage than
when he was in that Valley.

Here he would lie down, embrace the ground and kiss
the very Flowers that grew in this Valley. He would now
be up every morning by break of day, tracing and walk-
ing to and fro in this Valley.

But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of
the Shadow of Death, I thought I should have lost my
man; not for that he had any inclination to go back, that
he always abhorred, but he was ready to die for fear. O,
the Hobgoblins will have me, the Hobgoblins will have
me, cried he, and I could not beat him out on't. He made
such a noise and such an outcry here, that, had they but

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

heard him, 'twas enough to encourage them to come and
fall upon us.

But this I took very great notice of, that this Valley
was as quiet while he went through it, as ever I knew
it before or since. I suppose these Enemies here had now
a special check from our Lord, and a command not to
meddle until Mr Fearing was past over it.

It would be too tedious to tell you of all. We will there-
fore only mention a passage or two more. When he was
come at Vanity Fair, I thought he would have fought
with all the men in the Fair. I feared there we should
both have been knock'd o' the head, so hot was he against
their fooleries. Upon the Inchanted Ground he was also
very wakeful. But when he was come at the River where
was no Bridge, there again he was in a heavy case. Now,
now, he said, he should be drowned for ever, and so never
see that face with comfort that he had come so many
miles to behold.

And here also I took notice of what was very remark-
able, the Water of that River was lower at this time than
ever I saw it in all my life. So he went over at last, not
much above wet-shod. When he was going up to the
Gate, Mr Great-heart began to take his leave of him, and
to wish him a good reception above. So he said, / shall,
I shall. Then parted we asunder, and I saw him no more.

Hon. Then it seems he was well at last.

Great-heart. Yes, yes; I never had doubt about him;
he was a man of a choice spirit, only he was always kept
very low, and that made his life so burdensome to him-
self, and so troublesome to others. He was above many
tender of sin. He was so afraid of doing injuries to
others, that he often would deny himself of that which
was lawful, because he would not offend.

Hon. But what should be the reason that such a good
man should be all his days so much in the dark."*

Great-heart. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One
is, the wise God will have it so, some must pipe and some

257

His be-
haviour at
Vanity Fair

His

boldness
at last

258

Reasons
why good
men are so
in the dark

A close
about him

Chris-
tiana's
sentence

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

must weep. Now Mr Fearing was one that played upon
this Base; he and his fellows sound the sacl{but, whose
notes are more doleful than the notes of other Musick
are; though indeed some say the Base is the Ground of
Musick. And for my part I care not at all for that pro-
fession that begins not in heaviness of mind. The first
string that the Musician usually touches is the Base,
when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon
this string first, when he sets the soul in tune for himself.
Only here was the imperfection of Mr Fearing, he could
play upon no other Musick but this, till towards his
latter end.

I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, for the ripen-
ing of the Wits of young Readers; and because in the
Book of the Revelations, the saved are compared to a
company of Musicians that play upon their Trumpets
and Harps, and sing their Songs before the Throne.

Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by
what relation you have given of him. Difficulties, Lions
or Vanity Fair, he feared not at all. 'Twas only Sin Death
and Hell that was to him a terror, because he had some
doubts about his interest in that Coelestial Country.

Great-heart. You say right. Those were the things that
were his troublers, and they, as you have well observed,
arose from the weakness of his mind there-about, not
from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a Pil-
grim's life. I dare believe that, as the Proverb is, he could
have bit a Fire-brand, had it stood in his way; but the
things with which he was oppressed, no man ever yet
could shake off with ease.

Chris. Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr Fear-
ing has done me good. I thought nobody had been like
me, but I see there was some semblance 'twixt this good
man and I, only we differed in two things. His troubles
were so great, they brake out, but mine I kept within.
His also lay so hard upon him, they made him that he
could not knock at the houses provided for Entertain-

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

ment, but my trouble was always such as made me knock
the louder.

Mercy. If I might also speak my heart, I must say
that something of him has also dwelt in me; for I have
ever been more afraid of the Lake and the loss of a place
in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other things.
Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habi-
tation there, 'tis enough, though I part with all the world
to win it.

Matt. Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that
made me think that I was far from having that within
me that accompanies Salvation, but if it was so with such
a good man as he, why may it not also go well with me?

James. No fears, no Grace, said James. Tho' there
is not always Grace where there is the fear of Hell, yet
to be sure there is no Grace where there is no fear of God.

Great-heart. Well said, James, thou hast hit the mark,
for the fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom, and to
be sure they that want the beginning have neither middle
nor end. But we will here conclude our discourse of Mr
Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell.

Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear
Thy God, and wast afraid
Of doing anything while here
That would have thee betray 'd.

And didst thou fear the Lake and Pit?
Would others do so too.
For as for them that want thy wit,
They do themselves undo.

Now I saw that they still went on in their talk; for
after Mr Great-heart had made an end with Mr Fearing,
Mr Honest began to tell them of another, but his name
was Mr Self-u/ill. He pretended himself to be a Pilgrim,
said Mr Honest, but I persuade myself he never came in
at the Gate that stands at the head of the way.

Great-heart. Had you ever any talk with him about it?

Hon. Yes, more than once or twice, but he would al-

259

Mercy's
sentence

Matthew's
sentence

James's
sentence

Their
farewell
about him

Of Mr

Self-will

opuuonj

260 pilgrim's progress

Old Honest ways be like himself, self-willed. He neither cared for
bad ulked 1 l l- • j

with him nian, nor argument, nor yet example; what his mmd

prompted him to do, that he would do, and nothing else

could he be got to.

Great-heart. Pray what principles did he hold? for I
suppose you can tell.
Self-will's Hon. He held that a man might follow the Vices as

well as the Vertues of the Pilgrims, and that if he did
both he should be certainly saved.

Great-heart. How? if he had said 'tis possible for the
best to be guilty of the Vices, as well as to partake of the
Vertues of Pilgrims, he could not much have been
blamed. For indeed we are exempted from no Vice
absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive.
But this I perceive is not the thing; but if I understand
you right, your meaning is, that he was of that opinion,
that it was allowable so to be?

Hon. Ay, ay, so I mean, and so he believed and prac-
tised.

Great-heart. But what Ground had he for his so
saying?

Hon. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his War-
rant.

Great-heart. Prithee, Mr Honest, present us with a few
particulars.

Hon. So I will. He said to have to do with other men's
Wives had been practised by David, God's beloved, and
therefore he could do it. He said to have more Women
than one, was a thing that Solomon practised, and there-
fore he could do it. He said that Sarah and the godly
Midwives of Egypt lied, and so did save Rahab, and
therefore he could do it. He said that the Disciples went
at the bidding of their Master, and took away the owner's
Ass, and therefore he could do so too. He said that Jacob
got the Inheritance of his Father in a way of Guile and
Dissimulation, and therefore he could do so too.

pilgrim's progress 261

Great-heart. High base indeed, and you are sure he
was of this opinion?

Hon. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture
for it, bring Argument for it, &c.

Great-heart. An opinion that is not fit to be with any
allowance in the world.

Hon. You must understand me rightly. He did not
say that any man might do this, but that those that had
the Vertues of those that did such things, might also do
the same.

Great-heart. But what more false than such a conclu-
sion? for this is as much as to say, that because good men
heretofore have sinned of infirmity, therefore he had
allowance to do it of a presumptuous mind. Or if be-
cause a Child by the Blast of the Wind, or for that it
stumbled at a Stone, fell down and defiled itself in mire,
therefore he might wilfully lie down and wallow like a
Boar therein. Who could a thought that any one could
so far a been blinded by the power of Lust? But what
is written must be true. They stumble at the word being
disobedient, whereunto also they were appointed.

His supposing that such may have the godly man's
Vertues, who addict themselves to their Vices, is also a
delusion as strong as the other. 'Tis just as if the Dog
should say, I have or may have the qualities of the Child,
because I lick up its stinking Excrements. To eat up
the Sin of God's People, is no sign of one that is possessed
with their Vertues. Nor can I believe that one that is of
this opinion can at present have Faith or Love in him.
But I know you have made strong objections against him,
prithee what can he say for himself?

Hon. Why, he says. To do this by way or opinion, seems
abundance more honest than to do it, and yet hold con-
trary to it in opinion.

Great-heart. A very wicked answer, for tho' to let loose
the Bridle to Lusts while our opinions are against such

262 pilgrim's progress

things, is bad; yet to sin and plead a toleration so to do,
is worse. The one stumbles Beholders accidentally, the
other pleads them into the Snare.

Hon. There are many of this man's mind, that have
not this man's mouth, and that makes going on Pilgrim-
age of so little esteem as it is.

Great-heart. You have said the truth, and it is to be
lamented. But he that feareth the King of Paradise shall
come out of them all.

Chris. There are strange opinions in the world, I know
one that said, 'Twas time enough to repent when they
come to die.

Great-heart. Such are not over wise. That man would
a been loth, might he have had a Week to run twenty
mile in for his life, to have deferred that Journey to the
last hour of that Week.

Hon. You say right, and yet the generality of them
that count themselves Pilgrims do indeed do thus. I
am, as you see, an old man, and have been a traveller
in this road many a day, and I have taken notice of many
things.

I have seen some that have set out as if they would
drive all the world afore them, who yet have in few days
died as they in the Wilderness, and so never gat sight of
the Promised Land.

I have seen some that have promised nothing at first
setting out to be Pilgrims, and that one would a thought
could not have lived a day, that have yet proved very
good Pilgrims.

I have seen some who have spoke very well of that
again have after a little time run as fast just back
again.

I have seen some who have spoke very well of a Pil-
grim's life at first, that after a while have spoken as much
against it.

I have heard some when they first set out for Paradise,
say positively there is such a place, who when they have

p. 128

pilgrim's progress 263

been almost there, have come back again and said there
is none.

I have heard some vaunt what they would do in case
they should be opposed, that have even at a false alarm
fled Faith, the Pilgrim's way, and all.

Now as they were thus in their way, there came one ^'^^ "«'"
running to meet them, and said, Gentlemen and you
of the weaker sort, if you love Life shift for yourselves,
for the Robbers are before you.

Great-heart. Then said Mr Great-heart, They be the F'"* P*"-
three that set upon Little-faith heretofore. Well, said he,
we are ready for them. So they went on their way. Now
they looked at every turning, when they should a met Great-
with the Villains; but whether they heard of Mr Great- resolution
heart, or whether they had some other game, they came
not up to the Pilgrims.

Christiana then wished for an Inn for herself and her Christiana
Children, because they were weary. Then said Mr Hon- (^^ ^„ ;„„
est. There is one a little before us, where a very honorable
Disciple, one Gaius, dwells. So they all concluded to turn Gaius
in thither, and the rather because the old Gentleman gave
him so good a report. So when they came to the door, Jhey enter
they went in, not knocking, for Folks use not to knock \^Qyi^
at the door of an Inn. Then they called for the Master
of the house, and he came to them. So they asked if they
might lie there that night?

Gaius. Yes Gentlemen, if you be true men, for my Gaius
house is for none but Pilgrims. Then was Christiana, ^hemr ""
Mercy and the Boys the more glad, for that the Innkeeper and how
was a lover of Pilgrims. So they called for Rooms, and
he shewed them one for Christiana and her Children and
Mercy, and another for Mr Great-heart and the old
Gentleman.

Great-heart. Then said Mr Great-heart, Good Gaius,
what hast thou for Supper.' for these Pilgrims have come
far to-day, and are weary.

Gaius. It is late, said Gaius, so we cannot conveniently

264

Gaius't
cook

Talk
between
Gaius and
bU guests

Mark this

Of Chris-

tian't

ancestors

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

go out to seek food, but such as we have you shall be
welcome to, if that will content.

Great-heart. We will be content with what thou hast
in the house, forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou art
never destitute of that which is convenient.

Then he went down and spake to the Cook, whose
name was Taste-that-which-is-good, to get ready Supper
for so many Pilgrims. This done, he comes up again,
saying, Come my good Friends, you are welcome to me,
and I am glad that I have a house to entertain you; and
while Supper is making ready, if you please, let us enter-
tain one another with some good discourse. So they
all said. Content.

Gaius. Then said Gaius, Whose Wife is this aged Ma-
tron? and whose Daughter is this young Damsel?

Great-heart. The Woman is the Wife of one Christian
a Pilgrim of former times, and these are his four Chil-
dren. The Maid is one of her Acquaintance, one that
she hath persuaded to come with her on Pilgrimage. The
Boys take all after their Father, and covet to tread in his
steps; yea, if they do but see any place where the old
Pilgrim hath lain, or any print of his foot, it ministreth
joy to their hearts, and they covet to lie or tread in the
same.

Gaius. Then said Gaius, Is this Christian's Wife? and
are these Christian's Children? I knew your Husband's
Father, yea, also his Father's Father. Many have been
good of this stock, their Ancestors dwelt first at Antioch.
Christian's Progenitors (I suppose you have heard your
Husband talk of them) were very worthy men. They
have above any that I know, shewed themselves men of
great Vertue and Courage for the Lord of Pilgrims, his
ways, and them that loved him. I have heard of many
of your Husband's Relations that have stood all trials
for the sake of the Truth. Stephen that was one of the
first of the Family from whence your Husband sprang,
was knocked o' the head with Stones. James, another

pilgrim's prcxjress 265

of this Generation, was slain with the edge of the Sword.
To say nothing of Paul and Peter, men antiently of the
Family from whence your Husband came, there was
Ignatius who was cast to the Lions, Rotnanus whose flesh
was cut by pieces from his bones, and Polycarp that
played the man in the Fire. There was he that was
hanged up in a Basket in the Sun for the Wasps to eat,
and he whom they put into a Sack and cast him into the
Sea to be drowned. 'T would be impossible utterly to
count up all of that Family that have suffered Injuries
and Death for the love of a Pilgrim's life. Nor can I but
be glad to see that thy Husband has left behind him
four such Boys as these. I hope they will bear up their
Father's name, and tread in their Father's steps, and
come to their Father's end.

Great-heart. Indeed Sir, they are likely Lads, they
seem to chuse heartily their Father's ways.

Gaius. That is it that I said, wherefore Christian's Advice to
Family is like still to spread abroad upon the face of the j^om^^*
ground, and yet to be numerous upon the face of the her boys
earth. Wherefore let Christiana look out some Damsels
for her Sons, to whom they may be betrothed, &c. that
the name of their Father and the house of his Progenitors
may never be forgotten in the world.

Hon. 'Tis pity this Family should fall and be extinct.

Gaius. Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may; but
let Christiana take my advice, and that's the way to
uphold it.

And Christiana, said this Innkeeper, I am glad to see Mercy and
thee and thy friend Mercy together here, a lovely couple.
And may I advise, take Mercy into a nearer Relation to
thee. If she will, let her be given to Matthew thy eldest
Son, 'tis the way to preserve you a Posterity in the earth.
So this match was concluded, and in process of time they
were married. But more of that hereafter.

Gaius also proceeded and said, I will now sf)eak on
the behalf of Women, to take away their Reproach. For

marry

266

Why
women
of old
so much
desired
children

Supper
ready

What to be
fathered
from lay-
ing of the
board
with the
cloth and
trenchers

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

as Death and the Curse came into the world by a Woman,
so also did Life and Health: God sent forth his Son. made
of a Woman. Yea, to shew how much those that came
after did abhor the act of their Mother, this sex in the
Old Testament coveted Children, if happily this or that
Woman might be the Mother of the Saviour of the
World.

I will say again, that when the Saviour was come,
Women rejoiced in him before either Man or Angel.
I read not, that ever any Man did give unto Christ so
much as one Groat, but the Women followed him and
ministered to him of their Substance. 'Twas a Woman
that washed his Feet with Tears, and a Woman that
anointed his Body to the Burial. They were Women that
wept when he was going to the Cross, and Women that
followed him from the Cross, and that sat by his Sep-
ulchre when he was buried. They were Women that
was first with him at his Resurrection-morn, and Women
that brought tiding first to his Disciples that he was risen
from the Dead. Women therefore are highly favoured,
and shew by these things that they are sharers with us
in the Grace of Life.

Now the Cook sent up to signify that Supper was
almost ready, and sent one to lay the Cloath, the Trench-
ers, and to set the Salt and Bread in order.

Then said Matthew, The sight of this Cloath and of
this forerunner of the Supper, begetteth in me a greater
Appetite to my food than I had before.

Gains. So let all ministring doctrines to thee in this
life, beget in thee a greater desire to sit at the Supper of
the great King in his Kingdom; for all Preaching Books
and Ordinances here, are but as the laying of the Trench-
ers and as setting of Salt upon the Board, when compared
with the Feast that our Lord v/ill make for us when we
come to his House.

So Supper came up, and first a Heave-shoulder and
a Wave-breast was set on the Table before them, to shew

pilgrim's progress 267

that they must begin their meal with Prayer and Praise
to God. The Heave-shoulder David lifted his Heart up
to God with, and with the Wave-breast, where his Heart
lay, with that he used to lean upon his Harp when he
played. These two Dishes were very fresh and good, and
they all eat heartily well thereof.

The next they brought up was a Bottle of Wine, red
as Blood. So Gaius said to them, Drink freely, this is
the Juice of the true Vine that makes glad the heart of
God and Man. So they drank and were merry.

The next was a dish of Milk well crumbed. But Gaius ^ ''"^
said, Let the Boys have that, that they may grow thereby.

Then they brought up in course a dish of Butter and ° j''^''
Hony. Then said Gains, Eat freely of this, for this is good
to cheer up and strengthen your Judgments and Under-
standings. This was our Lord's dish when he was a
Child, Butter and Hony shall he eat, that he may l^now
to refuse the Evil and chuse the Good.

Then they brought them up a dish of Apples, and they ^ duh^
were very good tasted Fruit. Then said Matthew, May
we eat Apples, since they were such, by and with which
the Serpent beguiled our first Mother ?

Then said Gaius,

Apples were they with which we were beguil'd.
Yet sin, not Apples, hath our souls defil'd.
Apples forbid, if eat, corrupts the Blood;
To eat such when commanded, does us good.
Drink of his Flagons, then, thou Church, his Dove,
And eat his Apples, who are sick of Love.

Then said Matthew, I made the scruple because I a
while since was sick with eating of Fruit.

Gaius. Forbidden Fruit will make you sick, but not
what our Lord has tolerated.

While they were thus talking, they were presented with A dish
another dish, and 'twas a dish of Nuts. Tlien said some
at the Table, Nuts spoil tender Teeth, specially the Teeth
of Children; which when Gaius heard, he said,

of apples

268

A riddle
put forth
by Old
Hooest

Gaius
opens it

Joseph
wonders

Matthew
and Mercy
are
married

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Hard Texts are Nuts (I will not call them cheaters)
Whose Shells do keep their Kernels from the Eaters.
Ofje then the Shells, and you shall have the Meat,
They here are brought for you to crack and eat.

Then were they very merry, and sat at the Table a
long time, talking of many things. Then said the old
Gentleman, My good Landlord, while we are cracking
your Nuts, if you please, do you open this Riddle:

A man there was, tho' some did count him mad.
The more he cast away the more he had.

Then they all gave good heed, wondring what good
Gaius would say; so he sat still a while, and then thus
replied :

He that bestows his Goods upon the Poor,
Shall have as much again, and ten times more.

Then said Joseph, I dare say Sir, I did not think you
could a found it out.

Oh, said Gaius, I have been trained up in this way a
great while, nothing teaches like experience. I have
learned of my Lord to be kind, and have found by experi-
ence that 1 have gained thereby. There is that scattereth,
yet increaseth, and there is that withholdeth more than is
meet, but it tendeth to Poverty. There is that maketh
himself Rich, yet hath nothing, there is that ma{eth him-
self Poor, yet hath great Riches.

Then Samuel whispered to Christiana his Mother, and
said. Mother, this is a very good man's house, let us stay
here a good while, and let my Brother Matthew be mar-
ried here to Mercy before we go any further.

The which Gaius the Host overhearing said, With a
very good will, my Child.

So they stayed there more than a month, and Mercy
was given to Matthew to Wife.

While they stayed here, Mercy, as her custom was,
would be making Coats and Garments to the Poor, by

pilgrim's progress 269

which she brought up a very good report upon the
Pilgrims.

But to return again to our Story. After Supper the The boj^
Lads desired a Bed, for that they were weary with ,j,e rest '
travelling. Then Gaius called to shew them their cham- "t up
her, but said Mercy. I will have them to Bed. So she had
them to Bed, and they slept well. But the rest sat up all
night, for Gaius and they were such suitable Company
that they could not tell how to part. Then after much
talk of their Lord, themselves, and their Journey, old Mr
Honest, he that put forth the riddle to Gaius, began to
nod. Then said Great-heart, What Sir, you begin to be Old Hon-
drowsy, come, rub up, now here's a Riddle for you. "' ° '
Then said Mr Honest, Let's hear it.

Then said Mr Great-heart:

He that will kill, must first be overcome; A riddle

Who live abroad would, first must die at home.

Hah, said Mr Honest, it is a hard one, hard to expound,
and harder to practise. But come Landlord, said he, I will
if you please, leave my part to you, do you expound it,
and I will hear what you say.

No said Gaius, 'twas put to you, and 'tis expected that
you should answer it.

Then said the old Gentleman,

He first by Grace must conquer'd be. The riddle

That Sin would mortify; opened

And who, that lives, would convince me,
Unto himself must die.

It is right, said Gaius, good Doctrine and Experience
teaches this. For First, until Grace displays itself, and
overcomes the soul with its Glory, it is altogether without
heart to oppose Sin. Besides, if Sin is Satan's Cords by
which the soul lies bound, how should it make resistance
before it is loosed from that infirmity ?

Secondly, Nor will any that knows either Reason or

270

A question
worth the
miadiiig

A com-
parison

A mistake

Another
question

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Grace, believe that such a man can be a living Monument
of Grace that is a Slave to his own Corruptions.

And now it comes in my mind, I will tell you a Story
worth the hearing. There were two men that went on
Pilgrimage, the one began when he was young, the other
when he was old. The young man had strong Corrup-
tions to grapple with, the old man's were decayed with
the decays of nature. The young man trod his steps as
even as did the old one, and was every way as light as
he. Who now, or which of them, had their Graces shin-
ing clearest, since both seemed to be alike?

Hon. The young man's, doubtless. For that which
heads it against the greatest opposition, gives best dem-
onstration that it is strongest. Specially when it also
holdeth pace with that that meets not with half so much,
as to be sure old age does not.

Besides, I have observed that old men have blessed
themselves with this mistake, namely, taking the decays
of Nature for a gracious Conquest over Corruptions, and
so have been apt to beguile themselves. Indeed old men
that are gracious are best able to give advice to them
that are young, because they have seen most of the empti-
ness of things. But yet, for an old and a young to set
out both together, the young one has the advantage of
the fairest discovery of a work of Grace within him, tho
the old man's Corruptions are naturally the weakest.

Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now when
the Family was up, Christiana bid her Son James that
he should read a Chapter, so he read the 53d of Isaiah.
When he had done, Mr Honest asked, why it was said
that the Saviour is said to come out of a dry ground, and
also that he had no form nor comeliness in him?

Great-heart. Then said Mr Great-heart, To the First
I answer, Because the Church of the Jews, of which
Christ came, had then lost almost all the Sap and Spirit
of Religion. To the Second I say, the words are spoken
in the person of the Unbelievers, who because they want

PILGRIMS PROGRESS TJl

that Eye that can see into our Prince's Heart, therefore
they judge of him by the meanness of his Outside. Just
like those that know not that Precious Stones are covered
over with a homely Crust, who when they have found
one, because they know not what they have found, cast
it again away as men do a common Stone.

Well, said Gaius, now you are here, and since, as I S'*"V.
know, Mr Great-heart is good at his Weapons, if you assaulted
please, after we have refreshed ourselves, we will walk ""^ *'»">
into the Fields to see if we can do any good. About a
mile from hence there is one Slay-good, a Giant that doth
much annoy the King's High-way in these parts; and
I know whereabout his Haunt is. He is Master of a
number of Thieves. 'T would be well if we could clear
these parts of him.

So they consented and went, Mr Great-heart with his
Sword, Helmet and Shield, and the rest with Spears and
Staves,

When they came to the place where he was, they found *^<^ j?
him with one Feeble-mind in his hands, whom his with one
Servants had brought unto him, having taken him in the F«ble-
way. Now the Giant was rifling of him, with a purpose his hands
after that to pick his Bones, for he was of the nature of
Flesh-eaters.

Well, so soon as he saw Mr Great-heart and his Friends
at the Mouth of his cave with their Weapons, he de-
manded what they wanted?

Great-heart. We want thee, for we are come to revenge
the quarrel of the many that thou hast slain of the Pil-
grims, when thou hast dragged thern out of the King's
High-way, wherefore come out of thy Cave. So he armed
himself and came out, and to a Battle they went, and
fought for above an hour and then stood still to take
wind.

Slay. Then said the Giant, Why are you here on my
ground.''

Great-heart. To revenge the Blood of Pilgrims, as I

272

One

Feeble-
mind res-
cued from
the giant

How

Feeble-
mind

came to be
a pilgrim

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

also told thee before. So they went to it again, and the
Giant made Mr Great-heart give back; but he came up
again, and in the greatness of his mind he let fly with
such stoutness at the Giant's head and sides, that he made
him let his Weapon fall out of his hand. So he smote
him and slew him, and cut off his Head, and brought
it away to the Inn. He also took Feeble-mind the Pilgrim,
and brought him with him to his Lodgings. When they
were come home, they shewed his head to the Family,
and then set it up, as they had done others before,
for a terror to those that should attempt to do as he
hereafter.

Then they asked Mr Feeble-mind how he fell into his
hands?

Feeble-mind. Then said the poor man, I am a sickly
man as you see, and, because Death did usually once a
day knock at my door, I thought I should never be well
at home; so I betook myself to a Pilgrim's life, and have
travelled hither from the Town of Uncertain, where I
and my Father were born. I am a man of no strength at
all of body, nor yet of mind; but would if I could, tho'
I can but crawl, spend my life in the Pilgrim's way.
When I came at the Gate that is at the head of the way,
the Lord of that place did entertain me freely, neither
objected he against my weakly looks, nor against my
feeble mind; but gave me such things that were neces-
sary for my Journey, and bid me hope to the end. When
I came to the house of the Interpreter, I received much
kindness there, and because the Hill Difficulty was
judged too hard for me, I was carried up that by one
of his servants. Indeed I have found much relief from
Pilgrims, tho' none was willing to go so softly as I am
forced to do; yet still as they came on, they bid me be of
good cheer, and said that it was the will of their Lord
that comfort should be given to the feeble-minded, and
so went on their own pace. When I was come up to
Assault Lane, then this Giant met with me, and bid me

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 273

prepare for an Encounter; but alas, feeble one that I was,

I had more need of a Cordial. So he came up and took Mark this

me. I conceited he should not kill me. Also when he had

got me into his Den, since I went not with him willingly,

I believed I should come out alive again; for I have heard

that not only any Pilgrim that is taken captive by violent

hands, if he keeps heart-whole towards his Master, is by

the Laws of Providence to die by the hand of the Enemy.

Robbed I looked to be, and robbed to be sure I am; but

I am, as you see, escaped with Life, for the which I thank

my King as Author, and you as the Means. Other brunts

I also look for, but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run ^"^ •^'*

when I can, to go when I cannot run, and to creep when

I cannot go. As to the main, I thank him that loves me,

I am fixed. My way is before me, my Mind is beyond

the River that has no Bridge, tho' I am, as you see, but of

a jeeble Mind.

Hon. Then said old Mr Honest, Have you not some
time ago been acquainted with one Mr Fearing a Pil-

grim ?

Feeble. Acquainted with him. Yes. He came from the

Mr Fear-
ing, Mr

Town of Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the north- Fecbl

mind
uncle

ward of the City of Destruction, and as many off of where """'' '

I was born; yet we were well acquainted, for indeed
he was mine Uncle, my Father's Brother. He and I have
been much of a temper. He was a little shorter than I,
but yet we were much of a complexion.

Hon. I perceive you know him, and I am apt to believe ^^^'
also that you were related one to another; for you have has some
his whitely Look, a Cast like his with your eye, and your p^JJ^J, .
Sfjeech is much alike. features

Feeble. Most have said so that have known us both,

and besides, what I have read in him, I have for the most

part found in myself.

Gaius. Come Sir, said good Gaius, be of good cheer, Gaiu$ com-
1 11 111 forts him

you are welcome to me and to my house, and what thou

hast a mind to, call for freely; and what thou would'st

274

Notice to
be taken of
Providence

Tidings
how one
Not-right
was slain
with a
thunder-
bolt,
and Mr
Feeble-
mind's
comments
upon it

The

pilgrims
prepare
to go
forward

How they
greet one
another at
parting

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

have my servants to do for thee, they will do it with a
ready mind.

Then said Mr Feeble-mind, This is unexpected Favour,
and as the Sun shining out of a very dark Cloud. Did
Giant Slay-good intend me this favour when he stopped
me, and resolved to let me go no further ? Did he intend
that after he had rifled my Pockets, I should go to Gaius
mine Host? Yet so it is.

Now just as Mr Feeble-mind and Gaius was thus in
talk, there comes one running and called at the door, and
told, That about a mile and a half off there was one Mr
Not-right a Pilgrim struck dead upon the place where he
was with a Thunderbolt.

Feeble. Alas, said Mr Feeble-mind, is he slain? He
overtook me some days before I came so far as hither,
and would be my Company-keeper. He also was with
me when Slay-good the Giant took me, but he was nimble
of his heels and escaped. But it seems he escaped to die,
and I was took to live.

What one would think doth seek to slay outright,

Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plight.

That very Providence whose face is Death,

Doth ofttimes to the lowly Life bequeath.

I taken was, he did escape and flee.

Hands cross'd gives Death to him, and Life to me.

Now about this time Matthew and Mercy were mar-
ried. Also Gaius gave his Daughter Phebe to James,
Matthew's Brother, to Wife; after which time they yet
stayed above ten days at Gaius's house, spending their
time and the seasons like as Pilgrims use to do.

When they were to depart, Gaius made them a Feast,
and they did eat and drink and were merry. Now the
hour was come that they must be gone, wherefore Mr
Great-heart called for a Reckoning. But Gaius told him
that at his house it was not the custom for Pilgrims to
pay for their Entertainment. He boarded them by the
year, but looked for his pay from the good Samaritan,

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 275

who had promised him at his return, whatsoever charge
he was at with them faithfully to repay him. Then said
Mr Great-heart to him,

Great-heart. Beloved, thou dost faithfully whatsoever
thou dost to the Brethren and to Strangers, which have
borne witness of thy Charity before the Church; whom
if thou (yet) bring forward on their Journey after a
Godly sort, thou shalt do well.

Then Gaius took his leave of them all, and of his Chil- 9"^^. ^'f
dren, and particularly of Mr Feeble-mind. He also gave ncss to
him something to drink by the way. Fecble-

Now Mr Feeble-mind, when they were going out of
the door, made as if he intended to linger. The which
when Mr Great-heart espied, he said, Come Mr Feeble-
mind, pray do you go along with us, I will be your Con-
ductor, and you shall fare as the rest.

Feeble. Alas, I want a suitable Companion, you are all ^^^j.^)
lusty and strong, but I, as you see, am weak. I chuse going
therefore rather to come behind, lest by reason of my behind
many Infirmities I should be both a Burden to myself
and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a weak and feeble
mind, and shall be offended and made weak at that which
others can bear. I shall like no Laughing, I shall like no
gay Attire, I shall like no unprofitable Questions. Nay I
am so weak a man, as to be offended with that which
others have a liberty to do. I do not yet know all the
Truth. I am a very ignorant Christian man. Sometimes His excuse
if I hear some rejoice in the Lord, it troubles me because
I cannot do so too. It is with me as it is with a weak man
among the strong, or as with a sick man among the
healthy, or as a Lamp despised, (He that is ready to slip
with his feet, is as a Lamp despised in the thought of him
that is at ease.) So that I know not what to do.

Great-heart. But Brother, said Mr Great-heart, I have Great-
it in Commission to comfort the feeble-minded, and to commission
support the weak. You must needs go along with us;
we will wait for you, we will lend you our help, we will

276

A Chris-
tian spirit

Promises

Feeble-
mind glad
to see
Ready-
to-halt
come by

New talk

First Part,
pp. 59-68

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

deny ourselves of some things both opinionative and
practical for your sake, we will not enter into doubtful
disputations before you, we will be made all things to
you rather than you shall be left behind.

Now all this while they were at Gaius's door; and
behold as they were thus in the heat of their discourse
Mr Ready-to-halt came by with his Crutches in his hand,
and he also was going on Pilgrimage.

Feeble. Then said Mr Feeble-mind to him, Man, how
camest thou hither? I was but just now complaining
that I had not a suitable Companion, but thou art accord-
ing to my wish. Welcome, welcome, good Mr Ready-to-
halt, I hope thee and I may be some help.

Ready-to-halt. I shall be glad of thy Company, said
the other; and good Mr Feeble-mind, rather than we
will part, since we are thus happily met, I will lend thee
one of my Crutches.

Feeble. Nay, said he, tho' I thank thee for thy good
will, I am not inclined to halt before I am lame. Howbe-
it, I think when occasion is, it may help me against a E)og.

Ready. If either myself or my Crutches can do thee a
pleasure, we are both at thy command, good Mr Feeble-
mind.

Thus therefore they went on, Mr Great-heart and Mr
Honest went before, Christiana and her Children went
next, and Mr Feeble-mind and Mr Ready-to-halt came
behind with his Crutches. Then said Mr Honest,

Hon. Pray Sir, now we are upon the Road, tell us some
profitable things of some that have gone on Pilgrimage
before us.

Great-heart. With a good will. I suppose you have
heard how Christian of old did meet with Apollyon in
the Valley of Humiliation, and also what hard work he
had to go through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Also I think you cannot but have heard how Faithful was
put to it with Madam Wanton, with Adam the First,

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 277

with one Discontent, and Shame, four as deceitful Vil-
lains as a man can meet with upon the road.

Hon. Yes, I have heard of all this; but indeed good
Faithful was hardest put to it with Shame, he was an
unwearied one.

Great-heart. Ay, for as the Pilgrim well said, he of
all men had the wrong name.

Hon. But pray Sir, where was it that Christian and F>nt Part,
Faithful met TalJ{ative? That same was also a notable
one.

Great-heart. He was a confident Fool, yet many follow
his ways.

Hon. He had like to a beguiled Faithful.

Great-heart. Ay, but Christian put him into a way ^^"^ P"*'
quickly to find him out. Thus they went on till they
came at the place where Evangelist met with Christian
and Faithful, and prophesied to them of what should
befall them at Vanity Fair.

Great-heart. Then said their Guide, Hereabouts did
Christian and Faithful meet with Evangelist, who pro-
phesied to them of what Troubles they should meet with
at Vanity Fair.

Hon. Say you so? I dare say it was a hard Chapter
that then he did read unto them.

Great-heart. 'Twas so; but he gave them encourage- First Part,
ment withal. But what do we talk of them? they were ^' '°°
a couple of lion-like men, they had set their faces like
flint. Don't you remember how undaunted they were
when they stood before the Judge?

Hon. Well, Faithful bravely suffered.

Great-heart. So he did, and as brave things came on't,
for Hopeful and some others, as the Story relates it, were
converted by his Death.

Hon. Well, but pray go on, for you are well acquainted
with things.

Great-heart. Above all that Christian met with after

278

Firit Part,
p. 102

They are
come
within
sight of
Vanity

They
enter into
one Mr

Mnason's
to lodge

They are
glad of
enter-
tainment

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

he had passed through Vanity Fair, one By-ends was
the arch one.

Hon. By-ends, What was he?

Great-heart. A very arch Fellow, a downright Hypo-
crite. One that would be religious which way ever the
World went, but so cunning that he would be sure
neither to lose nor suffer for it. He had his mode of
Religion for every fresh occasion, and his Wife was as
good at it as he. He would turn and change from opin-
ion to opinion, yea, and plead for so doing too. But so
far as I could learn, he came to an ill end with his by-
ends, nor did I ever hear that any of his Children were
ever of any esteem with any that truly feared God.

Now by this time they were come within sight of the
Town of Vanity where Vanity Fair is kept. So when
they saw that they were so near the Town, they consulted
with one another how they should pass through the
Town, and some said one thing and some another. At
last Mr Great-heart said, I have, as you may understand,
often been a Conductor of Pilgrims through this Town,
now I am acquainted with one Mr Mnason, a Cyprusian
by Nation, an old Disciple, at whose house we may lodge.
If you think good, said he, we will turn in there.

Content, said old Honest, Content, said Christiana,
Content said Mr Feeble-mind, and so they said all. Now
you must think it was eventide by that they got to the
outside of the Town, but Mr Great-heart knew the way
to the old man's house. So thither they came; and he
called at the door, and the old man within knew his
tongue so soon as ever he heard it; so he opened, and they
all came in. Then said Mnason their Host, How far have
ye come to-day.' so they said. From the house of Gaius
our Friend. I promise you, said he, you have gone a good
stitch, you may well be a weary, sit down. So they sat
down.

Great-heart. Then said their Guide, Come, what cheer
Sirs.'' I dare say you are welcome to my Friend.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 279

Mnason. I also, said Mr Mnason, do bid you welcome,
and whatever you want, do but say, and we will do what
we can to get it for you.

Hon. Our great want a while since was Harbour and
good Company, and now I hope we have both.

Mnason. For Harbour, you see what it is, but for good
Company, that will appear in the trial.

Great-heart. Well, said Mr Great-heart, will you have
the Pilgrims up into their Lodging?

Mnason. I will, said Mr Mnason. So he had them to
their respective places; and also shewed them a very fair
Dining-room, where they might be and sup together,
until time was come to go to Rest.

Now when they were set in their places, and were
a little cheery after their Journey, Mr Honest asked his
Landlord if there were any store of good people in the
Town ?

Mnason. We have a few, for indeed they are but a few
when compared with them on the other side. J''*y

Hon. But how shall we do to see some of them ? for see some
the sight of good men to them that are going on Pilgrim- °^^^
age, is like to the appearing of the Moon and the Stars pje of
to them that are sailing upon the Seas. '•>•= '°w"

Then Mr Mnason stamped with his foot, and his ^^^ """
daughter Grace came up; so he said unto her, Grace, go
you tell my Friends, Mr Contrite, Mr Holy-man, Mr
Love-saint, Mr Dare-not-lye, and Mr Penitent, that I
have a Friend or two at my house that have a mind this
evening to see them.

So Grace went to call them, and they came and after
Salutation made, they sat down together at the Table.

Then said Mr Mnason their Landlord, My Neighbors,
I have, as you see, a Company of Strangers come to my
house, they are Pilgrims, they come from afar, and are
going to Mount Sion. But who, quoth he, do you think
this is, pointing with his finger to Christiana, it is Chris-
tiana the Wife of Christian that famous Pilgrim, who

28o

Some talk
betwixt
Mr Hon-
est and
Contrite

The fruit
of watch-
fulness

Persecu-
tion not
so hot at
Vanity
Fair as
formerly

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

with Faithful his Brother were so shamefully handled in
our Town. At that they stood amazed, saying, We little
thought to see Christiana, when Grace came to call us,
wherefore this is a very comfortable surprise. Then they
asked her of her welfare, and if these young men were
her Husband's Sons ? And when she had told them they
were, they said. The King whom you love and serve,
make you as your Father, and bring you where he is in
Peace.

Hon. Then Mr Honest (when they were all sat down)
asked Mr Contrite and the rest in what posture their
Town was at present?

Contrite. You may be sure we are full of hurry in
Fair-time. 'Tis hard keeping our hearts and spirits in
any good order, when we are in a cumbered condition.
He that lives in such a place as this is, and that has to do
with such as we have, has need of an Item, to caution
him to take heed every moment of the day.

Hon. But how are your Neighbors for quietness.''

Contrite. They are much more moderate now than
formerly. You know how Christian and Faithful were
used at our Town; but of late, I say, they have been far
more moderate. I think the blood of Faithful lieth with
load upon them till now, for since they burned him they
have been ashamed to burn any more. In those days we
were afraid to walk the Streets, but now we can shew
our heads. Then the name of a Professor was odious,
now, specially in some parts of our Town (for you know
our Town is large) Religion is counted honourable.

Then said Mr Contrite to them. Pray how fareth it
with you in your Pilgrimage? How stands the Country
affected towards you ?

Hon. It happens to us as it happeneth to Wayfaring
men; sometimes our way is clean, sometimes foul, some-
times up hill, sometimes down hill. We are seldom at a
certainty, the Wind is not always on our backs, nor is
every one a Friend that we meet with in the way. We

pilgrim's progress 281

have met with some notable Rubs already, and what are
yet behind we know not, but for the most part we find
it true that has been talked of of old, A good man must
suffer Trouble.

Contrite. You talk of Rubs, what Rubs have you met
withal ?

Hon. Nay, ask Mr Great-heart our Guide, for he can
give the best account of that.

Great-heart. We have been beset three or four times
already. First Christiana and her Children were beset
with two Ruffians, that they feared would a took away
their lives. We was beset with Giant Bloody-man, Giant
Maul and Giant Slay-good. Indeed we did rather beset
the last, than were beset of him. And thus it was: After
we had been some time at the house of Gaius, mine Host
and of the whole Church, we were minded upon a time
to take our Weapons with us, and so go see if we could
light upon any of those that were Enemies to Pilgrims,
(for we heard that there was a notable one thereabouts).
Now Gaius knew his Haunt better than I, because he
dwelt thereabout, so we looked and looked till at last we
discerned the Mouth of his Cave, then we were glad
and plucked up our Spirits. So we approached up to his
Den, and lo when we came there, he had dragged by
mere force into his Net this {xxjr Man Mr Feeble-mind,
and was about to bring him to his end. But when he
saw us, supposing as we thought he had had another
Prey, he left the poor man in his Hole, and came out.
So we fell to it full sore, and he lustily laid about him;
but in conclusion he was brought down to the ground,
and his Head cut off, and set up by the Way-side for a
terror to such as should after practise such Ungodliness.
That I tell you the truth, here is the man himself to
affirm it, who was as a Lamb taken out of the Mouth
of the Lion.

Feeble-mind. Then said Mr Feeble-mind, I found this
true to my Cost and Comfort, to my Cost when he

282

Mr Holy-
man's
speech

Mr Love-
saint's
speech

Mr Dare-

not-lye's

speech

Mr Peni-
tent's
speech

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

threatened to pick my Bones every moment, and to my
Comfort when I saw Mr Great-heart and his Friends
with their Weapons approach so near for my Deliverance.

Holy-man. Then said Mr Holy-man, There are two
things that they have need to be possessed with that go
on Pilgrimage, courage, and an unspotted life. If they
have not courage, they can never hold on their way, and
if their Lives be loose, they will make the very name of
a Pilgrim stink.

Loue-saint. Then said Mr Love-saint, I hope this cau-
tion is not needful amongst you. But truly there are
many that go upon the road, that rather declare them-
selves Strangers to Pilgrimage than Strangers and Pil-
grims in the Earth.

Dare-not-lye. Then said Mr Dare-not-lye, 'Tis true,
they neither have the Pilgrim's Weed, nor the Pilgrim's
Courage; they go not uprightly, but all awry with their
feet; one Shoe goes inward, another outward, and their
Hosen out behind; there a Rag, and there a Rent, to the
Disparagement of their Lord.

Penitent. These things, said Mr Penitent, they ought
to be troubled for, nor are the Pilgrims like to have that
Grace put upon them and their Pilgrim's Progress as they
desire, until the way is cleared of such Spots and Blem-
ishes.

Thus they sat talking and spending the time, until
Supper was set upon the Table; unto which they went
and refreshed their weary bodies; so they went to Rest.
Now they stayed in this Fair a great while at the house
of this Mr Mnason, who in process of time gave his
daughter Grace unto Samuel Christiana's Son to Wife,
and his Daughter Martha to Joseph.

The time as I said, that they lay here was long, (for
it was not now as in former times). Wherefore the
Pilgrims grew acquainted with many of the good people
of the Town, and did them what service they could.
Mercy, as she was wont, laboured much for the Poor,

pilgrim's progress 283

wherefore their Bellies and Backs blessed her, and she
was there an Ornament to her Profession. And to say
the truth for Grace Phebe and Martha, they were all of
a very good Nature, and did much good in their place.
They were also all of them very Fruitful, so that Chris-
tian's name, as was said before, was like to live in the
World.

While they lay here, there came a Monster out of the A monster
Woods, and slew many of the people of the Town. It
would also carry away their Children, and teach them to
suck its Whelps. Now no man in the Town durst so
much as face this Monster, but all men fled when they
heard of the Noise of his coming.

The Monster was like unto no one Beast upon the J^" shape,
earth; its Body was like the Dragon, and it had seven
Heads and ten Horns. It made great havock of Children,
and yet it was governed by a Woman. This Monster
propounded Conditions to men, and such men as loved
their Lives more than their Souls, accepted of those Con-
ditions. So they came under.

Now this Mr Great-heart, together with these that came
to visit the Pilgrims at Mr Mnason's house, entered into
a Covenant to go and engage this Beast, if perhaps
they might deliver the people of this Town from the
Paws and Mouth of this so devouring a Serpent.

Then did Mr Great-heart, Mr Contrite, Mr Holy-man, How he is
Mr Dare-not-lye, and Mr Penitent, with their Weapons
go forth to meet him. Now the Monster at first was very
rampant, and looked uf)on these Enemies with great
Disdain, but they so belaboured him, being sturdy men
at Arms, that they made him make a Retreat. So they
came home to Mr Mnason's house again.

The Monster, you must know, had his certain Seasons
to come out in, and to make his Attempts upon the
Children of the people of the Town; also these Seasons
did these valiant Worthies watch him in, and did still
continually assault him; insomuch that in process of time

284 pilgrim's progress

he became not only wounded but lame, also he has not
made that havock of the Towns-men's Children as
formerly he has done. And it is verily believed by some,
that this Beast will die of his Wounds.

This therefore made Mr Great-heart and his Fellows
of great Fame in this Town, so that many of the people
that wanted their taste of things, yet had a reverend
Esteem and Respect for them. Upon this account there-
fore it was that these Pilgrims got not much hurt here.
True there were some of the baser sort, that could see no
more than a Mole, nor understand more than a Beast,
these had no reverence for these men, nor took they notice
of their Valour or Adventures.

Well the time grew on that the Pilgrims must go on
their way, wherefore they prepared for their Journey.
They sent for their Friends, they conferred with them,
they had some time set apart therein to commit each other
to the Protection of their Prince. There was again that
brought them of such things as they had, that was fit
for the Weak and the Strong, for the Women and the
Men, and so laded them with such things as was neces-
sary.

Then they set forwards on their way, and their Friends
accompanying them so far as was convenient, they again
committed each other to the Protection of their King,
and parted.

They therefore that were of the Pilgrims' Company
went on, and Mr Great-heart went before them. Now
the Women and Children being weakly, they were forced
to go as they could bear; by this means Mr Ready-to-halt
and Mr Feeble-mind had more to sympathize with their
Condition.

When they were gone from the Towns-men, and when
their Friends had bid them farewell they quickly came
to the place where Faithful was put to Death. There
therefore they made a stand, and thanked Him that had
enabled him to bear his Cross so well, and the rather

pilgrim's progress 285

because they now found that they had a benefit by such a
manly Suflering as his was.

They went on therefore after this a good way fur-
ther, talking of Christian and Faithful, and how Hope-
ful joined himself to Christian after that Faithful was
dead.

Now they were come up with the Hill Lucre, where the R"' P"*«
Silver-mine was, which took Demas off from his Pil- ^' '"'
grimage, and into which, as some think, By-ends fell and
perished; wherefore they considered that. But when
they were come to the old Monument that stood over
against the Hill Lucre, to wit, to the Pillar of Salt that
stood also within view of Sodom and its stinking Lake,
they marvelled, as did Christian before, that men of that
Knowledge and ripeness of Wit as they was, should be so
blinded as to turn aside here. Only they considered again
that Nature is not affected with the Harms that others
have met with, especially if that thing upon which they
look has an attracting vertue upon the foolish eye.

I saw now that they went on till they came at the River R"' ^"^
that was on this side of the Delectable Mountains. To the
River where the fine Trees grow on both sides, and whose
Leaves, if taken inwardly, are good against Surfeits,
where the Meadows are green all the year long, and
where they might lie down safely.

By this River side in the Meadow there were Cotes and
Folds for Sheep, an House built for the nourishing and
bringing up of those Lambs, the Babes of those Women
that go on Pilgrimage. Also there was here one that was
intrusted with them who could have Compassion, and
that could gather these Lambs with his Arm and carry
them in his Bosom, and that could gently lead those that
were with young. Now to the care of this Man, Chris-
tiana admonished her four Daughters to commit their
little ones, that by these Waters they might be housed,
harboured, suckered, and nourished, and that none of
them might be lacking in time to come. This Man, if

286

First Part,
p. 114

They

being ccme
to By-path
stile, have
a mind to
have a
pluck with
Giant
Despair

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

any of them go astray or be lost, he will bring them again:
he will also bind up that which was broken, and will
strengthen them that are sick. Here they will never want
Meat and Drink and Cloathing, here they will be kept
from Thieves and Robbers, for this Man will die before
one of those committed to his trust shall be lost. Besides,
here they shall be sure to have good Nurture and Ad-
monition, and shall be taught to walk in right paths, and
that you know is a Favour of no small account. Also
here, as you see, are delicate Waters, pleasant Meadows,
dainty Flowers, variety of Trees, and such as bear whole-
some Fruit, Fruit not like that that Matthew eat of, that
fell over the Wall out of Beelzebub's Garden, but Fruit
that procureth Health where there is none, and that con-
tinueth and increaseth it where it is.

So they were content to commit their little ones to him;
and that which was also an encouragement to them so to
do, was, for that all this was to be at the Charge of the
King, and so was as an Hospital for young Children and
Orphans.

Now they went on; and when they were come to By-
path Meadow, to the Stile over which Christian went
with his Fellow Hopeful, when they were taken by
Giant Despair and put into Doubting Castle, they sat
down and consulted what was best to be done; to wit,
now they were so strong, and had got such a man as
Mr Great-heart for their Conductor, whether they had not
best make an attempt upon the Giant, demolish his
Castle, and if there were any Pilgrims in it, to set them
at liberty before they went any further. So one said
one thing, and another said the contrary. One questioned
if it was lawful to go upon unconsecrated ground, another
said they might provided their end was good, but Mr
Great-heart said. Though that Assertion offered last
cannot be universally true, yet I have a Commandment
to resist Sin, to overcome Evil, to fight the good Fight of
Faith, and I pray, with whom should I fight this good

pilgrim's progress 287

Fight, if not with Giant Despair? I will therefore attempt
the taking away of his Life, and the demolishing of
Doubting Castle. Then said he, who will go with me?
Then said old Honest, I will. And so will we too, said
Christiana's jour Sons, Matthew Samuel James and
Joseph, for they were young men and strong. So they
left the Women in the Road, and with them Mr Feeble-
mind and Mr Ready-to-halt with his Crutches to be their
Guard, until they came back; for in that place, tho' Giant
Despair dwelt so near, they keeping in the Road, a little
Child might lead them.

So Mr Great-heart, old Honest and the four young
men went to go up to Doubting Castle to look for Giant
Despair, When they came at the Castle-gate, they
knocked for entrance with an unusual Noise. At that the
old Giant comes to the Gate, and Diffidence his Wife
follows. Then said he. Who and what is he that is so
hardy as after this manner to molest the Giant Despair?
Mr Great-heart replied. It is I, Great-heart, one of the
King of the Coelestial Country's Conductors of Pilgrims
to their place, and I demand of thee that thou open thy
Gates for my Entrance. Prepare thyself also to fight, for
I am come to take away thy Head, and to demolish
Doubting Castle.

Now Giant Despair, because he was a Giant, thought Despair
no man could overcome him; and again, thought he, overcome
since heretofore I have made a Conquest of Angels, shall angels
Great-heart make me afraid? So he harnessed himself
and went out. He had a Cap of Steel upon his Head, a
Breast-plate of Fire girded to him, and he came out in
Iron Shoes, with a great Club in his Hand. Then these
six men made up to him, and beset him behind and be-
fore. Also when Diffidence the Giantess came up to help
him, old Mr Honest cut her down at one Blow. Then
they fought for their Lives, and Giant Despair was P^P*^
brought down to the Ground, but was very loth to die. ,0 die
He struggled hard, and had, as they say, as many Lives as

288

Doubting

Castle

demolished

They have
music and
dancing
for joy

PILGRIM S PRCXJRESS

a Cat, but Great-heart was his Death, for he left him not
till he had severed his Head from his Shoulders.

Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, and
that you know might with ease be done since Giant
Despair was dead. They were seven days in destroying
of that; and in it of Pilgrims they found one Mr Dispond-
ency, almost starved to Death, and one Much-afraid his
Daughter; these two they saved alive. But it would a
made you a wondered to have seen the dead Bodies that
lay here and there in the Castle-yard, and how full of
dead men's Bones the Dungeon was.

When Mr Great-heart and his Companions had per-
formed this exploit, they took Mr Dispondency and his
Daughter Much-afraid into their protection, for they were
honest people tho' they were Prisoners in Doubting
Castle to that Tyrant Giant Despair. They therefore I
say, took with them the Head of the Giant (for his Body
they had buried under a heap of Stones) and down to
the Road and to their Companions they came, and shewed
them what they had done. Now when Feeble-mind and
Ready-to-halt saw that it was the Head of Giant Despair
indeed, they were very jocund and merry. Now Chris-
tiana, if need was, could play upon the Vial, and her
Daughter Mercy upon the Lute; so since they were so
merry disposed, she played them a Lesson, and Ready-
to-halt would dance. So he took Dispondency's Daughter
named Much-afraid by the hand, and to dancing they
went in the Road. True he could not dance without one
Crutch in his hand, but I promise you he footed it well.
Also the Girl was to be commended, for she answered the
Musick handsomely.

As for Mr Dispondency, the Musick was not much to
him, he was for feeding rather than dancing, for that he
was almost starved. So Christiana gave him some of her
Bottle of Spirits for present relief, and then prepared him
something to eat; and in little time the old Gentleman
came to himself, and began to be finely revived.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Now I saw in my Dream, when all these things were
finished, Mr Great-heart took the Head of Giant Despair,
and set it upon a Pole by the High-way side, right over
against the Pillar that Christian erected for a Caution to
Pilgrims that came after, to take heed of entering into his
grounds.

Though Doubting Castle be demolished.
And the Giant Despair hath lost his Head,
Sin can rebuild the Castle, make't remain.
And make Despair the Giant live again.

Then he writ under it upon a Marble-stone these verses
following:

This is the Head of him, whose Name only

In former times did Pilgrims terrify.

His Castle's down, and Diffidence his Wife

Brave Master Great-heart has bereft of Life.

Dispondency, his Daughter Much-afraid,

Great-heart for them also the Man has play'd.

Who hereof doubts, if he'll but cast his eye

Up hither, may his scruples satisfy:

This Head also, when doubting Cripples dance.

Doth shew from Fears they have Deliverance. ,

When these men had thus bravely shewed themselves
against Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant Despair,
they went forward, and went on till they came to the
Delectable Mountains, where Christian and Hopeful
refreshed themselves with the varieties of the place. They
also acquainted themselves with the Shepherds there,
who welcomed them, as they had done Christian before,
unto the Delectable Mountains.

Now the Shepherds seeing so great a Train follow Mr
Great-heart, (for with him they were well acquainted)
they said unto him. Good Sir, you have got a goodly
Company here, pray where did you find all these.'

Then Mr Great-heart replied.

First here is Christiana and her Train,

Her Sons, and her Sons' Wives, who like the Wain,

289

A monu-
ment of
deliverance

290

The

Guide's
speech
to the
Shepherds

Their
enter-
tainment

A descrip-
tion of
false
shepherds

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Keep by the Pole, and do by Compass steer
From Sin to Grace, else they had not been here;
Next here's old Honest come on Pilgrimage,
Ready-to-halt too, who I dare engage
True-hearted is, and so is Feeble-mind,
Who willing was not to be left behind;
Dispondency, good man, is coming after.
And so also is Much-afraid his Daughter.
May we have entertainment here, or must
We further go? Let's know whereon to trust.

Then said the Shepherds, This is a comfortable Com-
pany. You are welcome to us, for we have comfort for
the feeble as for the strong. Our Prince has an eye to
what is done to the least of these, therefore Infirmity must
not be a block to our Entertainment. So they had them
to the Palace door, and then said unto them, Come in Mr
Feeble-mind, Come in Mr Ready-to-halt, Come in Mr
Dispondency, and Mrs Much-afraid his Daughter. These,
Mr Great-heart, said the Shepherds to the Guide, we call
in by name, for that they are most subject to draw back,
but as for you and the rest that are strong, we leave you to
your wonted Liberty. Then said Mr Great-heart, This
day I see that Grace doth shine in your Faces, and that
you are my Lord's Shepherds indeed; for that you have
not pushed these diseased neither with Side nor Shoulder,
but have rather strewed their way into the Palace with
Flowers, as you should.

So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr Great-heart
and the rest did follow. When they were also set down,
the Shepherds said to those of the weakest sort, What is
it that you would have? for, said they, all things must be
managed here to the supporting of the weak, as well as
the warning of the unruly.

So they made them a Feast of things easy of Digestion,
and that were pleasant to the Palate, and nourishing; the
which when they had received, they went to the Rest,
each one respectively unto his proper place. When Morn-
ing was come, because the Mountains were high, and

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 29 1

the day clear, and because it was the custom of the Shep-
herds to shew to the Pilgrims before their departure, some
Rarities; therefore after they were ready, and had
refreshed themselves, the Shepherds took them out into
the Fields, and shewed them first what they had shewed
to Christian before.
Then they had them to some new places. The first was Mount

Marvel

to Mount Marvel, where they looked, and beheld a man at
a distance, that tumbled the Hills about with Words.
Then they asked the Shepherds what that should mean ?
So they told them, that that man was the Son of one
Great-grace, of whom you read in the First Part of the ^""^ ^"^
Records of the Pilgrim's Progress. And he is set there to
teach Pilgrims how to believe down or to tumble out of
their ways what Difficulties they shall meet with, by
Faith. Then said Mr Great-heart, I know him, he is a
man above many.

Then they had them to another place called Mount Mount
Innocent, and there they saw a man cloathed all in White,
and two men Prejudice and Ill-will continually casting
Dirt upon him. Now behold the Dirt whatsoever they
cast at him would in a little time fall off again, and his
Garment would look as dear as if no Dirt had been
cast thereat.

Then said the Pilgrims, What means this? The Shep-
herds answered, This man is named Godly-man, and this
Garment is to shew the Innocency of his life. Now those
that throw Dirt at him, are such as hate his well-doing,
but as you see the Dirt will not stick upon his Cloaths, so
it shall be with him that liveth truly innocently in the
World. Whoever they be that would make such men
dirty, they labour all in vain; for God, by that a little
time is spent, will cause that their Innocence shall break
forth as the Light, and their Righteousness as the Noon-
day.

Then they took them, and had them to Mount Charity, Mount
where they shewed them a man that had a bundle of cloth ^^"^^

292

The work
of one
Fool,
and one
Want-wit

Mercy has
a mind to
see the
hole in
the hill

First Part,
p. 125

Mercy
longeth,
and for
what

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

lying before him, out of which he cut Coats and Gar-
ments for the Poor that stood about him; yet his Bundle
or Roll of Cloth was never the less.

Then said they, What should this be? This is, said the
Shepherds, to shew you, that he that has a heart to give
of his Labour to the Poor, shall never want where-withal.
He that watereth shall be watered himself. And the
Cake that the Widow gave to the Prophet did not cause
that she had ever the less in her Barrel.

They had them also to a place where they saw one
Fool and one Want-wit washing of an Ethiopian with in-
tention to make him white, but the more they washed
him the blacker he was. They then asked the Shepherds
what that should mean. So they told them, saying. Thus
shall it be with the vile person. All means used to get
such an one a good name shall in conclusion tend but to
make him more abominable. Thus it was with the
Pharisees, and so shall it be with all Hypocrites.

Then said Mercy the Wife of Matthew to Christiana
her Mother, Mother, I would, if it might be, see the Hole
in the Hill, or that commonly called the By-way to Hell.
So her Mother brake her mind to the Shepherds. Then
they went to the Door. It was in the side of a Hill, and
they opened it, and Bid Mercy hearken awhile. So she
hearkened, and heard one saying. Cursed be my Father
for holding of my feet bacl{^ from the way of Peace and
Life; and another said, O that I had been torn in pieces
before I had, to save my Life, lost my Soul; and another
said, // / were to live again, how would I deny myself,
rather than come to this place. Then there was as if the
very Earth had groaned and quaked under the feet of this
young Woman for fear. So she looked white, and came
trembling away, saying. Blessed be he and she that is
delivered from this place.

Now when the Shepherds had shewed them all these
things, then they had them back to the Palace, and
entertained them with what the house would afford.

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 293

But Mercy being a young and breeding Woman, longed
for something that she saw there, but was ashamed to
ask. Her Mother-in-law then asked her what she ailed,
for she looked as one not well. Then said Mercy, There
is a looking-glass hangs up in the Dining-room, off of
which 1 can not take my mind, if therefore I have it not,
I think I shall miscarry. Then said her Mother, I will
mention thy wants to the Shepherds, and they will not
deny it thee. But she said, I am ashamed that these men
should know that I longed. Nay my Daughter, said she,
it is no Shame, but a Vertue, to long for such a thing as
that. So Mercy said, Then Mother, if you please, ask the
Shepherds if they are willing to sell it.
Now the Glass was one of a thousand. It would 'J "ff ,

the Word

present a man, one way, with his own l*eature exactly, of God
and, turn it but another way, and it would shew one the
very Face and Similitude of the Prince of Pilgrims him-
self. Yea I have talked with them that can tell, and they
have said that they have seen the very Crown of Thorns
upon his Head, by looking in that Glass, they have
therein also seen the Holes in his Hands, in his Feet, and
his Side. Yea such an excellency is there in that Glass,
that it will shew him to one where they have a mind to
see him, whether living or dead, whether in Earth or
Heaven, whether in a state of Humiliation or in his
Exaltation, whether coming to Suffer or coming to Reign.

Christiana therefore went to the Shepherds apart (now I^'"' P"*>
the names of the Shepherds are Knowledge, Experience,
Watchful, and Sincere) and said unto them. There is
one of my Daughters, a breeding Woman, that I think
doth long for something she hath seen in this house, and
she thinks she shall miscarry if she should by you be
denied.

Experience. Call her, call her, she shall assuredly have She doth
what we can help her to. So they called her, and said to her longing
her, Mercy, what is that thing thou wouldest have? Then
she blushed, and said, The great Glass that hangs up in

294

How the
Shepherds
adorn the
pilgrims

First Part,
p. 126

First Part,
p. 135

First Part,
p. 128

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

the Dining-room. So Sincere ran and fetched it, and with
a joyful consent it was given her. Then she bowed her
head, and gave thanks, and said, By this 1 know that I
have obtained favour in your eyes.

They also gave to the other young Women such things
as they desired, and to their Husbands great Commenda-
tions for that they joined with Mr Great-heart to the
slaying of Giant Despair and the demolishing of Doubt-
ing Castle.

About Christiana's Neck the Shepherds put a Bracelet,
and so they did about the Necks of her four Daughters,
also they put Ear-rings in their Ears, and Jewels on their
Fore-heads.

When they were minded to go hence, they let them
go in peace, but gave not to them those certain Cautions
which before were given to Christian and his Companion.
The reason was for that these had Great-heart to be their
Guide, who was one that was well acquainted with
things, and so could give them their Cautions more sea-
sonably, to wit, even then when the Danger was nigh the
approaching.

What Cautions Christian and his Companions had
received of the Shepherds, they had also lost by that the
time was come that they had need to put them in practice.
Wherefore here was the advantage that this Company had
over the other.

From hence they went on singing, and they said.

Behold, how fidy are the stages set
For their Relief that Pilgrims are become;
And how they us receive without one let,
That make the other life our mark and home!
What Novelties they have to us they give,
That we, tho' Pilgrims, joyful lives may live;
They do upon us too such things bestow,
That shew we Pilgrims are where'er we go.

When they were gone from the Shepherds, they
quickly came to the place where Christian met with one

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

295

apostacy

Turn-away, that dwelt in the town of Apostacy. Where-
fore of him Mr Great-heart their Guide did now put
them in mind, saying, This is the place where Christian
met with one Turn-away, who carried with him the H°"' °"*
character of his Rebellion at his back. And this I have manajfed
to say concerning this man, he would hearken to no ^^
counsel, but once a falling, persuasion could not stop
him.

When he came to the place where the Cross and the
Sepulchre was, he did meet with one that did bid him
look there; but he gnashed with his teeth, and stamped,
and said he was resolved to go back to his own Town.
Before he came to the Gate, he met with Evangelist, who
offered to lay hands on him to turn him into the way
again. But this Turn-away resisted him, and having done
much despite unto him, he got away over the Wall, and
so escaped his hand.

Then they went on; and Just at the place where ^°^
Little-faith formerly was robbed, there stood a man with for-truth
his Sword drawn, and his Face all bloody. Then said ^'^ w**
Mr Great-heart, What art thou ? The man made answer,
saying, I am one whose name is Valiant-for-truth. I am
a Pilgrim, and am going to the Coelestial City. Now as
I was in my way, there were three men did beset me and
propounded unto me these three things: i. Whether I
would become one of them ? 2. Or go back from whence
I came? 3. Or die upon the place? To the first I an-
swered, I had been a true man a long season, and there-
fore it could not be expected that I now should cast in my
Lot with Thieves. Then they demanded what I would
say to the second. So I told them that the place from
whence I came, had I not found Incommodity there, I had
not forsaken it at all; but finding it altogether unsuitable
to me, and very unprofitable for me, I forsook it for this
way. Then they asked me what I said to the third. And
I told them. My life cost more dear far than that I should
lightly give it away. Besides, you have nothing to do

296

How he be-
haved him-
self, and
put them
to flight

Great-heart
wonders
at his
valour

The Word
The Faid>
Blood

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

thus to put things to my Choice, wherefore at your Peril
be it if you meddle. Then these three, to wit Wild-head,
Inconsiderate and Pragmatic/(^, drew upon me, and I also
drew upon them.

So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above
three hours. They have left upon me, as you see, some
of the marks of their Valour, and have also carried away
with them some of mine. They are but just now gone.
I suppose they might, as the saying is, hear your Horse
dash, and so they betook them to flight.

Great-heart. But here was great odds, three against one.

Valiant. 'Tis true, but little or more are nothing to
him that has the Truth on his side. Tho' an Host encamp
against me, said one, my heart shall not fear; tho' War
should rise against me, in this will I be confident, &c.
Besides, saith he, I have read in some Records, that one
man has fought an Army; and how many did Samson
slay with the Jaw-bone of an Ass ?

Great-heart. Then said the Guide, Why did you not
cry out, that some might a come in for your succour ?

Valiant. So I did, to my King, who I knew could hear,
and afford invisible help, and that was sufficient for me.

Great-heart. Then said Great-heart to Mr Valiant-for-
truth. Thou hast worthily behaved thyself. Let me see
thy Sword. So he shewed it him. When he had taken
it in his hand, and looked thereon a while, he said, Ha, it
is a right Jerusalem Blade.

Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of these Blades,
with a Hand to wield it and Skill to use it, and he may
venture upon an Angel with it. He need not fear its
holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its edges will
never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones and soul and
spirit and all.

Great-heart. But you fought a great while, I wonder
you was not weary.

Valiant. I fought till my Sword did cleave to my
Hand; and when they were joined together, as if a Sword

,».

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 297

grew out of my Arm, and when the Blood ran through
my Fingers, then I fought with most courage.

Great-heart. Thou hast done well. Thou hast resisted
unto Blood, striving against Sin. Thou shalt abide by us,
come in and go out with us, for we are thy Companions.

Then they took him and washed his Wounds, and gave
him of what they had to refresh him, and so they went
on together. Now as they went on, because Mr Great-
heart was delighted in him (for he loved one greatly
that he found to be a man of his hands) and because
there were with his Company them that was feeble and
weak, therefore he questioned with him about many
things, as first, what Country-man he was?

Valiant. I am of Darl{4and, for there I was born, and
there my Father and Mother are still.

Great-heart. Darl{-land, said the Guide, doth not that
lie upon the same Coast with the City of Destruction?

Valiant. Yes it doth. Now that which caused me to How Mr
come on Pilgrimage was this; we had one Mr Tell-true came to
came into our parts, and he told it about what Christian k.° °"

had done, that went from the City of Destruction,
namely, how he had forsaken his Wife and Children, and
had betaken himself to a Pilgrim's life. It was also con-
fidently reported how he had killed a Serpent that did
come out to resist him in his Journey, and how he got
through to whither he intended. It was also told what
Welcome he had at all his Lxjrd's Lodgings, especially
when he came to the Gates of the Ccelestial City, for
there, said the man, he was received with sound of
Trumpet by a company of Shining Ones. He told it
also, how all the Bells in the City did ring for joy at his
reception, and what Golden Garments he was cloathed
with, with many other things that now I shall forbear to
relate. In a word, that man so told the story of Christian
and his Travels, that my heart fell into a burning haste to
be gone after him, nor could Father or Mother stay me: so
I got from them, and am come thus far on my way.

pilgrimage

298

He begins
right

Christian's

name

famous

He is much
rcioiced
to see
Christian's
wife

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Great-heart. You came in at the Gate, did you not?

Valiant. Yes, yes, for the same man also told us that
all would be nothing, if we did not begin to enter this
way at the Gate.

Great-heart. Look you, said the Guide to Christiana,
the Pilgrimage of your Husband, and what he has gotten
thereby, is spread abroad far and near.

Valiant. Why, is this Christian's wife?

Great-heart. Yes, that it is, and these are also her four
Sons.

Valiant. What, and going on Pilgrimage too?

Great-heart. Yes verily they are following after.

Valiant. It glads me at heart. Good man, how joyful
will he be when he shall see them that would not go with
him, yet to enter after him in at the Gates into the City.

Great-heart. Without doubt it will be a comfort to
him; for next to the joy of seeing himself there, it will
be a joy to meet there his Wife and his Children.

Valiant. But now you are upon that, pray let me hear
your opinion about it. Some make a question, Whether
we shall know one another when we are there?

Great-heart. Do they think they shall know themselves
then, or that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that
Bliss? and if they think they shall know and do these,
why not know others, and rejoice in their Welfare also?

Again, since Relations are our second self, though that
state will be dissolved there, yet why may it not be ration-
ally concluded that we shall be more glad to see them
there than to see they are wanting?

Valiant. Well, I perceive whereabouts you are as to
this. Have you any more things to ask me about my
beginning to come on Pilgrimage?

Great-heart. Yes. Was your Father and Mother willing
that you should become a Pilgrim?

Valiant. Oh no. They used all means imaginable to
persuade me to stay at home.

Great-heart. What could they against it?

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Valiant. They said it was an idle life, and if I myself
were not inclined to Sloth and Laziness, I would never
countenance a Pilgrim's condition.

Great-heart. And what did they say else?

Valiant. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous
way; yea, the most dangerous way in the World, said
they, is that which the Pilgrims go.

Great-heart. Did they shew wherein this way is so
dangerous?

Valiant. Yes, and that in many particulars.

Great-heart. Name some of them.

Valiant. They told me of the Slough of Dispond,
where Christian was well nigh smothered. They told me
that there were Archers standing ready in Beelzebub-
castle to shoot them that should knock at the Wicket-gate
for entrance. They told me also of the Wood and dark
Mountains, of the Hill Difficulty, of the Lions, and also
of the three Giants, Bloody-man, Maul and Slay-good.
They said moreover that there was a foul Fiend haunted
the Valley of Humiliation, and that Christian was by him
almost bereft of Life. Besides, say they, you must go
over the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the Hob-
goblins are, where the Light is Darkness, where the way
is full of Snares, Pits, Traps, and Gins. They told me
also of Giant Despair, of Doubting Casde and of the
ruin that the Pilgrims met with there. Further, they said
I must go over the Inchanted Ground, which was dan-
gerous. And that after all this, I should find a River, over
which I should find no Bridge, and that that River
did lie betwixt me and the Ccelestial Country.

Great-heart. And was this all ?

Valiant. No. They also told me that this way was full
of Deceivers, and of persons that laid await there, to turn
good men out of the Path.

Great-heart. But how did they make that out?

Valiant. They told me that Mr Worldly Wiseman did
there lie in wait to deceive. They also said that there was

299

The great
stumblinjj-
blocks that
by his
friends
were laid
in his way

The first
stumbling-
block

The
second

300 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

Formality and Hypocrisy continually on the road. They
said also that By-ends, Talkative or Demas would go
near to gather me up, that the Flatterer would catch me
in his Net, or that with green-headed Ignorance I would
presume to go on to the Gate, from whence he always was
sent back to the Hole that was in the side of the Hill, and
made to go the By-way to Hell.

Great-heart. I promise you this was enough to discour-
age, but did they make an end here?
The third Valiant. No, stay. They told me also of many that had

tried that way of old, and that had gone a great way
therein, to see if they could find something of the Glory
there that so many had so much talked of from time to
time; and how they came back again, and befooled them-
selves for setting a foot out of doors in that Path, to the
satisfaction of all the Country. And they named several
that did so, as Obstinate and Pliable, Mistrust and Tim-
orous, Turn-away and old Atheist, with several more,
who, they said, had some of them gone far to see if they
could find, but not one of them found so much advantage
by going as amounted to the weight of a Feather.

Great-heart. Said they anything more to discourage
you?
The fourth Valiant. Yes. They told me of one Mr Fearing who
was a Pilgrim, and how he found this way so solitary
that he never had comfortable hour therein. Also that
Mr Dispondency had like to have been starved therein;
yea, and also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian
himself, about whom there has been such a noise, after
all his ventures for a Ccelestial Crown, was certainly
drowned in the black River, and never went foot further,
however it was smothered up.

Great-heart. And did none of these things discourage
you?

Valiant. No, they seemed but as so many nothings to
me.

Great-heart. How came that about ?

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 3OI

Valiant. Why I still believed what Mr Tell-true had How he

said, and that carried me beyond them all. these

Great-heart. Then this was your victory, even your stumblinjj-

, > UlOCItS

Faith.

Valiant. It was so; I believed, and therefore came out,
got into the Way, fought all that set themselves against
me, and by believing am come to this place.

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 avow'd 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.

By this time they were got to the Inchanted Ground, J^""' P*^

where the air naturally tended to make one drowsy,
and that place was all grown over with Briars and
Thorns, excepting here and there where was an Inchanted
Arbor, upon which if a man sits, or in which if a man
sleeps, 'tis a question, say some, whether ever he shall
rise or wake again in this world. Over this Forest there-

p. 138

302 PILGRIM S PROGRESS

fore they went, both one with another, and Mr Great-
heart went before for that he was the Guide, and Mr
V aliant-jor-trtith he came behind, being there a Guard
for fear lest pcradventure some Fiend or Dragon or Giant
or Thief should fall upon their Rear, and so do mischief.
They went on here each man with his Sword drawn in
his hand, for they knew it was a dangerous place. Also
they cheered up one another as well as they could; Feeble-
mind, Mr Great-heart commanded should come up after
him, and Mr Dispondency was under the eye of Mr
Valiant.

Now they had not gone far, but a great Mist and a
Darkness fell upon them all, so that they could scarce for
a great while see the one the other. Wherefore they were
forced for some time to feel for one another by Words,
for they walked not by Sight.

But any one must think that here was but sorry going
for the best of them all, but how much worse for the
Women and Children, who both of jeet and heart were
but tender. Yet so it was, that through the encouraging
words of him that led in the front, and of him that
brought them up behind, they made a pretty good shift
to wag along.

The way also was here very wearisome through Dirt

and Slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so

much as one Inn or Victualling-house therein to refresh

the feebler sort. Here therefore was grunting and puffing

and sighing. While one tumbleth over a Bush, another

sticks fast in the Dirt; and the Children, some of them,

lost their Shoes in the Mire. While one cries out, I am

down; and another, Ho, where are you? and a third. The

Bushes have got such fast hold on me, I think I cannot

get away from them.

An arbor Then they come at an Arbor, warm, and promising

Inchantcd much refreshing to the Pilgrims; for it was finely wrought

Ground above head, beautified with Greens, furnished with

Benches and Settles. It also had in it a soft Couch where-

pilgrim's progress 303

on the weary might lean. This you must think, all
things considered, was tempting, for the Pilgrims already
began to be foiled with the badness of the way, but there
was not one of them that made so much as a motion to
stop there. Yea, for ought I could perceive, they con-
tinually gave so good heed to the advice of their Guide,
and he did so faithfully tell them of Dangers, and of the
nature of Dangers, when they were at them, that usually
when they were nearest to them they did most pluck up
their Spirits, and hearten one another to deny the Flesh.
This Arbor was called the Slothjul's Friend, on purpose The name
to allure, if it might be, some of the Pilgrims there to take jrbo,
up their Rest when weary.

I saw then in my Dream, that they went on in this their J^ "»>'
solitary ground, till they came to a place at which a man to find
is apt to lose his way. Now tho' when it was light, their
Guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways that
led wrong, yet in the darl^ he was put to a stand; but he
had in his Pocket a Map of all ways leading to or from J^' (f""**
the Ccelestial City; wherefore he struck a Light (for he of jn ^ayt
never goes also without his Tinder-box) and takes a 'ending to
view of his Book or Map, which bids him be careful in the city
that place to turn to the right-hand way. And had he not
here been careful to look in his Map, they had all in
probability been smothered in the Mud, for just a little
before them, and that at the end of the cleanest way too,
was a Pit, none knows how deep, full of nothing but
Mud, there made on purpose to destroy the Pilgrims in.

Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on Pil- <^<^''
grimage but would have one of these Maps about him,
that he may look when he is at a stand, which is the way
he must take?

They went on then in this Inchanted Ground till they ^ "^'
came to where there was another Arbor, and it was built asleep
by the High-way side. And in that Arbor there lay two therein
men whose names were Heedless and Too-bold. These
two went thus far on Pilgrimage, but here being wearied

304

The pil-
grims try
to wake
them

Their en-
deavor is
fruitless

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

with their Journey, they sat down to rest themselves, and
so fell asleep. When the Pilgrims saw them, they stood
still, and shook their heads, for they knew that the sleepers
were in a pitiful case. Then they consulted what to do,
whether to go on and leave them in their sleep, or to step
to them and try to awake them. So they concluded to go
to them and awake them, that is, if they could; but with
this caution, namely, to take heed that themselves did
not sit down nor imbrace the offered benefit of that
Arbor.

So they went in and spake to the men, and called each
by his name, (for the Guide it seems did know them)
but there was no voice nor answer. Then the Guide did
shake them, and do what he could to disturb them. Then
said one of them, / will pay you when I ta/^e my Many.
At which the Guide shook his Head. / will fight so long
as I can hold my Sword in my hand, said the other. At
that one of the Children laughed.

Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this?
The Guide said. They talf^ in their Sleep. If you strike
them, beat them, or whatever else you do to them, they
will answer you after this fashion; or as one of them said
in old time, when the Waves of the Sea did beat upon
him, and he slept as one upon the Mast of a Ship, When
I awal{e I will see\ it again. You know when men talk
in their Sleeps they say anything, but their words are not
governed either by Faith or Reason. There is an inco-
herency in their words now, as there was before betwixt
their going on Pilgrimage and sitting down here. This
then is the mischief on't, when heedless ones go on Pil-
grimage 'tis twenty to one but they are served thus. For
this Inchanted Ground is one of the last Refuges that the
Enemy to Pilgrims has; wherefore it is, as you see, placed
almost at the end of the Way, and so it standeth against
us with the more advantage. For when, thinks the
Enemy, will these Fools be so desirous to sit down, as
when they are weary? and when so like to be weary, as

,»

PILGRIM S PROGRESS 305

when almost at their Journey's end ? therefore it is I say,
that the Inchanted Ground is placed so nigh to the Land
Beulah, and so near the end of their Race. Wherefore let
Pilgrims look to themselves, lest it happen to them as it
has done to these, that, as you see, are fallen asleep, and
none can wake them.

Then the Pilgrims desired with trembling to go for- TTie light
ward; only they prayed their Guide to strike a Light, that word
they might go the rest of their way by the help of the
Light of a Lanthorn. So he struck a Light, and they went
by the help of that through the rest of this way, tho' the
Darkness was very great.

But the Children began to be sorely weary, and they '^^,
cried out unto him that loveth Pilgrims to make their cry for
way more comfortable. So by that they had gone a little weariness
further, a Wind arose that drove away the Fog, so the
Air became more clear.

Yet they were not off (by much) of the Inchanted
Ground, only now they could see one another better, and
the way wherein they should walk.

Now when they were almost at the end of this ground. Stand-fast
they perceived that a little before them was a solemn knees in
Noise, as of one that was much concerned. So they went '"j* '"■
on and looked before them ; and behold they saw, as they ground
thought, a man upon his Knees, with Hands and Eyes lift
up, and speaking, as they thought, earnestly to one that
was above. They drew nigh, but could not tell what he
said; so they went softly till he had done. When he had
done, he got up and began to run towards the Coelestial
City. Then Mr Great-heart called after him, saying, Soho
Friend, let us have your Company, if you go, as I suppose
you do, to the Coelestial City. So the man stopped, and
they came up to him. But so soon as Mr Honest saw
him, he said, I know this man. Then said Mr Valiant-
jor-truth, Prithee, who is it } 'Tis one, said he, who comes The
from whereabouts I dwelt, his name is Stand-fast, he is sund-fast
certainly a right good Pilgrim.

3o6

Talk be-
tween him
and Mr
Honest

They
found
him at

prayer

What it
was that
fetched
him upon
his knees

Madam
Bubble, or
this vain
world

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

So they came up one to another; and presently Stand-
fast said to old Honest, Ho Father Honest, are you there?
Ay, said he, that I am, as sure as you are there. Right
glad am I, said Mr Stand-fast, that I have found you on
this Road. And as glad am I, said the other, that I espied
you upon your Knees. Then Mr Stand-fast blushed, and
said, But why, did you see me.' Yes, that I did, quoth
the other, and with my heart was glad at the sight. Why,
what did you think .'' said Stand-fast. Think, said Old
Honest, what should I think? I thought we had an
honest man up)on the Road, and therefore should have
his Company by and by. If you thought not amiss [said
Stand-fast^ how happy am I, but if I be not as I should,
I alone must bear it. That is true, said the other, but your
fear doth further confirm me that things are right betwixt
the Prince of Pilgrims and your Soul, for he saith, Blessed
is the man that feareth always.

Valiant. Well but Brother, I pray thee tell us what
was it that was the cause of thy being upon thy Knees
even now ? Was it for that some special mercy laid obli-
gations upon thee, or how?

Stand-fast. Why we are, as you see, upon the In-
chanted Ground, and as I was coming along, I was
musing with myself of what a dangerous Road the Road
in this place was, and how many that had come even thus
far on Pilgrimage had here been stopt and been destroyed.
I thought also of the manner of the Death with which
this place destroyeth men. Those that die here, die of no
violent Distemper. The Death which such die is not
grievous to them, for he that goeth away in a sleep begins
that Journey with Desire and Pleasure; yea, such
acquiesce in the will of that Disease.

Hon. Then Mr Honest interrupting of him said. Did
you see the two men asleep in the Arbor?

Stand-fast. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Too-bold there,
and for ought I know, there they will lie till they rot.
But let me go on in my Tale. As I was thus musing, as

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 307

I said, there was one in very pleasant attire, but old, who
presented herself unto me, and offered me three things,
to wit, her Body, her Purse and her Bed. Now the truth
is, I was both a-weary and sleepy, I am also as poor as a
Howlet, and that perhaps the Witch knew. Well I re-
pulsed her once and twice, but she put by my repulses,
and smiled. Then I began to be angry, but she mattered
that nothing at all. Then she made offers again, and said.
If I would be ruled by her, she would make me great and
happy, for said she, I am the Mistress of the World, and
men are made happy by me. Then I asked her name,
and she told me it was Madam Bubble. This set me
further from her, but she still followed me with Intice-
ments. Then I betook me, as you see, to my Knees, and
with hands lift up and cries, I pray'd to him that had
said he would help. So just as you came up, the Gentle-
woman went her way. Then I continued to give thanks
for this my great Deliverance, for I verily believe she
intended no good, but rather sought to make stop of me
in my Journey.

Hon. Without doubt her Designs were bad. But stay,
now you talk of her, methinks I either have seen her,
or have read some story of her.

Stand-fast. Perhaps you have done both.

Hon. Madam Bubble, is she not a tall comely Dame,
something of a swarthy Complexion?

Stand-fast. Right, you hit it, she is just such an one.

Hon. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you
a Smile at the end of a Sentence ?

Stand-fast. You fall right upon it again, for these are
her very Actions.

Hon. Doth she not wear a great Purse by her side, and
is not her Hand often in it fingering her Mony, as if that
was her heart's delight?

Stand-fast. 'Tis just so; had she stood by all this while,
you could not more amply have set her forth before me,
nor have better described her Features.

3o8

PILGRIM S PRCXJRESS

Hon. Then he that drew her picture was a good Lim-
ner, and he that wrote of her said true.
The World Great-heart. This woman is a Witch, and it is by vertue
of her Sorceries that this ground is inchanted. Whoever
doth lay their Head down in her Lap, had as good lay it
down upon that Block over which the Ax doth hang;
and whoever lay their Eyes upon her Beauty, are counted
the Enemies of God. This is she that maintaineth in their
splendor all those that are the Enemies of Pilgrims. Yea,
this is she that hath bought off many a man from a Pil-
grim's Life. She is a great Gossiper, she is always, both
she and her Daughters, at one Pilgrim's heels or another,
now commending and then preferring the excellencies of
this Life. She is a bold and impudent Slut, she will talk
with any man. She always laugheth poor Pilgrims to
scorn, but highly commends the rich. If there be one
cunning to get Mony in a place, she will speak well of
him from house to house. She loveth Banqueting and
Feasting mainly well, she is always at one full Table or
another. She has given it out in some places that she is
a Goddess, and therefore some do worship her. She has
her times and open places of Cheating, and she will say
and avow it that none can shew a good comparable to
hers. She promiseth to dwell with Children's Children,
if they will but love and make much of her. She will cast
out of her Purse Gold like Dust, in some places, and to
some persons. She loves to be sought after, spoken well of,
and to lie in the Bosoms of Men. She is never weary of
commending her Commodities, and she loves them most
that think best of her. She will promise to some Crowns
and Kingdoms if they will but take her advice, yet many
has she brought to the Halter, and ten thousand times
more to Hell.

Stand-fast. Oh, said Stand-fast, what a mercy is it
that I did resist her, for whither might she a drawn me?

Great-heart. Whither, nay, none but God knows
whither. But in general to be sure, she would a drawn

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 309

thee into many foolish and hurtful LMSts, u/hich drown
men in Destruction and Perdition.

'Twas she that set Absalom against his Father, and
feroboam against his Master. 'Twas she that persuaded
fudas to sell his Lord, and that prevailed with Demas
to forsake the godly Pilgrim's Life. None can tell of the
Mischief that she doth. She makes variance betwixt
Rulers and Subjects, betwixt Parents and Children, 'twixt
Neighbor and Neighbor, 'twixt a Man and his Wife,
'twixt a Man and Himself, 'twixt the Flesh and the
Heart.

Wherefore good Master Stand-fast, be as your name
is, and when you have done all, stand.

At this Discourse there was among the Pilgrims a
mixture of Joy and Trembling, but at length they brake
out, and sang.

What danger is the Pilgrim in.
How many are his Foes,
How many ways there are to sin,
No living mortal knows.

Some of the Ditch shy are, yet can
Lie tumbling on the Mire;
Some tho' they shun the Frying-(>an,
Do leap into the Fire.

After this I beheld until they were come unto the Fi"t Part,

Land of Beulah, where the Sun shineth Night and Day.
Here, because they was weary, they betook themselves
a while to rest. And because this Country was common
for Pilgrims, and because the Orchards and Vineyards
that were here belonged to the King of the Coelestial
Country, therefore they were licensed to make bold with
any of his things. But a little while soon refreshed them
here; for the Bells did so ring, and the Trumpets contin-
ually sound so melodiously, that they could not sleep; and
yet they received as much refreshing as if they had slept
their sleep never so soundly. Here also all the noise of
them that walked the Streets, was, More Pilgrims are

p. 156

310

Death
bitter to
the flesh,
but sweet
to the soul

Death has
its ebbings
and flow-
ings like
the tide

A mes-
jenfter of
death
sent to
Christiana

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

come to Town. And another would answer, saying, And
so many went over the Water, and were let in at the Gol-
den Gates to-day. They would cry again, There is now a
Legion of Shining Ones just come to Town, by which we
know that there are more Pilgrims upon the road, for here
they come to wait for them, and to comfort them after all
their Sorrow. Then the Pilgrims got up and walked to
and fro; but how were their Ears now filled with Heav-
enly Noises, and their eyes delighted with Coclestial Vi-
sions! In this Land they heard nothing, saw nothing, felt
nothing, smelt nothing, tasted nothing, that was offensive
to their Stomach or Mind; only when they tasted of the
Water of the River over which they were to go, they
thought that tasted a little bitterish to the Palate, but it
proved sweeter when 'twas down.

In this place there was a Record kept of the names of
them that had been Pilgrims of old, and a History of all
the famous Acts that they had done. It was here also
much discoursed how the River to some had had its
ftowings, and what ebbings it has had while others have
gone over. It has been in a manner dry for some, while
it has overflowed its banks for others.

In this place the Children of the Town would go into
the King's Gardens and gather Nosegays for the Pilgrims,
and bring them to them with much affection. Here also
grew Camp/lire with Spikenard and Saffron Calamus
and Cinnamon, with all its Trees of Frankincense Myrrh
and Aloes, with all chief Spices. With these the Pilgrim's
Chambers were perfumed while they stayed here, and
with these were their Bodies anointed, to prepare them to
go over the River when the time appointed was come.

Now while they lay here and waited for the good hour,
there was a noise in the Town that there was a Post come
from the Ccelestial City, with matter of great importance
to one Christiana the Wife of Christian the Pilgrim. So
enquiry was made for her, and the house was found out
where she was. So the Post presented her with a Letter,

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 3 II

the contents whereof was, Hail, good Woman, I bring His
thee Tidings that the Master calleth for thee, and expect-
eth that thou shouldest stand in his presence in Cloaths
of Immortality, within this ten days.

When he had read this Letter to her, he gave her there- How wel-
with a sure token that he was a true Messenger, and was j^j,!, ,„
come to bid her make haste to be gone. The token was jj'*'" 'hat
an Arrotv with a point sharpened with Love, let easily j^g ,<, jo
into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually but to die
with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone.

When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that Her speech
she was the first of this Company that was to go over, she gaiAe
called for Mr Great-heart her Guide, and told him how
matters were. So he told her he was heartily glad of the
News, and could have been glad had the Post come for
him. Then she bid that he should give advice how all
things should be prepared for her Journey. So he told her,
saying, Thus and thus it must be, and we that survive will
accompany you to the River-side.

Then she called for her Children, and gave them her To her
Blessing, and told them that she yet read with comfort
the Mark that was set in their Foreheads, and was glad
to see them with her there, and that they had kept their
Garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the Poor
that litde she had, and commanded her Sons and her
Daughters to be ready against the Messenger should come
for them.

When she had spoken these words to her Guide and to '1'° Mr
her Children, she called for Mr Valiant-for-truth. and
said unto him. Sir, you have in all places shewed yourself
true-hearted, be faithful unto Death, and my King will
give you a Crown of Life. I would also entreat you to
have an eye to my Children, and if at any time you see
them faint, speak comfortably to them. For my Daugh-
ters, my Sons' Wives, they have been faithful, and a ful-
filUng of the Promise upxan them will be their end. But '^° Mr.
she gave Mr Stand-fast a Ring.

312

To old
Honest

To Mr

Ready-
to-halt

To Du-
pondency
and his
daughter

To Feeble-
mind

Her last
day, and
manner of
departure

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

Then she called for old Mr Honest, and said of him,
Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no Guile. Then
said he, I wish you a fair day when you set out for Mount
Zion, and shall be glad to see that you go over the River
dry-shod. But she answered. Come wet, come dry, I long
to be gone, for however the Weather is in my Journey, I
shall have time enough when I come there to sit down
and rest me and dry me.

Then came in that good man Mr Ready-to-halt to see
her. So she said to him. Thy Travel hither has been with
difficulty, but that will make thy Rest the sweeter. But
watch and be ready, for at an hour when you think not,
the Messenger may come.

After him came in Mr Dispondency and his Daughter
Much-afraid, to whom she said, You ought with thank-
fulness for ever to remember your Deliverance from
the hands of Giant Despair and out of Doubting Castle.
The effect of that Mercy is, that you are brought with
safety hither. Be ye watchful and cast away Fear, be
sober and hope to the end.

Then she said to Mr Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered
from the mouth of Giant Slay-good, that thou mightest
live in the Light of the Living for ever, and see thy
King with comfort. Only I advise thee to repent thee
of thine aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness be-
fore he sends for thee, lest thou shouldest when he comes,
be forced to stand before him for that fault with
blushing.

Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone.
So the Road was full of People to see her take her Journey.
But behold all the Banks beyond the River were full of
Horses and Chariots, which were come down from
above to accompany her to the City Gate. So she came
forth and entered the River, with a beckon of Farewell to
those that followed her to the River-side. The last word
she was heard to say here was, / come Lord, to be with
thee and bless thee.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS 3I3

So her Children and Friends returned to their place,
for that those that waited for Christiana had carried her
out of their sight. So she went and called, and entered
in at the Gate with all the Ceremonies of Joy that her
Husband Christian had done before her.

At her departure her Children wept, but Mr Great-
heart and Mr Valiant played upon the well-tuned Cymbal
and Harp for Joy. So all departed to their respective
places.

In process of time there came a Post to the Town again, ^'^l.'
and his business was with Mr Ready-to-halt. So he en- ,ummoned
quired him out, and said to him, 1 am come to thee in
the name of him whom thou hast loved and followed,
tho' upon Crutches; and my Message is to tell thee that
he expects thee at his Table to sup with him in his
Kingdom the next day after Easter, wherefore prepare
thyself for this Journey.

Then he also gave him a Token that he was a true
Messenger, saying, / have broken thy golden botvl, and
loosed thy silver cord.

After this Mr Ready-to-halt called for his fellow Pil- Promisef
grims, and told them, saying, I am sent for, and God shall
surely visit you also. So he desired Mr Valiant to make Hi* will
his Will. And because he had nothing to bequeath to
them that should survive him but his Crutches and his
good Wishes, therefore thus he said. These Crutches I
bequeath to my Son that shall tread in my steps, with a
hundred warm wishes that he may prove better than I
have done.

Then he thanked Mr Great-heart for his Conduct and His last
Kindness, and so addressed himself to his Journey. When
he came at the Brink of the River he said, 'Now I shall
have no more need of these Crutches, since yonder are
Chariots and Horses for me to ride on. The last words
he was heard to say was, Welcome Life. So he went his
way.

314

Feeble-
mind
summoned

He makes
no will

HU last
words

Mr. Dis-

pondency'i

summons

His

daughter
goes too

His will

PILGRIMS PROGRESS

After this Mr Feeble-mind had Tidings brought him
that the Post sounded his Horn at his Chamber-door.
Then he came in and told him, saying, I am come to tell
thee that thy Master has need of thee, and that in very
little time thou must behold his Face in Brightness. And
take this as a Token of the Truth of my Message, Those
that loo^ out at the Windows shall be darl^ened.

Then Mr Feeble-mind called for his Friends, and told
them what Errand had been brought unto him, and what
Token he had received of the Truth of the Message.
Then he said, Since I have nothing to bequeath to any,
to what purpose should I make a Will? As for my \eeble
mind, that I will leave behind me, for that I have no need
of that in the place whither I go. Nor is it worth bestow-
ing upon the poorest Pilgrim; wherefore when I am gone,
I desire that you, Mr Valiant, would bury it in a Dunghill.
This done, and the day being come in which he was to
depart, he entered the River as the rest. His last words
were, Hold out Faith and Patience. So he went over to
the other side.

When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Dis-
pondency was sent for. For a Post was come, and brought
this Message to him. Trembling man, these are to sum-
man thee to be ready with thy King by the next Lard's
day, to shout for Joy for thy Deliverance from all thy
Doubtings.

And said the Messenger, That my Message is true take
this for a Proof; so he gave him The Grasshopper to be
a Burden unto him. Now Mr Dispondency's Daughter
whose name was Much-afraid said when she heard what
was done, that she would go with her Father. Then Mr
Dispondency said to his Friends, Myself and my Daugh-
ter, you know what we have been, and how trouble-
somely we have behaved ourselves in every Company.
My Will and my Daughter's is, that our Disponds and
slavish Fears be by no man ever received from the day
of our Departure for ever, for I know that after my Death

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

they will offer themselves to others. For to be plain with
you, they are Ghosts, the which we entertained when we
first began to be Pilgrims, and could never shake them
off after; and they will walk about and seek entertain-
ment of the Pilgrims, but for our sakes shut ye the doors
upon them.

When the time was come for them to depart, they
went to the Brink of the River. The last words of Mr
Dispondency were. Farewell Night, welcome Day. His
Daughter went through the River singing, but none
could understand what she said.

315

His last
words

Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a
Post in the town that enquired for Mr Honest. So he
came to his house where he was, and delivered to his
hand these lines. Thou art commanded to be ready against
this day seven-night to present thyself before thy Lord
at his Father's house. And for a Token that my Message
is true, All thy Daughters of Musicl{ shall be brought low.
Then Mr Honest called for his Friends, and said unto
them, I die, but shall make no Will. As for my Honesty,
it shall go with me; let him that comes after be told of
this. When the day that he was to be gone was come,
he addressed himself to go over the River. Now the River
at that time overflowed the Banks in some places, but Mr
Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one Good-conscience
to meet him there, the which he also did, and lent him
his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of Mr
Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the World.

Mr

Honest
summooed

He makes
no will

Good-
conscience
helps Mr
Honest
over the
river

After this it was noised abroad that Mr Valiant-for- Mr Valiant
truth was taken with a Summons by the same Post as the
other, and had this for a Token that the Summons was
true. That his Pitcher was bro/(en at the Fountain. When
he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them
of it. Then said he, I am going to my Fathers, and tho'
with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not

3i6

His will

His last
words

Mr Stand-
fast is
summoned

He calls
for Mr
Great-
heart

His speech
to him

His errand
to his

family

PILGRIM S PROGRESS

repent me of all the Trouble I have been at to arrive
where I am. My Sword I give to him that shall succeed
me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him
that can get it. My Marks and Scars 1 carry with me, to
be a witness for me that I have fought his Battles who
now will be my Rewarder. When the day that he must
go hence was come, many accompanied him to the River-
side, into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy
Sting? And as he went down deeper he said. Grave,
where is thy Victory? So he passed over, and all the
Trumpets sounded for him on the other side.

Then there came forth a Summons for Mr Stand-fast,
(This Mr Stand-fast was he that the rest of the Pilgrims
found upon his Knees in the Inchanted Ground) for the
Post brought it him open in his hands. The contents
whereof, were, that he must prepare for a Change of
Life, for his Master was not willing that he should be so
far from him any longer. At this Mr. Stand-fast was put
into a muse. Nay, said the Messenger, you need not doubt
of the truth of my Message, for here is a Token of the
Truth thereof. Thy Wheel is brol{en at the Cistern. Then
he called to him Mr Great-heart who was their Guide,
and said, unto him. Sir, altho' it was not my hap to be
much in your good Company in the days of my Pilgrim-
age, yet since the time I knew you, you have been profit-
able to me. When I came from home, I left behind me a
Wife and five small Children, let me entreat you at your
return, (for I know that you will go and return to your
Master's house, in hopes that you may yet be a Conductor
to more of the holy Pilgrims) that you send to my
Family, and let them be acquainted with all that hath and
shall happen unto me. Tell them moreover of my happy
Arrival to this place, and of the present late blessed con-
dition that I am in. Tell them also of Christian and
Christiana his Wife, and how she and her Children came

PILGRIM S PRCXJRESS 317

after her Husband. Tell them also of what a happy end
she made, and whither she is gone. I have little or noth-
ing to send to my Family, except it be Prayers and Tears
for them; of which it will suffice if thou acquaint them,
if peradventure they may prevail.

When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and
the time being come for him to haste him away, he also
went down to the River. Now there was a great Calm
at that time in the River; wherefore Mr Stand-fast, when
he was about half-way in, he stood awhile, and talked to
his Companions that had waited upon him thither. And
he said.

This River has been a Terror to many, yea, the thoughts His last
of it also have often frighted me. But now methinks I
stand easy, my Foot is fixed upon that upon which the
Feet of the Priests that bare the Ark of the Covenant
stood, while Israel went over this Jordan. The Waters
indeed are to the Palate bitter and to the Stomach cold,
yet the thoughts of what I am going to and of the Con-
duct that waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a
glowing Coal at my Heart.

I see myself now at the end of my Journey, my toilsome
days are ended. I am going now to see that Head that
was crowned with Thorns, and that Face that was spit
upon for me.

I have formerly lived by Hear-say and Faith, but now
I go where I shall live by sight, and shall be with him
in whose Company I delight myself.

I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever
I have seen the print of his Shoe in the Earth, there I
have coveted to set my Foot too.

His Name has been to me as a Civit-box, yea, sweeter
than all Perfumes. His Voice to me has been most sweet,
and his Countenance I have more desired than they that
have most desired the Light of the Sun. His Word I did
use to gather for my Food, and for Antidotes against

3i8 pilgrim's progress

my Paintings. He has held me, and I have kept me from
mine iniquities, yea, my Steps hath he strengthened in
his Way.

Now while he was thus in Discourse, his Countenance
changed, his strong man bowed under him, and after
he had said, Taf{e me, for I come unto thee, he ceased to
be seen of them.

But glorious it was to see how the open Region was
filled with Horses and Chariots, with Trumpeters and
Pipers, with Singers and Players on stringed Instruments,
to welcome the Pilgrims as they went up, and followed
one another in at the beautiful Gate of the City.

As for Christian's Children, the four Boys that Chris-
tiana brought with her, with their Wives and Children,
I did not stay where I was till they were gone over. Also
since I came away, I heard one say that they were yet
alive, and so would be for the Increase of the Church in
that place where they were for a time.

Shall it be my Lot to go that way again, I may give
those that desire it an account of what I here am silent
about; mean-time I bid my Reader Adieu.

THE AUTHOR'S VINDICATION

OF HIS PILGRIM
FOUND AT THE END OF HIS "HOLY WAR"

Some say the Pilgrim's Progress is not mine.

Insinuating as if I would shine

In name and fame by the worth of another,

Li/^e some made rich by robbing of their Brother.

Or that so fond I am of being Sire,

I'll father Bastards; or if need require,

I'll tell a lye in print to get applause.

I scorn it: John such dirt-heap never was.

Since God converted him. Let this suffice

To show why I my Pilgrim patronize.

It came from mine own heart, so to my head.
And thence into my fingers tric/^led;
Then to my pen, from whence immediately
On paper I did dribble it daintily.

Manner and matter too was all mine own.
Nor was it unto any mortal l^nown.
Till I had done it. Nor did any then
By boo^s, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen.
Add five words to it, or write half a line
Thereof: the whole and every whit is mine.

Also, for this thine eye is now upon.
The matter in this manner came from none
But the same heart and head, fingers and pen.
As did the other. Witness all good men;
For none in all the world, without a lye.
Can say that this is mine, excepting I.
I write not this of any ostentation.
Nor 'cause I see\ of men their commendation;
I do it to t^eep them from such surmise.
As tempt them will my name to scandalize.
Witness my name, if anagram'd to thee.
The letters ma\e, Nu hony in a B.

JOHN BUNYAN.
3«9

THE LIFE OF DR. DONNE

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

IzAAK Walton was born on August 9, 1593, in Staffordshire, England.
He came to London where he served his apprenticeship as an ironmonger,
and later seems to have been in business on his own account. He was a
loyal member of the Church of England, and was on terms of friendship
with a number of distinguished divines, notably Dr. John Donne, who,
when he was vicar of Saint Dunstan's, was a near neighbor of Walton's.
In politics he sympathized warmly with the Royalist party, and it has
been supposed that it was the triumph of the Parliament in the Civil War
that led him in 1644 to retire from business, and, for a time, from London.
Most of his old age was spent with his friend, George Morley, Bishop of
Winchester, and with his daughter Anne, the wife of William Hawkins,
a prebendary of Winchester. In the house of the latter he died in Decem-
ber, 1683, and was buried in Winchester Cathedral. He was twice
married.

Walton's chief literary work, "The Compleat Angler, or the Contem-
plative Man's Recreation," was published when he was sixty, and he
induced his friend, Charles Cotton, to supplement it with a treatise on
fly-fishing, which was incorporated with Walton's fifth edition in 1676.
Whatever may be the value of this work as a practical guide, it remains
the literary classic of the gentle art of angling, and is remarkable for its
success in conveying in delightful prose the charm of English meadows
and streams.

"The Life of Dr. Donne" was written by Walton in 1640 as an intro-
duction to a collection of Donne's sermons; and thirty years later was
issued in a volume with lives of Sir Henry Wotton, Richard Hooker, and
George Herbert. In 1678 he completed his biographical labors with a life
of Robert Sanderson. These lives are in their way models of short biog-
raphy. The charming personality of Walton himself, and the clarity and
delicacy of a style of high artistic simplicity, set off a narrative in which
facts are not allowed to obscure the outlines of a character drawn with
loving admiration. Few bulky official lives succeed in giving the reader
so vivid a picture of personality as these sketches from the hand of
Izaak Walton.

THE LIFE OF DR. DONNE

MASTER JOHN DONNE was born in London, in the year
1573, of good and virtuous parents; and, though his own
learning and other multiplied merits may justly appear
sufficient to dignify both himself and his posterity, yet the reader
may be pleased to know that his father was masculinely and lineally
descended from a very ancient family in Wales, where many of his
name now live, that deserve, and have great reputation in that
country.

By his mother he was descended of the family of the famous and
learned Sir Thomas More, sometime Lord Chancellor of England:
as also, from that worthy and laborious judge Rastall, who left
posterity the vast statutes of the law of this nation most exactly
abridged.

He had his first breeding in his father's house, where a private
tutor had the care of him, until the tenth year of his age; and, in
his eleventh year, was sent to the University of Oxford; having at
that time a good command both of the French and Latin tongue.
This, and some other of his remarkable abilities, made one then
give this censure of him: That this age had brought forth another
Picus Mirandola; of whom story says that he was rather born than
made wise by study.

There he remained for some years in Hart Hall, having for the
advancement of his studies, tutors of several sciences to attend and
instruct him, till time made him capable, and his learning expressed
in public exercises declared him worthy, to receive his first degree
in the schools, which he forbore by advice from his friends, who,
being for their religion of the Romish persuasion, were conscionably
averse to some parts of the oath that is always tendered at those times,
and not to be refused by those that expect the titulary honour of their
studies.

About the fourteenth year of his age he was transplanted from

323

324 IZAAK WALTON

Oxford to Cambridge, where, that he might receive nourishment
from both soils, he stayed till his seventeenth year; all which time he
was a most laborious student, often changing his studies, but endea-
vouring to take no degree, for the reasons formerly mentioned.

About the seventeenth year of his age he was removed to London,
and then admitted into Lincoln's Inn, with an intent to study the
law; where he gave great testimonies of his wit, his learning, and
of his improvement in that profession; which never served him for
other use than an ornament and self-satisfaction.

His father died before his admission into this society, and, being a
merchant, left him his portion in money. (It was /[3000.) His
mother, and those to whose care he was committed, were watchful to
improve his knowledge, and to that end appointed him tutors, both
in the mathematics and in all the other liberal sciences, to attend
him. But with these arts they were advised to instil into him particu-
lar principles of the Romish Church, of which those tutors professed,
though secretly, themselves to be members.

They had almost obliged him to their faith; having for their ad-
vantage, besides many opportunities, the example of his dear and
pious parents, which was a most powerful persuasion, and did
work much upon him, as he professeth in his Preface to his Pseudo-
Martyr, a book of which the reader shall have some account in what
follows.

He was now entered into the eighteenth year of his age, and at
that time had betrothed himself to no religion that might give him
any other denomination than a Christian. And reason and piety
had both persuaded him that there could be no such sin as schism,
if an adherence to some visible church were not necessary.

About the nineteenth year of his age, he, being then unresolved
what religion to adhere to, and considering how much it concerned
his soul to choose the most orthodox, did therefore, — though his
youth and health promised him a long life, — to rectify all scruples
that might concern that, presently laid aside all study of the law, and
of all other sciences that might give him a denomination; and began
seriously to survey and consider the body of divinity, as it was then
controverted betwixt the reformed and the Roman Church. And
as God's blessed Spirit did then awaken him to the search, and in

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 325

that industry did never forsake him, — they be his own words,' — so
he calls the same Holy Spirit to witness this protestation; that in that
disquisition and search he proceeded with humility and diffidence
in himself, and by that which he took to be the safest way, namely,
frequent prayers, and an indifferent affection to both parties; and
indeed, truth had too much light about her to be hid from so sharp
an inquirer; and he had too much ingenuity not to acknowledge
he had found her.

Being to undertake this search, he believed the Cardinal Bellarmine
to be the best defender of the Roman cause, and therefore betook
himself to the examination of his reasons. The cause was weighty,
and wilful delays had been inexcusable both towards God and his
own conscience: he therefore proceeded in this search with all
moderate haste, and about the twentieth year of his age did show
the then Dean of Gloucester — whose name my memory hath now
lost — all the Cardinal's works marked with many weighty observa-
tions under his own hand; which works were bequeathed by him,
at his death, as a legacy to a most dear friend.

About a year following he resolved to travel; and the Earl of Essex
going first to Cales, and after the island voyages, the first anno 1596,
the second 1597, he took the advantage of those opportunities,
waited upon his lordship, and was an eye-witness of those happy and
unhappy employments.

But he returned not back into England till he had stayed some
years, first in Italy, and then in Spain, where he made many useful
observations of those countries, their laws and manner of govern-
ment, and returned perfect in their languages.

The time that he spent in Spain was, at his first going into Italy,
designed for travelling to the Holy Land, and for viewing Jerusalem
and the sepulchre of our Saviour. But at his being in the farthest
parts of Italy, the disappointment of company, or of a safe convoy,
or the uncertainty of returns of money into those remote parts, denied
him that happiness, which he did often occasionally mention with a
deploration.

Not long after his return into England, that exemplary pattern
of gravity and wisdom, the Lord Ellesmere, then Keeper of the
' In his Preface to Pseudo-Martyr.

326 IZAAK WALTON

Great Seal, the Lord Chancellor of England, taking notice of his
learning, languages, and other abilities, and much affecting his
person and behaviour, took him to be his chief secretary; supposing
and intending it to be an introduction to some more weighty em-
ployment in the State; for which, his Lordship did often protest,
he thought him very fit.

Nor did his Lordship in this time of Master Donne's attendance
upon him, account him to be so much his servant, as to forget he was
his friend; and, to testify it, did always use him with much courtesy,
appointing him a place at his own table, to which he esteemed his
company and discourse to be a great ornament.

He continued that employment for the space of five years, being
daily useful, and not mercenary to his friend. During which time, he
— I dare not say unhappily — fell into such a liking, as — with her
approbation — increased into a love, with a young gentlewoman that
lived in that family, who was niece to the Lady Ellesmere, and
daughter to Sir George More, then Chancellor of the Garter and
Lieutenant of the Tower.

Sir George had some intimation of it, and, knowing prevention to
be a great part of wisdom, did therefore remove her with much
haste from that to his own house at Lothesley, in the County of
Surrey; but too late, by reason of some faithful promises which were
so interchangeably passed, as never to be violated by either party.

These promises were only known to themselves; and the friends
of both parties used much diligence, and many arguments, to kill or
cool their affections to each other: but in vain; for love is a flattering
mischief, that hath denied aged and wise men a foresight of those
evils that too often prove to be the children of that blind father; a
passion, that carries us to commit errors with as much ease as whirl-
winds move feathers, and begets in us an unwearied industry to the
attainment of what we desire. And such an industry did, notwith-
standing much watchfulness against it, bring them secretly together,
— I forbear to tell the manner how, — and at last to a marriage too,
without the allowance of those friends, whose approbation always
was, and ever will be necessary, to make even a virtuous love become
lawful.

And, that the knowledge of their marriage might not fall, like an

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 327

unexpected tempest, on those that were unwilling to have it so; and
that pre-apprehensions might make it the less enormous when it was
known, it was purposely whispered into the ears of many that it was
so, yet by none that could affirm it. But, to put a period to the
jealousies of Sir George, — doubt often begetting more restless
thoughts than the certain knowledge of what we fear, — the news
was, in favour to Mr. Donne, and with his allowance, made known
to Sir George by his honourable friend and neighbour, Henry, Earl
of Northumberland; but it was to Sir George so immeasurably
unwelcome, and so transported him, that, as though his passion of
anger and inconsideration might exceed theirs of love and error,
he presently engaged his sister, the Lady EUesmere, to join with him
to procure her lord to discharge Mr. Donne of the place he held
under his Lordship. This request was followed with violence; and
though Sir George was remembered that errors might be over-
punished, and desired therefore to forbear till second considerations
might clear some scruples, yet he became restless until his suit was
granted, and the punishment executed. And though the Lord Chan-
cellor did not, at Mr. Donne's dismission, give him such a commen-
dation as the great Emperor Charles the Fifth did of his Secretary
Eraso, when he parted with him to his son and successor, Philip
the Second, saying, "That in his Eraso, he gave to him a greater
gift than all his estate, and all the kingdoms which he then resigned
to him;" yet the Lord Chancellor said, "He parted with a friend,
and such a secretary as was fitter to serve a king than a subject."

Immediately after his dismission from his service he sent a sad
letter to his wife, to acquaint her with it; and after the subscription
of his name, writ,

John Donne, Anne Donne. Un-done;

And God knows it proved too true; for this bitter physic of Mr.
Donne's dismission was not enough to purge out all Sir George's
choler; for he was not satisfied till Mr. Donne and his sometime
com-pupil in Cambridge, that married him, namely, Samuel Brooke,
who was after Doctor in Divinity and Master of Trinity College,
and his brother, Mr. Christopher Brooke, sometime Mr, Donne's
chamber-fellow in Lincoln's Inn, who gave Mr. Donne his wife, and

328 IZAAK WALTON

witnessed the marriage, were all committed to three several prisons.

Mr. Donne was first enlarged, who neither gave rest to his body
or brain, nor to any friend in whom he might hope to have aa
interest, until he had procured an enlargement for his two im*
prisoned friends.

He was now at liberty, but his days were still cloudy: and being
past these troubles, others did still multiply upon him; for his wife
was — to her extreme sorrow — detained from him; and though with
Jacob he endured not a hard service for her, yet he lost a good one,
and was forced to make good his title, and to get possession of her
by a long and restless suit in law; which proved troublesome and
sadly chargeable to him, whose youth, and travel, and needless
bounty had brought his estate into a narrow compass.

It is observed, and most truly, that silence and submission are
charming qualities, and work most upon passionate men; and it
proved so with Sir George; for these, and a general report of Mr.
Donne's merits, together with his winning behaviour, which, when
it would entice, had a strange kind of elegant irresistible art; — these
and time had so dispassionated Sir George, that as the world
approved his daughter's choice, so he also could not but see a more
than ordinary merit in his new son; and this at last melted him into
so much remorse, — for love and anger are so like agues, as to have
hot and cold fits; and love in parents, though it may be quenched,
yet is easily re-kindled, and expires not till death denies mankind
a natural heat, — that he laboured his son's restoration to his place;
using to that end both his own and his sister's power to her lord;
but with no success, for his answer was, "That though he was un-
feignedly sorry for what he had done, yet it was inconsistent with his
place and credit to discharge and re-admit servants at the request of
passionate petitioners."

Sir George's endeavour for Mr. Donne's re-admission was by all
means to be kept secret : for men do more naturally reluct for errors
than submit to put on those blemishes that attend their visible
acknowledgment. — But, however, it was not long before Sir George
appeared to be so far reconciled as to wish their happiness, and not
to deny them his paternal blessing, but yet refused to contribute any
means that might conduce to their livelihood.

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 329

Mr. Donne's estate was the greater part sp>ent in many and charge-
able travels, books, and dear-bought experience; he out of all em-
ployment that might yield a support for himself and wife, who had
been curiously and plentifully educated; both their natures generous,
and accustomed to confer, and not to receive, courtesies: these and
other considerations, but chiefly that his wife was to bear a part in
his sufferings, surrounded him with many sad thoughts, and some
apparent apprehensions of want.

But his sorrows were lessened and his wants prevented by the
seasonable courtesy of their noble kinsman, Sir Francis Wolly, of
Pirford, in Surrey, who entreated them to a cohabitation with him,
where they remained with much freedom to themselves, and equal
content to him, for some years; and as their charge increased — she
had yearly a child — so did his love and bounty.

It hath been observed by wise and considering men that wealth
hath seldom been the portion, and never the mark to discover good
people; but that Almighty God, who disposeth all things wisely,
hath of his abundant goodness denied it — He only knows why —
to many whose minds He hath enriched with the greater blessings
of knowledge and virtue, as the fairer testimonies of his love to
mankind: and this was the present condition of this man of so
excellent erudition and endowments; whose necessary and daily
exp)enses were hardly reconcilable with his uncertain and narrow
estate. Which I mention, for that at this time there was a most
generous offer made him for the moderating of his worldly
cares; the declaration of which shall be the next employment of my
pen.

God hath been so good to his church as to afford it in every age
some such men to serve at his altar as have been piously ambitious of
doing good to mankind; a disposition that is so like to God him-
self that it owes itself only to Him, who takes a pleasure to behold it
in his creatures. These times ^ He did bless with many such; some
of which still live to be patterns of apostolical charity, and of more
than human patience. I have said this because I have occasion to
mention one of them in my following discourse, namely. Dr. Morton,
the most laborious and learned Bishop of Durham; one that God

* 1648.

330 IZAAK WALTON

hath blessed with perfect intellectuals and a cheerful heart at the
age of ninety-four years — and is yet living; — one that in his days of
plenty had so large a heart as to use his large revenue to the encour-
agement of learning and virtue, and is now — be it spoken with sor-
row — reduced to a narrow estate, which he embraces without repin-
ing; and still shows the beauty of his mind by so liberal a hand,
as if this were an age in which to-morrow were to care for itself.
I have taken a pleasure in giving the reader a short but true char-
acter of this good man, my friend, from whom I received this
following relation. — He sent to Mr. Donne, and entreated to borrow
an hour of his time for a conference the next day. After their
meeting there was not many minutes passed before he spake to
Mr. Donne to this purpose: "Mr. Donne, the occasion of sending
for you is to propose to you what I have often revolved in my own
thought since I last saw you: which, nevertheless, I will not declare
but upon this condition, that you shall not return me a present
answer, but forbear three days, and bestow some part of that time in
fasting and prayer; and after a serious consideration of what I
shall propose, then return to me with your answer. Deny me not,
Mr. Donne; for it is the effect of a true love, which I would gladly
pay as a debt due for yours to me."
This request being granted, the Doctor expressed himself thus: —
"Mr. Donne, I know your education and abilities; I know your
expectation of a State employment; and I know your fitness for it;
and I know, too, the many delays and contingencies that attend
Court promises: and let me tell you that my love, begot by our long
friendship and your merits, hath prompted me to such an inquisi-
tion after your present temporal estate as makes me no stranger to
your necessities, which I know to be such as your generous spirit
could not bear if it were not supported with a pious patience. You
know I have formerly persuaded you to waive your Court hopes,
and enter into holy orders; which I now again persuade you to
embrace, with this reason added to my former request: The King
hath yesterday made me Dean of Gloucester, and I am also possessed
of a benefice, the profits of which are equal to those of my deanery;
I will think my deanery enough for my maintenance, — who am, and
resolved to die, a single man, — and will quit my benefice, and estate

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 33 1

you in it, which the patron is willing I shall do, if God shall incline
your heart to embrace this motion. Remember, Mr. Donne, no
man's education or parts make him too good for this employment,
which is to be an ambassador for the God of glory; that God who
by a vile death opened the gates of life to mankind. Make me no
present answer; but remember your promise, and return to me the
third day with your resolution."

At the hearing of this, Mr. Donne's faint breath and perplexed
countenance give a visible testimony of an inward conflict; but he
[performed his promise, and departed without returning an answer
till the third day, and then his answer was to this effect: —

"My most worthy and most dear friend, since I saw you I have
been faithful to my promise, and have also meditated much of your
great kindness, which hath been such as would exceed even my
gratitude; but that it cannot do; and more I cannot return you; and
I do that with an heart full of humility and thanks, though I may
not accept of your offer: but, sir, my refusal is not for that I think
myself too good for that calling, for which kings, if they think so,
are not good enough; nor for that my education and learning, though
not eminent, may not, being assisted with God's grace and humility,
render me in some measure fit for it : but I dare make so dear a friend
as you are my confessor. Some irregularities of my life have been so
visible to some men, that though I have, I thank God, made my
peace with Him by jjenitential resolutions against them, and by the
assistance of his grace banished them my affections; yet this, which
God knows to be so, is not so visible to man as to free me from
their censures, and it may be that sacred calling from a dishonour.
And besides, whereas it is determined by the best of casuists that
God's glory should be the first end, and a maintenance the second
motive to embrace that calling, and though each man may propose
to himself both together, yet the first may not be put last without a
violation of conscience, which he that searches the heart will judge.
And truly my present condition is such that if I ask my own con-
science whether it be reconcilable to that rule, it is at this time so
perplexed about it, that I can neither give myself nor you an answer.
You know, sir, who says, 'Happy is that man whose conscience doth
not accuse him for that thing which he does.' To these I might

332 IZAAK WALTON

add other reasons that dissuade me; but I crave your favour that I
may forbear to express them, and thankfully decline your offer."

This was his present resolution, but the heart of man is not in his
own keeping; and he was destined to this sacred service by an
higher hand — a hand so powerful as at last forced him to a compli-
ance: of which I shall give the reader an account before I shall give
a rest to my pen.

Mr. Donne and his wife continued with Sir Francis Wolly till his
death: a little before which time Sir Francis was so happy as to make
a perfect reconciliation betwixt Sir George and his forsaken son and
daughter; Sir George conditioning by bond to pay to Mr. Donne
;(^8oo at a certain day, as a portion with his wife, or /20 quarterly
for their maintenance as the interest for it, till the said portion was
paid.

Most of those years that he lived with Sir Francis he studied the
Civil and Canon Laws; in which he acquired such a perfection, as
was judged to hold proportion with many who had made that study
the employment of their whole life.

Sir Francis being dead, and that happy family dissolved, Mr.
Donne took for himself a house in Mitcham, near to Croydon in
Surrey, a place noted for good air and choice company; there his
wife and children remained; and for himself he took lodgings in
London, near to Whitehall, whither his friends and occasions drew
him very often, and where he was as often visited by many of the
nobility and others of this nation, who used him in their counsels
of greatest consideration, and with some rewards for his better
subsistence.

Nor did our own nobility only value and favour him, but his
acquaintance and friendship was sought for by most ambassadors
of foreign nations, and by many other strangers, whose learning or
business occasioned their stay in this nation.

He was much importuned by many friends to make his constant
residence in London; but he still denied it, having settled his dear
wife and children at Mitcham, and near some friends that were
bountiful to them and him; for they, God knows, needed it: and
that you may the better now judge of the then present condition

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 333

of his mind and fortune, I shall present you with an extract collected
out of some few of his many letters.

". . . And the reason why I did not send an answer to your last
week's letter was, because it then found me under too great a sad-
ness; and at present 'tis thus with me: There is not one person, but
myself, well of my family : I have already lost half a child, and, with
that mischance of hers, my wife has fallen into such a discomposure
as would afflict her too extremely, but that the sickness of all her
other children stupefies her — of one of which, in good faith, I have
not much hope; and these meet with a fortune so ill-provided for
physic, and such relief, that if God should ease us with burials, I
know not how to perform even that: but I flatter myself with this
hope, that I am dying too; for I cannot waste faster than by such
griefs. As for, —

From my Hospital at Mitcham,

Aug. 10. John Donne."

Thus he did bemoan himself; and thus in other letters —

". . . For, we hardly discover a sin, when it is but an omission of
some good, and no accusing act: with this or the former I have
often suspected myself to be overtaken; which is, with an over-
earnest desire of the next life: and, though I know it is not merely
a weariness of this, because I had the same desire when I went with
the tide, and enjoyed fairer hopes than I now do; yet I doubt worldly
troubles have increased it: 'tis now spring, and all the pleasures of
it displease me; every other tree blossoms, and I wither; I grow older,
and not better; my strength diminisheth, and my load grows heavier;
and yet I would fain be or do something; but that I cannot tell
what, is no wonder in this time of my sadness; for to choose is to
do: but to be no part of any body is as to be nothing: and so I am,
and shall so judge myself, unless I could be so incorporated into a
part of the world, as by business to contribute some sustentation
to the whole. This I made account: I began early, when I under-
stood the study of our laws; but was diverted by leaving that, and
embracing the worst voluptuousness, an hydroptic immoderate

334 IZAAK WALTON

desire of human learning and languages; beautiful ornaments indeed
to men of great fortunes, but mine was grown so low as to need an
occupation; which I thought I entered well into, when I subjected
myself to such a service as I thought might exercise my poor abilities:
and there I stumbled, and fell too; and now I am become so little,
or such a nothing, that I am not a subject good enough for one of
my own letters. — Sir, I fear my present discontent does not proceed
from a good root, that I am so well content to be nothing, that is,
dead. But, sir, though my fortune hath made me such, as that I am
rather a sickness or a disease of the world, than any part of it, and
therefore neither love it nor life, yet I would gladly live to become
some such thing as you should not repent loving me. Sir, your own
soul cannot be more zealous for your good than I am; and God,
who loves that zeal in me, will not suffer you to doubt it. You would
pity me now if you saw me write, for my pain hath drawn my head
so much awry, and holds it so, that my eye cannot follow my pen.
I therefore receive you into my prayers with mine own weary soul,
and commend myself to yours. I doubt not but next week will bring
you good news, for I have either mending or dying on my side; but
if I do continue longer thus, I shall have comfort in this, that my
blessed Saviour in exercising his justice upon my two worldly parts,
my fortune and my body, reserves all his mercy for that which most
needs it, my soul! which is, I doubt, too like a porter, that is very
often near the gate, and yet goes not out. Sir, I profess to you truly
that my loathness to give over writing now seems to myself a sign
that I shall write no more.

Your poor friend, and

God's poor patient,
Sept. 7. John Donne."

By this you have seen a part of the picture of his narrow fortune,
and the perplexities of his generous mind: and thus it continued with
him for about two years, all which time his family remained con-
stantly at Mitcham; and to whicii place he often retired himself, and
destined some days to a constant study of some p)oints of controversy
betwixt the English and Roman Church, and especially those of
Supremacy and Allegiance: and to that place and such studies he

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 335

could willingly have wedded himself during his life; but the earnest
persuasion of friends became at last to be so powerful as to cause
the removal of himself and family to London, where Sir Robert
Drewry, a gentleman of a very noble estate, and a more liberal mind,
assigned him and his wife an useful apartment in his own large
house in Drury Lane, and not only rent free, but was also a cher-
isher of his studies, and such a friend as sympathised with him and
his, in all their joy and sorrows.

At this time of Mr. Donne's and his wife's living in Sir Robert's
house, the Lord Hay was, by King James, sent upon a glorious
embassy to the then French king, Henry the Fourth; and Sir Robert
put on a sudden resolution to accompany him to the French court,
and to be present at his audience there. And Sir Robert put on a
sudden resolution to solicit Mr. Donne to be his companion in that
journey. And this desire was suddenly made known to his wife,
who was then with child, and otherwise under so dangerous a habit
of body, as to her health, that she professed an unwillingness to allow
him any absence from her; saying, "Her divining soul boded her
some ill in his absence;" and therefore desired him not to leave her.
This made Mr. Donne lay aside all thoughts of the journey, and
really to resolve against it. But Sir Robert became restless in his
persuasions for it, and Mr. Donne was so generous as to think he
had sold his liberty, when he received so many charitable kindnesses
from him; and told his wife so, who did therefore, with an unwilling-
willingness, give a faint consent to the journey, which was proposed
to be but for two months; for about that time they determined their
return. Within a few days after this resolve, the Ambassador, Sir
Robert, and Mr. Donne left London; and were the twelfth day got
all safe to Paris. Two days after their arrival there, Mr. Donne was
left alone in that room in which Sir Robert, and he, and some other
friends had dined together. To this place Sir Robert returned within
half-an-hour; and as he left, so he found, Mr. Donne alone, but in
such an ecstasy, and so altered as to his looks, as amazed Sir Robert
to behold him; insomuch that he earnestly desired Mr. Donne to
declare what had befallen him in the short time of his absence. To
which Mr. Donne was not able to make a present answer, but after a
long and perplexed pause, did at last say, "I have seen a dreadful

336 IZAAK WALTON

vision since I saw you: I have seen my dear wife pass twice by me
through this room, with her hair hanging about her shoulders, and
a dead child in her arms; this I have seen since I saw you." To
which Sir Robert replied, "Sure, sir, you have slept since I saw you;
and this is the result of some melancholy dream, which I desire you
to forget, for you are now awake." To which Mr. Donne's reply
was, "I cannot be surer that I now live than that I have not slept
since I saw you; and am as sure that at her second appearing she
stopped and looked me in the face, and vanished." Rest and sleep
had not altered Mr. Donne's opinion the next day, for he then
affirmed this opinion with a more deliberate, and so confirmed a
confidence, that he inclined Sir Robert to a faint belief that the vision
was true. — It is truly said that desire and doubt have no rest, and it
proved so with Sir Robert; for he immediately sent a servant to
Drewry House, with a charge to hasten back, and bring him word
whether Mrs. Donne were alive; and, if alive, in what condition she
was as to her health. The twelfth day, the messenger returned with
this account : That he found and left Mrs. Donne very sad, and sick
in her bed; and that, after a long and dangerous labour, she had
been delivered of a dead child. And, upon examination, the abortion
proved to be the same day, and about the very hour, that Mr. Donne
affirmed he saw her pass by him in his chamber.

This is a relation that will beget some wonder, and it well may;
for most of our world are at present possessed with an opinion that
visions and miracles are ceased. And, though it is most certain that
two lutes being both strung and tuned to an equal pitch, and then
one played upon, the other, that is not touched, being laid upon a
table at a fit distance, will — like an echo to a trumpet — wartle a faint
audible harmony in answer to the same tune; yet many will not
believe there is any such thing as a sympathy of souls; and I am well
pleased that every reader do enjoy his own opinion. But if the un-
believing will not allow the believing reader of this story a liberty
to believe that it may be true, then I wish him to consider, many wise
men have believed that the ghost of Julius Cisar did appear to
Brutus, and that both St. Austin and Monica his mother had visions
in order to his conversion. And though these, and many others — too
many to name — have but the authority of human story, yet the in-

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 337

credible reader may find in the sacred story' that Samuel did appear
to Saul even after his death — whether really or not, I undertake not
to determine. — And Bildad, in the Book of Job, says these words:
"A spirit passed before my face; the hair of my head stood up; fear
and trembling came upon me, and made all my bones to shake." *
Upon which words I will make no comment, but leave them to be
considered by the incredulous reader; to whom I will also commend
this following consideration: That there be many pious and learned
men that believe our merciful God hath assigned to every man a
particular guardian angel, to be his constant monitor, and to attend
him in all his dangers, both of body and soul. And the opinion that
every man hath his particular Angel may gain some authority by
the relation of St. Peter's miraculous deliverance out of prison,' not
by many, but by one angel. And this belief may yet gain more
credit by the reader's considering, that when Peter after his enlarge-
ment knocked at the door of Mary the mother of John, and Rhode,
the maidservant, being surprised with joy that Peter was there, did
not let him in, but ran in haste and told the disciples — who were
then and there met together — that Peter was at the door; and they,
not believing it, said she was mad; yet, when she again affirmed it,
though they then believed it not, yet they concluded, and said, "It
is his angel."

More observations of this nature, and inferences from them, might
be made to gain the relation a firmer belief; but I forbear, lest I,
that intended to be but a relator, may be thought to be an engaged
person for the proving what was related to me; and yet I think
myself bound to declare, that though it was not told me by Mr.
Donne himself, it was told me — now long since — by a person of
honour, and of such intimacy with him, that he knew more of the
secrets of his soul than any person then living: and I think he told
me the truth; for it was told with such circumstances, and such
asseverations, that — to say nothing of my own thoughts — I verily
believe he that told it me did himself believe it to be true.

I forbear the reader's further trouble, as to the relation, and what
concerns it; and will conclude mine with commending to his view

*i Sam. xxvtii. 14. *Job iv. 13-16.

'Acts xii. 7-10; ib. 13-15.

338 IZAAK WALTON

a copy of verses given by Mr. Donne to his wife at the time he then
parted from her. And I beg leave to tell that I have heard some
critics, learned both in languages and poetry, say that none of the
Greek or Latin poets did ever equal them.

A Valediction, Forbidding to Mourn

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say.

The breath goes now, and some say No:

So let us melt, and make no noise.
No tear-floods, nor sigh-temf)ests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys,
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th* earth brings harms and fears:

Men reckon what it did or meant:
But trepidation of the spheres.

Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love —

Whose soul is sense — can not admit
Absence, because that doth remove

Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so far refined.

That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,

Care not hands, eyes, or lips to miss.

Our two souls therefore which are one, —

Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If we be two? we are two so

As stiff twin-compasses are two:
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

To move, but does if th' other do.

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 339

And though thine in the centre sit,

Yet, when my other far does roam,
Thine leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as mine comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must.

Like th' other foot, obliquely run:
Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And me to end where I begun.

I return from my account of the vision, to tell the reader that both
before Mr. Donne's going into France, at his being there, and after
his return, many of the nobility and others that were powerful at
Qjurt, were watchful and solicitous to the King for some secular
employment for him. The King had formerly both known and
put a value upon his company, and had also given him some hopes
of a State employment; being always much pleased when Mr. Donne
attended him, especially at his meals, where there were usually many
deep discourses of general learning, and very often friendly disputes,
or debates of reHgion, betwixt his Majesty and those divines whose
places required their attendance on him at those times, particularly
the Dean of the Chapel, who then was Bishop Montague — the pub-
lisher of the learned and the eloquent works of his Majesty — and the
most Reverend Doctor Andrews, the late learned Bishop of Win-
chester, who was then the King's almoner.

About this time there grew many disputes that concerned the
oath of supremacy and allegiance, in which the King had appeared,
and engaged himself by his public writings now extant; and his
Majesty discoursing with Mr. Donne concerning many of the rea-
sons which are usually urged against the taking of those oaths,
apprehended such a validity and clearness in his stating the ques-
tions, and his answers to them, that his Majesty commanded him to
bestow some time in drawing the arguments into a method, and then
to write his answers to them; and, having done that, not to send,
but be his own messenger, and bring them to him. To this he
presently and diligently applied himself, and within six weeks
brought them to him under his own handwriting, as they be now
printed; the book bearing the name of Pseudo-Martyr, printed
anno 1610.

340 IZAAK WALTON

When the King had read and considered that book, he persuaded
Mr. Donne to enter into the ministry; to which, at that time, he was,
and appeared, very unwilling, apprehending it — such was his mis-
taken modesty — to be too weighty for his abilities: and though his
Majesty had promised him a favour, and many persons of worth
mediated with his Majesty for some secular employment for him, —
to which his education had adapted him, — and particularly the E^rl
of Somerset, when in his greatest height of favour; who being then
at Theobald's with the King, where one of the clerks of the council
died that night, the Earl posted a messenger for Mr. Donne to come
to him immediately, and at Mr. Donne's coming said, "Mr. Donne,
to testify the reality of my affection, and my purpose to prefer you,
stay in this garden till I go up to the King and bring you word that
you are clerk of the council: doubt not my doing this, for I know
the King loves you, and know the King will not deny me." But
the King gave a positive denial to all requests, and, having a discern-
ing spirit, replied, "I know Mr. Donne is a learned man, has the
abilities of a learned divine, and will prove a powerful preacher;
and my desire is to prefer him that way, and in that way I will deny
you nothing for him."

After that time, as he professeth,' "the King descended to a per-
suasion, almost to a solicitation, of him to enter into sacred orders;"
which, though he then denied not, yet he deferred it for almost
three years. All which time he applied himself to an incessant study
of textual divinity, and to the attainment of a greater perfection in
the learned languages, Greek and Hebrew.

In the first and most blessed times of Christianity, when the clergy
were looked upon with reverence, and deserved it, when they over-
came their opposers by high examples of virtue, by a blessed patience
and long suffering, those only were then judged worthy the ministry
whose quiet and meek spirits did make them look upon that sacred
calling with an humble adoration and fear to undertake it; which
indeed requires such great degrees of humility, and labour, and care,
that none but such were then thought worthy of that celestial dignity.
And such only were then sought out, and solicited to undertake it.
This I have mentioned, because forwardness and inconsideration
'In his Book of Devotions.

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 34 1

could not, in Mr. Donne, as in many others, be an argument of in-
sufficiency or unfitness; for he had considered long, and had many
strifes within himself concerning the strictness of life, and com-
petency of learning, required in such as enter into sacred orders; and
doubtless, considering his own demerits, did humbly ask God with
St. Paul, "Lord, who is sufficient for these things?" and with meek
Moses, "Lord, who am I ?" And sure, if he had consulted with flesh
and blood, he had not for these reasons put his hand to that holy
plough. But God, who is able to prevail, wrestled with him, as the
angel did with Jacob, and marked him; marked him for his own;
marked him with a blessing, a blessing of obedience to the motions
of his blessed Spirit. And then, as he had formerly asked God with
Moses, "Who am I ?" so now, being inspired with an apprehension of
God's particular mercy to him, in the King's and others' solicitations
of him he came to ask King David's thankful question, "Lord, who
am I, that thou art so mindful of me?" So mindful of me, as to lead
me for more than forty years through this wilderness of the many
temptations and vario'is turnings of a dangerous life; so merciful
to me, as to move the learnedest of Kings to descend to move me
to serve at the altar! So merciful to me, as at last to move my heart
to embrace this holy motion! Thy motions I will and do embrace;
and I now say with the blessed Virgin, "Be it with thy servant as
seemeth best in thy sight"; and so, Blessed Jesus, I do take the cup
of salvation, and will call upon thy name, and will preach thy
gospel.

Such strifes as these St. Austin had, when St. Ambrose endeav-
oured his conversion to Christianity; with which he confesseth he
acquainted his friend Alipius. Our learned author — a man fit to
write after no mean copy — did the like. And declaring his inten-
tions to his dear friend Dr. King, then Bishop of London, a man
famous in his generation, and no stranger to Mr. Donne's abilities, —
for he had been chaplain to the Lord Chancellor at the time of Mr.
Donne's being his Lordship's secretary, — that reverend man did
receive the news with much gladness; and, after some expressions
of joy, and a persuasion to be constant in his pious purpose, he pro-
ceeded with all convenient speed to ordain him first deacon, and
then priest not long after.

342 IZAAK WALTON

Now the English Church had gained a second St. Austin; for I
think none was so Hke him before his conversion, none so Hke St.
Ambrose after it: and if his youth had the infirmities of the one,
his age had the excellencies of the other; the learning and holiness
of both.

And now all his studies, which had been occasionally diffused,
were all concentered in divinity. Now he had a new calling, new
thoughts, and a new employment for his wit and eloquence. Now,
all his earthly affections were changed into divine love; and all the
faculties of his own soul were engaged in the conversion of others;
in preaching the glad tidings of remission to repenting sinners, and
peace to each troubled soul.

To these he applied himself with all care and diligence; and now
such a change was wrought in him, that he could say with David,
"O how amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord God of Hosts!" Now
he declared openly, "that when he required a temporal, God gave
him a spiritual blessing." And that "he was now gladder to be a
door-keeper in the house of God, than he could be to enjoy the
noblest of all temporal employments."

Presently after he entered into his holy profession, the King sent
for him, and made him his chaplain in ordinary, and promised to
take a particular care for his preferment.

And though his long familiarity with scholars and pwrsons of
greatest quality was such as might have given some men boldness
enough to have preached to any eminent auditory, yet his modesty
in this employment was such that he could not be persuaded to it,
but went usually accompanied with some one friend to preach
privately in some village, not far from London, his first sermon
being preached at Paddington. This he did, till his Majesty sent
and appointed him a day to preach to him at Whitehall; and, though
much were expected from him, both by his Majesty and others, yet
he was so happy — which few are — as to satisfy and exceed their
expectations: preaching the Word so, as showed his own heart was
possessed with those very thoughts and joys that he laboured to distil
into others; a preacher in earnest; weeping sometimes for his audi-
tory, sometimes with them; always preaching to himself, like an
angel from a cloud, but in none; carrying some, as St. Paul was,

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 343

to heaven in holy raptures, and enticing others by a sacred art and
courtship to amend their lives; here picturing a vice so as to make
it ugly to those that practised it, and a virtue so as to make it be-
loved even by those that loved it not; and all this with a most par-
ticular grace and an unexpressible addition of comeliness.

There may be some that may incline to think — such indeed as have
not heard him — that my affection to my friend hath transported me
to an immoderate commendation of his preaching. If this meets
with any such, let me entreat, though I will omit many, yet that they
will receive a double witness for what I say; it being attested by a
gentleman of worth, — Mr. Chidley, a frequent hearer of his sermons,
— in part of a funeral elegy writ by him on Dr. Donne; and is a
known truth, though it be in verse —

— Each altar had his fire —
He kept his love, but not his object; wit
He did not banish, but transplanted it;
Taught it both time and place, and brought it home
To piety which it doth best become.

For say, had ever pleasure such a dress?

Have you seen crimes so shaped, or loveliness

Such as his lips did clothe religion in?

Had not reproof a beauty passing sin?

Corrupted Nature sorrow'd that she stood

So near the danger of becoming good.

And, when he preached, she wish'd her ears exempt

From piety, that had such jx)wer to tempt.

How did his sacred flattery beguile

Men to amend? —

More of this, and more witnesses, might be brought; but I forbear
and return.

That summer, in the very same month in which he entered into
sacred orders, and was made the King's chaplain, his Majesty then
going his progress, was entreated to receive an entertainment in the
University of Cambridge; and Mr. Donne attending his Majesty
at that time, his Majesty was pleased to recommend him to the
University, to be made doctor in divinity. Dr. Harsnett, after
Archbishop of York, was then Vice-Chancellor, who, knowing him

344 IZAAK WALTON

to be the author of that learned book, The Pseudo-Martyr, required
no other proof of his abiHties, but proposed it to the University, who
presently assented, and expressed a gladness that they had such an
occasion to entitle him to be theirs.

His abilities and industry in his profession were so eminent, and
he so known and so beloved by persons of quality, that within the
first year of his entering into sacred orders he had fourteen advow-
sons of several benefices presented to him; but they were in the
country, and he could not leave his beloved London, to which place
he had a natural inclination, having received both his birth and
education in it, and there contracted a friendship with many, whose
conversation multiplied the joys of his life: but an employment that
might affix him that place would be welcome, for he needed it.

Immediately after his return from Cambridge his wife died, leav-
ing him a man of a narrow, unsettled state, and — having buried five
— the careful father of seven children then living, to whom he gave
a voluntary assurance never to bring them under the subjection of
a step-mother; which promise he kept most faithfully, burying with
his tears all his earthly joys in his most dear and deserving wife's
grave, and betook himself to a most retired and solitary life.

In this retiredness, which was often from the sight of his dearest
friends, he became crucified to the world, and all those vanities,
those imaginary pleasures, that are daily acted on that restless stage;
and they were as perfectly crucified to him. Nor is it hard to think —
being, passions may be both changed and heightened by accidents —
but that that abundant affection which once was betwixt him and
her, who had long been the delight of his eyes and the companion
of his youth; her, with whom he had divided so many pleasant
sorrows and contented fears, as common people are not capable of;
— not hard to think but that she being now removed by death, a
commensurable grief took as full a possession of him as joy had
done; and so indeed it did; for now his very soul was elemented of
nothing but sadness; now grief took so full a possession of his heart,
as to leave no place for joy: if it did, it was a joy to be alone, where,
like a pelican in the wilderness, he might bemoan himself without
witness or restraint, and pour forth his passions like Job in the days
of his affliction: "Oh that I might have the desire of my heart! Oh

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 345

that God would grant the thing that I long fori" For then, as the
grave is become her house, so I would hasten to make it mine also;
that we two might there make our beds together in the dark. Thus,
as the Israelites sat mourning by the rivers of Babylon, when they
remembered Sion, so he gave some ease to his oppressed heart by
thus venting his sorrows: thus he began the day, and ended the
night; ended the restless night and began the weary day in lamenta-
tions. And thus he continued, till a consideration of his new engage-
ments to God, and St. Paul's "Woe is me, if I preach not the gospel!"
dispersed those sad clouds that had then benighted his hopes, and
now forced him to behold the light.

His first motion from his house was to preach where his beloved
wife lay buried, — in St. Clement's Church, near Temple Bar, Lon-
don, — and his text was a part of the Prophet Jeremy's Lamentation :
"Lo, I am the man that have seen affliction."

And indeed his very words and looks testified him to be truly
such a man; and they, with the addition of his sighs and tears, ex-
pressed in his sermon, did so work upon the affections of his hearers,
as melted and moulded them into a companionable sadness; and so
they left the congregation; but then their houses presented them
with objects of diversion, and his presented him with nothing but
fresh objects of sorrow, in beholding many helpless children, a nar-
row fortune, and a consideration of the many cares and casualties
that attend their education.

In this time of sadness he was importuned by the grave Benchers
of Lincoln's Inn — who were once his companions and friends of his
youth — to accept of their lecture, which, by reason of Dr. Gataker's
removal from thence, was then void; of which he accepted, being
most glad to renew his intermitted friendship with those whom he
so much loved, and where he had been a Saul, — though not to
persecute Christianity, or to deride it, yet in his irregular youth to
neglect the visible practice of it, — there to become a Paul, and preach
salvation to his beloved brethren.

And now his life was a shining light among his old friends; now
he gave an ocular testimony of the strictness and regularity of it;
now he might say, as St. Paul adviseth his Corinthians, "Be ye
followers of me, as I follow Christ, and walk as ye have me for an

346 IZAAK WALTON

example;" not the example of a busy body, but of a contemplative,
a harmless, an humble and an holy life and conversation.

The love of that noble society was expressed to him many ways;
for, besides fair lodging that were set apart, and newly furnished
for him with all necessaries, other courtesies were also daily added;
indeed so many, and so freely, as if they meant their gratitude should
exceed his merits : and in this love-strife of desert and liberality, they
continued for the space of two years, he preaching faithfully and
constantly to them, and they liberally requiting him. About which
lime the Emperor of Germany died, and the Palsgrave, who had
lately married the Lady Elizabeth, the king's only daughter, was
elected and crowned King of Bohemia, the unhappy beginning of
many miseries in that nation.

King James, whose motto — Bead pacifici — did truly speak the very
thoughts of his heart, endeavoured first to prevent, and after to
compose, the discords of that discomjxjsed State: and, amongst other
his endeavours, did then send the Lord Hay, Earl of Doncaster, his
ambassador to those unsettled Princes; and, by a special command
from his Majesty, Dr. Donne was appointed to assist and attend that
employment to the princes of the union; for which the Earl was
most glad, who had always put a great value on him, and taken a
great pleasure in his conversation and discourse: and his friends at
Lincoln's Inn were as glad, for they feared that his immoderate
study and sadness for his wife's death would, as Jacob said, "make
his days few," and, respecting his bodily health, "evil" too; and of
this there were many visible signs.

At his going he left his friends of Lincoln's Inn, and they him,
with many reluctations; for, though he could not say as St. Paul to
his Ephesians, "Behold, you, to whom I have preached the Kingdom
of God, shall from henceforth see my face no more," yet he, believing
himself to be in a consumption, questioned, and they feared it: all
concluding that his troubled mind, with the help of his unintermitted
studies, hastened the decays of his weak body. But God, who is the
God of all wisdom and goodness, turned it to the best; for this
employment — to say nothing of the event of it — did not only divert
him from those too serious studies and sad thoughts, but seemed to
give him a new life, by a true occasion of joy, to be an eye-witness

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 347

of the health of his most dear and most honoured mistress, the Queen
of Bohemia, in a foreign nation; and to be a witness of that gladness
which she expressed to see him: who, having formerly known him
a courtier, was much joyed to see him in a canonical habit, and
more glad to be an ear-witness of his excellent and powerful
preaching.

About fourteen months after his departure out of England, he
returned to his friends of Lincoln's Inn, with his sorrows moderated,
and his health improved; and there betook himself to his constant
course of preaching.

About a year after his return out of Germany, Dr. Carey was made
Bishop of Exeter, and by his removal the Deanery of St. Paul's being
vacant, the King sent to Dr. Donne, and appointed him to attend
him at dinner the next day. When his Majesty sat down, before
he had eat any meat, he said after his pleasant manner, "Dr.
Donne, I have invited you to dinner; and, though you sit not
down with me, yet I will carve to you of a dish that I know you love
well; for, knowing you love London, I do therefore make you Dean
of St. Paul's; and, when I have dined, then do you take your beloved
dish home to your study, say grace there to yourself, and much good
may it do you."

Immediately after he came to his deanery he employed workmen
to repair and beautify the chapel; suffering, as holy David once
vowed, "his eyes and temples to take no rest till he had first beau-
tified the house of God."

The next quarter following, when his father-in-law, Sir George
More — whom time had made a lover and admirer of him — came to
pay to him the conditioned sum of twenty pounds, he refused to
receive it; and said, as good Jacob did when he heard his beloved
son Joseph was alive, " 'It is enough;' you have been kind to me and
mine. I know your present condition is such as not to abound, and
I hope mine is, or will be such as not to need it: I will therefore
receive no more from you up>on that contract;" and in testimony of
it freely gave him up his bond.

Immediately after his admission into his deanery, the vicarage of
St. Dunstan in the West, London, fell to him by the death of Dr.
White, the advowson of it having been given to him long before

348 IZAAK WALTON

by his honourable friend, Richard, Earl of Dorset, then the patron,
and confirmed by his brother, the late deceased Edward, both of them
men of much honour.

By these, and another ecclesiastical endowment which fell to him
about the same time, given to him formerly by the Earl of Kent,
he was enabled to become charitable to the poor, and kind to his
friends, and to make such provision for his children that they were
not left scandalous, as relating to their or his profession and quality.

The next Parliament, which was within that present year, he was
chosen Prolocutor to the Convocation, and about that time was
appointed by his Majesty, his most gracious master, to preach very
many occasional sermons, as at St. Paul's Cross, and other places.
All which employments he performed to the admiration of the rep-
resentative body of the whole clergy of this nation.

He was once, and but once, clouded with the King's displeasure,
and it was about this time; which was occasioned by some malicious
whisperer, who had told his Majesty that Dr. Donne had put on
the general humours of the pulpits, and was become busy in insin-
uating a fear of the King's inclining to Popery, and a dislike of his
government; and particularly for the King's then turning the eve-
ning lectures into catechising, and expounding the Prayer of our
Lord, and of the Belief and Commandments. His Majesty was the
more inclinable to believe this, for that a person of nobility and great
note, betwixt whom and Dr. Donne there had been a great friend-
ship, was at this very time discarded the court — I shall forbear his
name, unless I had a fairer occasion — and justly committed to prison;
which begot many rumours in the common people, who in this
nation think they are not wise unless they be busy about what they
understand not, and especially about religion.

The King received this news with so much discontent and rest-
lessness, that he would not suffer the sun to set and leave him under
this doubt; but sent for Dr. Donne, and required his answer to the
accusation; which was so clear and satisfactory, that the King said
"he was right glad he rested no longer under the suspicion." When
the King had said this, Dr. Donne kneeled down and thanked his
Majesty, and protested his answer was faithful, and free from all
collusion, and therefore, "desired that he might not rise till, as in

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 349

like cases, he always had from God, so he might have from his
Majesty, some assurance that he stood clear and fair in his opinion."
At which the King raised him from his knees with his own hands,
and "protested he believed him; and that he knew he was an honest
man, and doubted not but that he loved him truly." And, having
thus dismissed him, he called some lords of his council into his
chamber, and said with much earnestness, "My doctor is an honest
man; and, my lords, I was never better satisfied with an answer than
he hath now made me; and I always rejoice when I think that by
my means he became a divine."

He was made dean in the fiftieth year of his age; and in his fifty-
fourth year a dangerous sickness seized him, which inclined him to
a consumption : but God, as Job thankfully acknowledged, preserved
his spirit, and kept his intellectuals as clear and perfect as when that
sickness first seized his body; but it continued long, and threatened
him with death, which he dreaded not.

In this distemper of body, his dear friend. Dr. Henry King, — then
chief residentiary of that church, and late Bishop of Chichester, — a
man generally known by the clergy of this nation, and as generally
noted for his obliging nature, visited him daily; and observing that
his sickness rendered his recovery doubtful, he chose a seasonable
time to speak to him to this purpose:

"Mr. Dean, I am, by your favour, no stranger to your temporal
estate, and you are no stranger to the offer lately made us, for the
renewing a lease of the best Prebend's corps belonging to our church;
and you know 'twas denied, for that our tenant being very rich,
offered to fine at so low a rate as held not proportion with his ad-
vantages: but I will either raise him to a higher sum, or procure
that the other residentiaries shall join to accept of what was offered;
one of these I can and will by your favour do without delay, and
without any trouble either to your body or mind: I beseech you to
accept of my offer, for I know it will be a considerable addition to
your present estate, which I know needs it."

To this, after a short pause, and raising himself upon his bed, he
made this reply :

"My most dear friend, I most humbly thank you for your many
favours, and this in particular; but in my present condition I shall

350 IZAAK WALTON

not accept of your proposal; for doubtless there is such a sin as
sacrilege; if there were not, it could not have a name in Scripture;
and the primitive clergy were watchful against all appearances of
that evil; and indeed then all Christians looked upon it with horror
and detestation, judging it to be even an open defiance of the power
and providence of Almighty God, and a sad presage of a declining
religion. But instead of such Christians, who had selected times set
apart to fast and pray to God, for a pious clergy, which they then
did obey, our times abound with men that are busy and litigious
about trifles and church ceremonies, and yet so far from scrupling
sacrilege, that they make not so much as a quarre what it is: but I
thank God I have; and dare not now upon my sick-bed, when
Almighty God hath made me useless to the service of the Church,
make any advantages out of it. But if He shall again restore me to
such a degree of health, as again to serve at his altar, I shall then
gladly take the reward which the bountiful benefactors of this church
have designed me; for God knows my children and relations will
need it. In which number, my mother — whose credulity and charity
has contracted a very plentiful to a very narrow estate — must not
be forgotten. But, Dr. King, if I recover not, that little worldly estate
that I shall leave behind me — that very little, when divided into eight
parts — must, if you deny me not so charitable a favour, fall into your
hands, as my most faithful friend and executor, of whose care and
justice I make no more doubt than of God's blessing, on that which
I have conscientiously collected for them; but it shall not be aug-
mented on my sick-bed; and this I declare to be my unalterable
resolution."

The reply to this was only a promise to observe his request.

Within a few days his distempers abated; and as his strength
increased, so did his thankfulness to Almighty God, testified in his
most excellent Book of Devotions, which he published at his re-
covery; in which the reader may see the most secret thoughts that
then possessed his soul, paraphrased and made public: a book that
may not unfitly be called a sacred picture of spiritual ecstasies,
occasioned and appliable to the emergencies of that sickness; which
book, being a composition of meditations, disquisitions, and prayers,
he writ on his sick-bed; herein imitating the holy patriarchs, who

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 351

were wont to build their altars in that place where they had received
their blessings.

This sickness brought him so near to the gates of death, and he
saw the grave so ready to devour him, that he would often say his
recovery was supernatural: but that God that then restored his health
continued it to him till the fifty-ninth year of his life; and then, in
August 1630, being with his eldest daughter, Mrs. Harvey, at Abury
Hatch, in Essex, he there fell into a fever, which with the help of his
constant infirmity — vapours from the spleen — hastened him into so
visible a consumption that his beholders might say, as St. Paul of
himself, "He dies daily;" and he might say with Job, "My welfare
passeth away as a cloud, the days of my affliction have taken hold of
me, and weary nights are appointed for me."

Reader, this sickness continued long, not only weakening, but
wearying him so much, that my desire is he may now take some
rest; and that before I speak of his death, thou wilt not think it an
impertinent digression to look back with me upon some observations
of his life, which, whilst a gentle slumber give rest to his spirits, may,
I hope, not unfitly exercise thy consideration.

His marriage was the remarkable error of his life — an error which,
though he had a wit able and very apt to maintain paradoxes, yet
he was very far from justifying it; and though his wife's competent
years, and other reasons, might be justly urged to moderate severe
censures, yet he would occasionally condemn himself for it; and
doubtless it had been attended with an heavy repentance, if God
had not blessed them with so mutual and cordial affections, as in
the midst of their sufferings made their bread of sorrow taste more
pleasantly than the banquets of dull and low-spirited people.

The recreations of his youth were poetry, in which he was so
happy, as if nature and all her varieties had been made only to
exercise his sharp wit and high fancy; and in those pieces which
were facetiously composed and carelessly scattered — most of them
being written before the twentieth year of his age — it may appear
by his choice metaphors that both nature and all the arts joined to
assist him with their utmost skill.

It is a truth, that in his penitential years, viewing some of those
pieces that had been loosely — God knows, too loosely — scattered in

352 IZAAK WALTON

his youth, he wished they had been abortive, or so short-hved that
his own eyes had witnessed their funerals: but, though he was no
friend to them, he was not so fallen out with heavenly poetry as to
forsake that; no, not in his declining age; witnessed then by many
divine sonnets, and other high, holy, and harmonious composures.
Yea, even, on his former sick-bed he wrote this heavenly hymn,
expressing the great joy that then possessed his soul in the assurance
o£ God's favour to him when he composed it —

AN HYMN

TO COD THE FATHER

Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun,

Which was my sin, though it were done before?

Wilt thou forgive that sin through which I run.
And do run still, though still I do deplore?

When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

For I have more.

Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I have won

Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun

A year or two; — but wallow'd in a score?
When thou hast done, thou hast not done,

For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun

My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son

Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And having done that, thou hast done,

I fear no more.

I have the rather mentioned this hymn, for that he caused it to be
set to a most grave and solemn tune, and to be often sung to the
organ by the choristers of St. Paul's Church, in his own hearing,
especially at the evening service; and at his return from his customary
devotions in that place, did occasionally say to a friend, "The words
of this hymn have restored to me the same thoughts of joy that
possessed my soul in my sickness, when I composed it. And, O the
power of church-music! that harmony added to this hymn has raised
the affections of my heart, and quickened my graces of zeal and

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 353

gratitude; and I observe that I always return from paying this public
duty of prayer and praise to God, with an unexpressible tranquillity
of mind, and a willingness to leave the world."

After this manner the disciples of our Saviour, and the best of
Christians in those ages of the church nearest to his time, of?er their
praises to Almighty God. And the reader of St. Augustine's life
may there find that towards his dissolution he wept abundantly, that
the enemies of Christianity had broke in upon them, and profaned
and ruined their sanctuaries, and because their public hymns and
lauds were lost out of their churches. And after this manner have
many devout souls lifted up their hands and offered acceptable sac-
rifices unto Almighty God, where Dr. Donne offered his, and now
lies buried.

But now, O Lord! how is that place become desolate!'

Before I proceed further, I think fit to inform the reader, that not
long before his death he caused to be drawn a figure of the body of
Christ extended upon an anchor, like those which painters draw
when they would present us with the picture of Christ crucified on
the cross: his varying no otherwise, than to affix him not to a cross,
but to an anchor — the emblem of hope; — this he caused to be drawn
in little, and then many of those figures thus drawn to be engraven
very small in Heliotropium stones, and set in gold; and of these he
sent to many of his dearest friends, to be used as seals, or rings, and
kept as memorials of him, and of his affection to them.

His dear friends and benefactors. Sir Henry Goodier and Sir
Robert Drewry, could not be of that number; nor could the Lady
Magdalen Herbert, the mother of George Herbert, for they had put
off mortality, and taken possession of the grave before him : but Sir
Henry Wotton, and Dr. Hall, the then late deceased Bishop of
Norwich, were; and so were Dr. Duppa, Bishop of Salisbury, and
Dr. Henry King, Bishop of Chichester — lately deceased, — men in
whom there was such a commixture of general learning, of natural
eloquence, and Christian humility, that they deserve a commemora-
tion by a pen equal to their own, which none have exceeded.

And in this enumeration of his friends, though many must be
omitted; yet that man of primitive piety, Mr. George Herbert, may

'1656

354 IZAAK WALTON

not; I mean that George Herbert who was the author of The Temple,
or Sacred Poems and Ejaculations. A book in which, by declaring
his own spiritual conflicts, he hath comforted and raised many a
dejected and discomposed soul and charmed them into sweet and
quiet thoughts; a book, by the frequent reading whereof, and the
assistance of that spirit that seemed to inspire the author, the reader
may attain habits of peace and piety, and all the gifts of the Holy
Ghost and heaven; and may, by still reading, still keep those sacred
fires burning upon the altar of so pure a heart, as shall free it from
the anxieties of this world, and keep it fixed upon things that are
above. Betwixt this George Herbert and Dr. Donne there was a long
and dear friendship, made up by such a sympathy of inclinations,
that they coveted and joyed to be in each other's company; and this
happy friendship was still maintained by many sacred endearments;
of which that which foUoweth may be some testimony.

TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT

SENT HIM WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST

A Sheaf of Snal(_es used heretofore to be my Seal, which is
the Crest of our poor family

Qui prius assuetus scrpentum fake tabellas

Signare, ha:c nostrx symbola parva domds,
Adscitus domui Domini —

Adopted in God's family, and so

My old coat lost, into new Arms I go.

The Cross, my Seal in Baptism, spread below,

Does by that form into an Anchor grow.

Crosses grow Anchors, bear as thou shouldst do

Thy Cross, and that Cross grows an Anchor too.

But he that makes our Crosses Anchors thus.

Is Christ, who there is crucified for us.

Yet with this I may my first Serpents hold; —

God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old —

The Serpent, may, as wise, my pattern be;

My f>oison, as he feeds on dust, that's me.

And, as he rounds the earth to murder, sure

He is my death; but on the Cross, my cure,

Crucify nature then; and then implore

All grace from him, crucified there before.

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 355

When all is Cross, and that Cross Anchor grown

This Seal's a Catechism, not a Seal alone.

Under that litde Seal great gifts I send.

Both works and prayers, pawns and fruits of a friend.

Oh! may that Saint that rides on our Great Seal,

To you that bear his name, large bounty deal.

John Donne.

in sacram anchoram piscatoris

GEORGE HERBERT

Quod Crux nequibat fixa clavique additi, —
Tenere Christum scilicet ne ascenderet,
Tuive Christum —

Although the Cross could not here Christ detain.

When nail'd unto 't, but he ascends again;

Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still,

But only whilst thou speak'st — this Anchor will:

Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to

This certain Anchor add a Seal; and so

The water and the earth both unto thee

Do owe the symbol of their certainty.

Let the world reel, we and all our's stand sure.

This holy cable's from all storms secure.

George Herbert.

I return to tell the reader that, besides these verses to his dear Mr.
Herbert, and that hymn that I mentioned to be sung in the choir
of St. Paul's Church, he did also shorten and beguile many sad hours
by composing other sacred ditties; and he writ an hymn on his
death-bed which bears this title:

AN HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS
March 2 J, i6jo

Since I am coming to that holy room.
Where, with thy Choir of Saints, for evermore

I shall be made thy music, as I come
I tune my instrument here at the door,
And, what I must do then, think here before.

Since my Physicians by their loves are grown
Cosmographers; and I their map, who lye

Flat on this bed —

356 IZAAK WALTON

So, in his purple wrapt, receive my Lord!

By these his thorns, give me his other Crown:

And, as to other souls I preach'd thy word,
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own,
"That he may raise; therefore the Lord throws down."

If these fall under the censure of a soul whose too much mixture
with earth makes it unfit to judge of these high raptures and illumi-
nations, let him know, that many holy and devout men have thought
the soul of Prudentius to be most refined, when, not many days be-
fore his death, "he charged it to present his God each morning and
evening with a new and spiritual song;" justified by the example of
King David and the good King Hezekiah, who, upon the renovation
of his years paid his thankful vows to Almighty God in a royal
hymn, which he concludes in these words: "The Lord was ready to
save; therefore I will sing my songs to the stringed instruments all
the days of my life in the temple of my God."

The latter part of his life may be said to be a continued study; for
as he usually preached once a week, if not oftener, so after his sermon
he never gave his eyes a rest, till he had chosen out a new text, and
that night cast his sermon into a form, and his text into divisions;
and the next day betook himself to consult the fathers, and so com-
mit his meditations to his memory, which was excellent. But upon
Saturday he usually gave himself and his mind a rest from the weary
burthen of his week's meditations, and usually spent that day in
visitation of friends, or some other diversions of his thoughts; and
would say, "that he gave both his body and mind that refreshment,
that he might be enabled to do the work of the day following, not
faintly, but with courage and cheerfulness."

Nor was his age only so industrious, but in the most unsettled
days of his youth his bed was not able to detain him beyond the
hour of four in the morning; and it was no common business that
drew him out of his chamber till past ten; all which time was
employed in study; though he took great liberty after it. And if this
seem strange, it may gain a belief by the visible fruits of his labours;
some of which remain as testimonies of what is here written: for he
left the resultance of 1400 authors, most of them abridged and
analysed with his own hand; he left also six score of his sermons.

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 357

all written with his own hand; also an exact and laborious treatise
concerning self-murder, called Biathanatos; wherein all the laws
violated by that act are diligently surveyed, and judiciously censured:
a treatise written in his younger days, which alone might declare him
then not only perfect in the civil and canon law but in many other
such studies and arguments as enter not into the consideration of
many that labour to be thought great clerks, and pretend to know
all things.

Nor were these only found in his study, but all businesses that
passed of any public consequence, either in this or any of our
neighixjur nations, he abbreviated either in Latin, or in the language
of that nation, and kept them by him for useful memorials. So he
did the copies of divers letters and cases of conscience that had con-
cerned his friends, with his observations and solutions of them; and
divers other businesses of importance, all particularly and method-
ically digested by himself.

He did prepare to leave the world before life left him, making his
will when no faculty of his soul was damped or made defective by
pain or sickness, or he surprised by a sudden apprehension of death:
but it was made with mature deliberation, expressing himself an
impartial father, by making his children's portions equal; and a
lover of his friends, whom he remembered with legacies fitly and
discreetly chosen and bequeathed. I cannot forbear a nomination of
some of them; for methinks they be persons that seem to challenge
a recordation in this place; as namely, to his brother-in-law. Sir
Thomas Grimes, he gave that striking clock, which he had long
worn in his pocket; to his dear friend and executor, Dr. King, — late
Bishop of Chichester — that model of gold of the Synod of Dort, with
which the States presented him at his last being at the Hague; and
the two pictures of Padre Paolo and Fulgentio, men of his acquaint-
ance when he travelled Italy, and of great note in that nation for
their remarkable learning. — To his ancient friend Dr. Brook, —
that married him — Master of Trinity College in Cambridge, he gave
the picture of the Blessed Virgin and Joseph. — To Dr. Winniff, who
succeeded him in the Deanery, he gave a picture called the Skele-
ton. — To the succeeding Dean, who was not then known, he gave
many necessaries of worth, and useful for his house; and also several

358 IZAAK WALTON

pictures and ornaments for the chapel, with a desire that they might
be registered, and remain as a legacy to his successors. — To the Earls
of Dorset and CarUsle he gave several pictures; and so he did to
many other friends; legacies, given rather to express his affection,
than to make any addition to their estates: but unto the poor he
was full of charity, and unto many others, who, by his constant
and long<ontinued bounty, might entitle themselves to be his
alms-people: for all these he made provision, and so largely, as,
having then six children living, might to some appear more than
proportionable to his estate. I forbear to mention any more, lest
the reader may think I trespass upon his patience: but I will
beg his favour, to present him with the beginning and end of his
will.

"In the name of the blessed and glorious Trinity, Amen, I, John
Donne, by the mercy of Christ Jesus, and by the calling of the Church
of England, priest, being at this time in good health and perfect
understanding, — praised be God therefore — do hereby make my
last will and testament in manner and form following.

"First, I give my gracious God an entire sacrifice of body and
soul, with my most humble thanks for that assurance which his
blessed Spirit imprints in me now of the salvation of the one, and
the resurrection of the other; and for that constant and cheerful
resolution, which the same Spirit hath established in me, to live and
die in the religion now professed in the Church of England. In
expectation of that resurrection, I desire my body may be buried —
in the most private manner that may be — in that place of St. Paul's
Church, Lx>ndon, that the now residentiaries have at my request
designed for that purpose, etc. — And this my last will and testa-
ment, made in the fear of God, — whose mercy I humbly beg, and
constandy rely upon in Jesus Christ — and in perfect love and
charity with all the world — whose pardon I ask, from the lowest of
my servants, to the highest of my superiors — written all with my own
hand, and my name subscribed to every page, of which there are
five in number.

"Sealed December 13, 1630."

Nor was this blessed sacrifice of charity expressed only at his

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 359

death, but in his life also, by a cheerful and frequent visitation of
any friend whose mind was dejected, or his fortune necessitous;
he was inquisitive after the wants of prisoners, and redeemed many
from prison that lay for their fees or small debts: he was a continual
giver to poor scholars, both of this and foreign nations. Besides
what he gave with his own hand, he usually sent a servant, or a
discreet and trusty friend, to distribute his charity to all the prisons
in London, at all the festival times of the year, especially at the birth
and resurrection of our Saviour. He gave an hundred pounds at
one time to an old friend, whom he had known live plentifully,
and by a too liberal heart and carelessness became decayed in his
estate; and when the receiving of it was denied by the gentleman's
saying, "He wanted not;" for the reader may note, that as there be
some spirits so generous as to labour to conceal and endure a sad
poverty, rather than expose themselves to those blushes that attend
the confession of it; so there be others, to whom nature and grace
have afforded such sweet and compassionate souls, as to pity and
prevent the distresses of mankind; — which I have mentioned because
of Dr. Donne's reply, whose answer was: "I know you want not
what will sustain nature; for a litde will do that; but my desire
is, that you, who in the days of your plenty have cheered and raised
the hearts of so many of your dejected friends, would now receive
from me, and use it as a cordial for the cheering of your own:" and
upon these terms it was received. He was an happy reconciler of
many differences in the families of his friends and kindred, — which
he never undertook faintly; for such undertakings have usually faint
effects — and they had such a faith in his judgment and impartiality,
that he never advised them to any thing in vain. He was, even to
her death, a most dutiful son to his mother, careful to provide for her
supportation, of which she had been destitute, but that God raised
him up to prevent her necessities; who having sucked in the religion
of the Roman Church with the mother's milk, spent her estate in
foreign countries, to enjoy a liberty in it, and died in his house but
three months before him.

And to the end it may appear how just a steward he was of his
lord and master's revenue, I have thought fit to let the reader
know, that after his entrance into his Deanery, as he numbered his

360 IZAAK WALTON

years, he at the foot of a private account, to which God and his
angels were only witnesses with him, — computed first his revenue,
then what was given to the poor, and other pious uses; and lastly,
what rested for him and his; and having done that, he then blessed
each year's poor remainder with a thankful prayer; which, for that
they discover a more than common devotion, the reader shall par-
take some of them in his own words:

So all is that remains this year — [1624-5].

Deo Opt. Max. benigno largitori, a me, et ab iis quibus hic 4 me
reservantur, Gloria et gratia in aeternum. Amen.

Translated thus.

To God all Good, all Great, the benevolent Bestower, by me and
by them, for whom by me these sums are laid up, be glory and grace
ascribed for ever. Amen.

So that this year [1626] God hath blessed me and mine with: —

Multiplicatx sunt super nos misericordia: tuae, Domine.

Translated thus.

Thy mercies, O Lord! are multiplied upon us.

Da, Domine, ut quse ex immensa bonitate tua nobis elargiri
dignatus sis, in quorumcunque manus devenerint, in tuam semper
cedant gloriam. Amen.

Translated thus.

Grant, O Lord! that what out of thine infinite bounty thou hast
vouchsafed to lavish ufx)n us, into whosoever hands it may devolve,
may always be improved to thy glory. Amen.

In fine horum sex annorum manet: — [1628-9].

Quid habeo quod non accepi a Domino? Largitur etiam ut qui
largitus est sua iterum fiant, bono eorum usu; ut quemadmodum nee
officiis hujus mundi, nee loci in quo me posuit dignitati, nee servis,
nee egenis, in toto hujus anni curriculo mihi conscius sum me de-

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 36 1

fuisse: ita et liberi, quibus quae supersunt, supersunt, grato animo ea
accipiant, et beneficum, authorem recognoscant. Amen.

Translated thus.

At the end of these six years remains: —

What have I, which I have not received from the Lord? He
bestows, also, to the intent that what he hath bestowed may revert
to him by the proper use of it: that, as 1 have not consciously been
wanting to myself during the whole course of the past year, either
in discharging my secular duties, in retaining the dignity of my
station, or in my conduct towards my servants and the poor, — so my
children for whom remains whatever is remaining, may receive it
with gratitude, and acknowledge the beneficent Giver. Amen.

But I return from my long digression.

We left the author sick in Essex, where he was forced to spend
much of that winter, by reason of his disability to remove from
that place; and having never, for almost twenty years, omitted
his personal attendance on his Majesty in that month, in which he
was to attend and preach to him; nor having ever been left out of
the roll and number of Lent preachers, and there being then — in
January 1630 — a report brought to London, or raised there, that Dr.
Donne was dead; that report gave him occasion to write the follow-
ing letter to a dear friend :

"Sir, — This advantage you and my other friends have by my
frequent fevers, that I am so much the oftener at the gates of heaven;
and this advantage by the solitude and close imprisonment that they
reduce me to after, that T am so much the oftener at my prayers, in
which I shall never leave out your happiness; and I doubt not, among
his other blessings, God will add some one to you for my prayers.
A man would almost be content to die, — if there were no other
benefit in death, — to bear of so much sorrow, and so much good
testimony from good men, as T — God be blessed for it — did upon
the report of my death: yet I perceive it went not through all; for
one writ to me, that some — and he said of my friends — conceived
that I was not so ill as I pretended, but withdrew myself to live at

362 IZAAK WALTON

ease, discharged of preaching. It is an unfriendly, and, God knows,
an ill-grounded interpretation; for I have always been sorrier when
I could not preach than any could be they could not hear me. It hath
been my desire, and God may be pleased to grant it, that I might die
in the pulpit; if not that, yet that I might take my death in the
pulpit; that is, die the sooner by occasion of those labours. Sir, I hope
to see you presently after Candlemas; about which time will fall my
Lent sermon at court, except my Lord Chamberlain believe me to
be dead, and so leave me out of the roll: but as long as I live, and
am not speechless, I would not willingly decline that service. I
have better leisure to write, than you to read; yet I would not will-
ingly oppress you with too much letter. God so bless you and your
son, as I wish to

Your poor friend and servant
in Christ Jesus,

J. Donne."

Before that month ended, he was appointed to preach upon his old
constant day, the first Friday in Lent : he had notice of it, and had in
his sickness so prepared for that employment, that as he had long
thirsted for it, so he resolved his weakness should not hinder his
journey; he came therefore to London some few days before his
appointed day of preaching. At his coming thither, many of his
friends — who with sorrow saw his sickness had left him but so much
flesh as did only cover his bones — doubted his strength to perform
that task, and did thereof persuade him from undertaking it, assur-
ing him however, it was like to shorten his life: but he passionately
denied their requests, saying "he would not doubt that that God,
who in so many weaknesses had assisted him with an unexpected
strength, would now withdraw it in his last employment; professing
an holy ambition to perform that sacred work." And when, to the
amazement of some of the beholders, he appeared in the pulpit,
many of them thought he presented himself not to preach mortifica-
tion by a living voice, but mortality by a decayed body and a dying
face. And doubtless many did secretly ask that question in Ezekiel,
— "Do these bones live? or, can that soul organise that tongue, to
speak so long time as the sand in that glass will move towards its

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 363

centre, and measure out an hour of this dying man's unspent life?
Doubtless it cannot." And yet, after some faint pauses in his zealous
prayer, his strong desires enabled his weak body to discharge his
memory of his preconceived meditations, which were of dying; the
text being, "To God the Lord belong the issues from death." Many
that then saw his tears, and heard his faint and hollow voice, pro-
fessing they thought the text prophetically chosen, and that Dr.
Donne had preached his own funeral sermon.

Being full of joy that God had enabled him to perform this desired
duty, he hastened to his house; out of which he never moved, till,
like St. Stephen, "he was carried by devout men to his grave."

The next day after his sermon, his strength being much wasted,
and his spirits so spent as indisposed him to business or to talk, a
friend that had often been a witness of his free and facetious dis-
course asked him, "Why are you sad?" To whom he replied, with
a countenance so full of cheerful gravity, as gave testimony of an
inward tranquillity of mind, and of a soul willing to take a farewell
of this world; and said, —

"I am not sad; but most of the night past I have entertained myself
with many thoughts of several friends that have left me here, and are
gone to that place from which they shall not return; and that within
a few days I also shall go hence, and be no more seen. And my
preparation for this change is become my nightly meditation uf>on
my bed, which my infirmities have now made resdess to me. But at
this present time, I was in a serious contemplation of the providence
and goodness of God to me; to me, who am less than the least of his
mercies: and looking back upon my life past, I now plainly see it was
his hand that prevented me from all temporal employment; and that
it was his will I should never settle nor thrive till I entered into the
ministry; in which I have now lived almost twenty years — I hope
to his glory, — and by which, I most humbly thank him, I have been
enabled to requite most of those friends which showed me kindness
when my fortune was very low, as God knows it was: and — as it
hath occasioned the expression of my gratitude I thank God most
of them have stood in need of my requital. I have lived to be useful
and comfortable to my good father-in-law. Sir George More, whose
patience God hath been pleased to exercise with many temporal

364 IZAAK WALTON

crosses; I have maintained my own mother, whom it hath pleased
God, after a plentiful fortune in her younger days, to bring to
great decay in her very old age. I have quieted the consciences of
many that have groaned under the burthen of a wounded spirit,
whose prayers I hope are available for me. I cannot plead innocency
of hfe, especially of my youth; but I am to be judged by a merciful
God, who is not willing to see what I have done amiss. And though
of myself I have nothing to present to him but sins and misery, yet
I know he looks not upon me now as I am of myself, but as I am in
my Saviour, and hath given me, even at this present time, some testi-
monies by his Holy Spirit, that I am of the number of his elect: I
am therefore full of inexpressible joy, and shall die in peace."

I must here look so far back, as to tell the reader that at his
first return out of Essex, to preach his last sermon, his old friend
and physician. Dr. Fox — a man of great worth — came to him to
consult his health; and that after a sight of him, and some queries
concerning his distempers, he told him, "That by cordials, and
drinking milk twenty days together, there was a probability of his
restoration to health;" but he passionately denied to drink it. Never-
theless, Dr. Fox, who loved him most entirely, wearied him with
solicitations, till he yielded to take it for ten days; at the end of
which time he told Dr. Fox, "He had drunk it more to satisfy him,
than to recover his health; and that he would not drink it ten days
longer, upon the best moral assurance of having twenty years added
to his life; for he loved it not; and was so far from fearing death,
which to others is the King of Terrors, that he longed for the day
of dissolution."

It is observed that a desire of glory or commendation is rooted in
the very nature of man; and that those of the severest and most
mortified hves, though they may become so humble as to banish
self -flattery, and such weeds as naturally grow there; yet they have
not been able to kill this desire of glory, but that like our radical
heat, it will both live and die with us; and many think it should do
so; and we want not sacred examples to justify the desire of having
our memory to outlive our lives; which I mention, because Dr.
Donne, by the persuasion of Dr. Fox, easily yielded at this very time
to have a monument made for him; but Dr. Fox undertook not to

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 365

persuade him how, or what monument it should be; that was left to
Dr. Donne himself.

A monument being resolved upon, Dr. Donne sent for a Carver
to make for him in wood the figure of an urn, giving him directions
for the compass and height of it; and to bring with it a board, of just
the height of his body. "These being got, then without delay a
choice painter was got to be in readiness to draw his picture, which
was taken as followeth. — Several charcoal fires being first made in
his large study, he brought with him into that place his winding-
sheet in his hand, and having put off all his clothes, had this sheet put
on him, and so tied with knots at his head and feet, and his hands so
placed as dead bodies are usually fitted, to be shrouded and put into
their coffin, or grave. Upon this urn he thus stood, with his eyes
shut, and with so much of the sheet turned aside as might show his
lean, pale, and deathlike face, which was purposely turned towards
the east, from whence he expected the second coming of his and our
Saviour Jesus." In this posture he was drawn at his just height; and
when the picture was fully finished, he caused it to be set by his
bed-side, where it continued and became his hourly object till his
death, and was then given to his dearest friend and executor Dr.
Henry King, then chief residentiary of St. Paul's, who caused him to
be thus carved in one entire piece of white marble, as it now stands
in that church; and by Dr. Donne's own appointment, these words
were to be affixed to it as an epitaph:

JOHANNES DONNE,

sac. theol. profess.

post varia stvdia, qvibus ab annis

tenerrimis fideliter, nec infeliciter

incvbvit;
instinctv et impvlsv sp. sancti, monitv

et hortatv

regis jacobi, ordines sacros amplexvs,

ann svi jesv, mdcxiv. et sv^ ittatis xlu.

decanatv hvjvs ecclesiic indvtvs,

xxvn. novembris, mdcxxi.

exvtvs morte vltimo die martii, mdcxxxi.

hic licet in occidvo cinere, aspicit evm

cvjvs nomen est oriens.

366 IZAAK WALTON

And now, having brought him through the many labyrinths and
perplexities of a various life, even to the gates of death and the grave;
my desire is, he may rest till I have told my reader that I have seen
many pictures of him, in several habits, and at several ages, and in
several postures: and I now mention this, because I have seen one
picture of him, drawn by a curious hand, at his age of eighteen,
with his sword, and what other adornments might then suit with the
present fashions of youth and the giddy gaieties of that age; and his
motto then was —

How much shall I be changed.
Before I am changed!

And if that young and his now dying picture were at this time set
together every beholder might say, Lxjrd! how much is Dr. Donne
already changed, before he is changed! And the view of them
might give my reader occasion to ask himself with some amaze-
ment, "Lord! how much may I also, that am now in health, be
changed before I am changed; before this vile, this changeable body
shall put off mortality!" and therefore to prepare for it. — But this is
not writ so much for my reader's memento, as to tell him that Dr.
Donne would often in his private discourses, and often publicly
in his sermons, mention the many changes both of his body and
mind; especially of his mind from a vertiginous giddiness; and
would as often say, "His great and most blessed change was from
a temporal to a spiritual employment;" in which he was so happy,
that he accounted the former part of his life to be lost; and the
beginning of it to be from his first entering into sacred orders, and
serving his most merciful God at his altar.

Upon Monday, after the drawing this picture, he took his last
leave of his beloved study; and, being sensible of his hourly decay,
retired himself to his bed-chamber; and that week sent at several
times for many of his most considerable friends, with whom he took
a solemn and deliberate farewell, commending to their considerations
some sentences useful for the regulation of their lives; and then dis-
missed them, as good Jacob did his sons, with a spiritual benediction.
The Sunday following, he appointed his servants, that if there were
any business yet undone that concerned him or themselves, it should
be prepared against Saturday next; for after that day he would not

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 367

mix his thoughts with anything that concerned this world; nor ever
did; but, as Job, so he "waited for the appointed day of his dissolu-
tion.

And now he was so .happy as to have nothing to do but to die, to
do which, he stood in need of no longer time; for he had studied it
long, and to so happy a perfection, that in a former sickness he called
God to witness* "He was that minute ready to deliver his soul into
his hands if that minute God would determine his dissolution."
In that sickness he begged of God the constancy to be preserved in
that estate for ever; and his patient expectation to have his immortal
soul disrobed from her garment of mortality, makes me confident
that he now had a modest assurance that his prayers were then heard,
and his petition granted. He lay fifteen days earnestly expecting his
hourly change; and in the last hour of his last day, as his body melted
away, and vapoured into spirit, his soul having, I verily believe some
revelation of the beatifical vision, he said, "I were miserable if I
might not die;" and after those words, closed many periods of his
faint breath by saying often, "Thy kingdom come, thy will be done."
His speech, which had long been his ready and faithful servant, left
him not till the last minute of his life, and then forsook him, not
to serve another master — for who speaks like him, — but died before
him; for that it was then become useless to him, that now conversed
with God on earth, as angels are said to do in heaven, only by
thoughts and looks. Being speechless, and seeing heaven by that
illumination by which he saw it, he did, as St. Stephen, "look stead-
fastly into it, till he saw the Son of Man standing at the right hand of
God his Father;" and being satisfied with this blessed sight, as his
soul ascended, and his last breath departed from him, he closed his
own eyes, and then disjxjsed his hands and body into such a posture
as required not the least alteration by those that came to shroud
him.

Thus variable, thus virtuous was the life: thus excellent, thus
exemplary was the death of this memorable man.

He was buried in that place of St. Paul's Church, which he had
appointed for that use some years before his death; and by which
he passed daily to pay his public devotions to Almighty God —
' In his Book of Devotions written then.

368 IZAAK WALTON

who was then served twice a day by a public form of prayer and
praises in that place: — but he was not buried privately, though he
desired it; for, beside an unnumbered number of others, many
persons of nobility, and of eminence for learning, who did love and
honour him in his life, did show it at his death, by a voluntary and
sad attendance of his body to the grave, where nothing was so
remarkable as a public sorrow.

To which place of his burial some mournful friends repaired,
and, as Alexander the Great did to the grave of the famous Achilles,
so they strewed his with an abundance of curious and costly
flowers; which course, they — who were never yet known — continued
morning and evening for many days, not ceasing, till the stones, that
were taken up in that church, to give his body admission into the
cold earth — now his bed of rest, — were again by the mason's art so
levelled and firmed as they had been formerly, and his place of burial
undistinguishable to common view.

The next day after his burial, some unknown friend, some one of
the many lovers and admirers of his virtue and learning, writ this
epitaph with a coal on the wall over his grave: —

Reader! I am to let thee know.
Donne's Body only lies below;
For, could the grave his Soul comprise.
Earth would be richer than the Skies!

Nor was this all the honour done to his reverend ashes; for, as
there be some persons that will not receive a reward for that for
which God accounts himself a debtor; persons that dare trust God
with their charity, and without a witness; so there was by some
grateful unknown friend, that thought Dr. Donne's memory ought
to be perpetuated, an hundred marks sent to his faithful friends'
and executors, towards the making of his monument. It was not
for many years known by whom; but, after the death of Dr. Fox, it
was known that it was he that sent it; and he lived to see as lively
a representation of his dead friend as marble can express: a statue
indeed so like Dr. Donne, that — as his friend Sir Henry Wotton
hath expressed himself — "It seems to breathe faintly, and posterity
shall look upon it as a kind of artificial miracle."
*Dr. King and Dr. Montford.

LIFE OF DR. DONNE 369

He was of stature moderately tall; of a straight and equally-pro-
portioned body, to which all his words and actions gave an unex-
pressible addition of comeliness.

The melancholy and pleasant humour were in him so con-
tempered, that each gave advantage to the other, and made his
company one of the delights of mankind.

His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his great wit;
both being made useful by a commanding judgment.

His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent testimony of a
clear knowing soul, and of a conscience at peace with itself.

His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, full of noble
compassion; of too brave a soul to offer injuries, and too much a
Christian not to pardon them in others.

He did much contemplate — especially after he entered into his
sacred calling — the mercies of Almighty God, the immortality of the
soul, and the joys of heaven: and would often say in a kind of sacred
ecstasy, — "Blessed be God that he is God, only and divinely like
himself."

He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt to reluct at the
excesses of it. A great lover of the offices of humanity, and of so
merciful a spirit, that he never beheld the miseries of mankind with-
out pity and relief.

He was earnest and unwearied in the search of knowledge, with
which his vigorous soul is now satisfied, and employed in a continual
praise of that God that first breathed it into his active body: that
body, which once was a temple of the Holy Ghost, and is now
become a small quantity of Christian dust: —

But I shall see it re-animated.

Feb. 15, 1639. I. W,

THE LIFE OF
MR. GEORGE HERBERT

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

"For the life of that great example of holiness, Mr. George Herbert, I
profess it to be so far a free-will offering, that it was writ chiefly to please
myself, but yet not without some respect to posterity: for though he was
not a man that the next age can forget, yet many of his particular acts
and virtues might have been neglected, or lost, if I had not collected and
presented them to the imitation of those that shall succeed us: for I
humbly conceive writing to be both a safer and truer preserver of men's
virtuous actions than tradition; especially as it is managed in this age.
And I am also to tell the Reader, that though this Life of Mr. Herbert
was not by me writ in haste, yet I intended it a review before it should
be made public; but that was not allowed me, by reason of my absence
from London when it was printing; so that the Reader may find in it
some mistakes, some double expressions, and some not very proper, and
some that might have been contracted, and some faults that are not
justly chargeable upon me, but the printer; and yet I hope none so great,
as may not, by this confession, purchase pardon from a good-natured
Reader." — From Izaak Walton's Introduction to the "Lives."

THE LIFE OF
MR. GEORGE HERBERT

GEORGE HERBERT was born the third day of April, in the
- year of our redemption 1593. The place of his birth was near
to the town of Montgomery, and in that castle that did then
bear the name of that town and county; that castle was then a place
of state and strength, and had been successively happy in the family
of the Herberts, who had long possessed it; and with it, a plentiful
estate, and hearts as liberal to their poor neighbours. A family that
hath been blessed with men of remarkable wisdom, and a willingness
to serve their country, and, indeed, to do good to all mankind; for
which they are eminent: But alas! this family did in the late rebellion
suffer extremely in their estates; and the heirs of that casde saw it
laid level with that earth that was too good to bury those wretches
that were the cause of it.

The father of our George was Richard Herbert, the son of Edward
Herbert, Knight, the son of Richard Herbert, Knight, the son of the
famous Sir Richard Herbert of Colebrook, in the county of Mon-
mouth, Banneret, who was the youngest brother of that memorable
William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, that lived in the reign of our
King Edward the Fourth.

His mother was Magdalen Newport, the youngest daughter of
Sir Richard, and sister to Sir Francis Newport of High Arkall, in
the county of Salop, Knight, and grandfather of Francis Lord New-
port, now Controller of his Majesty's Household. A family that for
their loyalty have suffered much in their estates, and seen the ruin
of that excellent structure where their ancestors have long lived, and
been memorable for their hospitality.

This mother of George Herbert — of whose person, and wisdom,
and virtue, I intend to give a true account in a seasonable place — was
the happy mother of seven sons and three daughters, which she

373

374 IZAAK WALTON

would often say was Job's number, and Job's distribution; and as
often bless God, that they were neither defective in their shapes nor
in their reason; and very often reprove them that did not praise God
for so great a blessing. I shall give the reader a short account of their
names, and not say much of their fortunes.

Edward, the eldest, was first made Knight of the Bath, at that
glorious time of our late Prince Henry's being installed Knight of
the Garter; and after many years' useful travel, and the attainment
of many languages, he was by King James sent ambassador resident
to the then French king, Lewis the Thirteenth. There he continued
about two years; but he could not subject himself to a compliance
with the humours of the Duke de Luisens, who was then the great
and powerful favourite at court: so that upon a complaint to our
King, he was called back into England in some displeasure; but at
his return he gave such an honourable account of his employment,
and so justified his comportment to the Duke and all the court, that
he was suddenly sent back upon the same embassy, from which he
returned in the beginning of the reign of our good King Charles the
First, who made him first Baron of Castleisland, and not long after
of Cherbury in the county of Salop. He was a man of great learning
and reason, as appears by his printed book De Veritate, and by his
History of the Reign of King Henry the Eighth, and by several
other tracts.

The second and third brothers were Richard and William, who
ventured their lives to purchase honour in the wars of the Low
Countries, and died officers in that employment. Charles was the
fourth, and died fellow of New College in Oxford. Henry was the
sixth, who became a menial servant to the crown in the days of
King James, and hath continued to be so for fifty years; during all
which time he hath been Master of the Revels, a place that requires
a diligent wisdom, with which God hath blessed him. The seventh
son was Thomas, who, being made captain of a ship in that fleet
with which Sir Robert Mansell was sent against Algiers, did there
show a fortunate and true English valour. Of the three sisters I need
not say more than that they were all married to persons of worth and
plentiful fortunes; and lived to be examples of virtue, and to do
good in their generations.

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 375

I now come to give my intended account of George, who was the
fifth of those seven brothers.

George Herbert spent much of his childhood in a sweet content
under the eye and care of his prudent mother, and the tuition of a
chaplain, or tutor to him and two of his brothers, in her own family,
— for she was then a widow, — where he continued till about the age
of twelve years; and being at that time well instructed in the rules
of grammar, he was not long after commended to the care of Dr.
Neale, who was then Dean of Westminster; and by him to the care
of Mr. Ireland, who was then chief master of that school; where the
beauties of his pretty behaviour and wit shined, and became so emi-
nent and lovely in this his innocent age, that he seemed to be
marked out for piety, and to become the care of heaven, and of a
particular good angel to guard and guide him. And thus he con-
tinued in that school, till he came to be perfect in the learned
languages, and especially in the Greek tongue, in which he after
proved an excellent critic.

About the age of fifteen — he being then a King's scholar — he
was elected out of that school for Trinity College in Cambridge, to
which place he was transplanted about the year 1608; and his pru-
dent mother, well knowing that he might easily lose or lessen that
virtue and innocence which her advice and example had planted
in his mind, did therefore procure the generous and liberal Dr.
Nevil, who was then Dean of Canterbury, and master of that Col-
lege, to take him into his particular care, and provide him a tutor;
which he did most gladly undertake, for he knew the excellencies
of his mother, and how to value such a friendship.

This was the method of his education, till he was settled in Cam-
bridge; where we will leave him in his study, till I have paid my
promised account of his excellent mother; and I will endeavour to
make it short.

I have told her birth, her marriage, and the number of her chil-
dren, and have given some short account of them. I shall next tell
the reader that her husband died when our George was about the
age of four years: I am next to tell, that she continued twelve years
a widow; that she then married happily to a noble gentleman, the
brother and heir of the Lord Danvers, Earl of Danby, who did highly

376 IZAAK WALTON

value both her person and the most excellent endowments of her
mind.

In this time of her widowhood, she being desirous to give Edward
her eldest son, such advantages of learning, and other education, as
might suit his birth and fortune, and thereby make him the more
fit for the service of his country, did, at his being of a fit age, remove
from Montgomery Castle with him, and some of her younger sons,
to Oxford; and having entered Edward into Queen's College, and
provided him a fit tutor, she commended him to his care, yet she
continued there with him, and still kept him in a moderate awe of
herself, and so much under her own eye, as to see and converse
with him daily: but she managed this p)ower over him without any
such rigid sourness as might make her company a torment to her
child ; but with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations
and pleasures of youth, as did incline him willingly to spend much of
his time in the company of his dear and careful mother; which was
to her great content: for she would often say, "That as our bodies
take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which we feed; so our
souls do as insensibly take in vice by the example or conversation
with wicked company:" and would therefore as often say, "That
ignorance of vice was the best preservation of virtue; and that the
very knowledge of wickedness was as tinder to inflame and kindle
sin and keep it burning." For these reasons she endeared him to her
own company, and continued with him in Oxford four years; in
which time her great and harmless wit, her cheerful gravity, and
her obliging behaviour, gained her an acquaintance and friendship
with most of any eminent worth or learning that were at that time
in or near that university, and particularly with Mr. John Donne,
who then came accidentally to that place, in this time of her being
there. It was that John Donne, who was after Dr. Donne, and Dean
of St. Paul's, London: and he, at his leaving Oxford, writ and left
there, in verse, a character of the beauties of her body and mind: of
the first he says.

No spring nor summer-beauty has such grace,
As I have seen in an autumnal face.

Of the latter he says,

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 377

In all her words to every hearer fit.
You may at revels, or at council sit.

The rest of her character may be read in his printed poems, in that
elegy which bears the name of "The Autumnal Beauty." For both
he and she were then past the meridian of man's life.

This amity, begun at this time and place, was not an amity that
polluted their souls; but an amity made up of a chain of suitable
incHnations and virtues; an amity like that of St. Chrysostom's to
his dear and virtuous Olympias; whom, in his letters, he calls his
saint: or an amity, indeed, more like that of St. Hierome to his
Paula; whose affection to her was such, that he turned poet in his
old age, and then made her epitaph ; wishing all his body were turned
into tongues that he might declare her just praises to posterity. And
this amity betwixt her and Mr. Donne was begun in a happy time for
him, he being then near to the fortieth year of his age, — which was
some years before he entered into sacred orders; — a time when his
necessities needed a daily supply for the support of his wife, seven
children, and a family. And in this time she proved one of his
most bountiful benefactors; and he as grateful an acknowledger of it.
You may take one testimony for what I have said of these two
worthy persons, from this following letter and sonnet: —

"Madam,

"Your favours to me are everywhere: I use them and have them.
I enjoy them at London, and leave them there; and yet find them
at Mitcham. Such riddles as these become things inexpressible; and
such is your goodness. I was almost sorry to find your servant here
this day, because I was loth to have any witness of my not coming
home last night, and indeed of my coming this morning. But my
not coming was excusable, because earnest business detained me;
and my coming this day is by the example of your St. Mary Mag-
dalen, who rose early upon Sunday to seek that which she loved
most; and so did I. And, from her and myself, I return such thanks
as are due to one to whom we owe all the good opinion that they,
whom we need most, have of us. By this messenger, and on this
good day, I commit the enclosed holy hymns and sonnets — which
for the matter, not the workmanship, have yet escaped the fir

378 IZAAK WALTON

to your judgment, and to your protection too, if you think them
worthy of it; and I have appointed this inclosed sonnet to usher
them to your happy hand.

Your unworthiest servant,
Unless your accepting him to be so
have mended him,
MiTCHAM, Jo. Donne."

July II, 1607.

To the Lady Magdalen Herbert:
Of St. Mary Magdalen

Her of your name, whose fair inheritance

Bethina was, and jointure Magdalo,
An active faith so highly did advance.

That she once knew more than the Church did know,
The Resurrection! so much good there is

Delivered of her, that some Fathers be
Loth to believe one woman could do this.

But think these Magdalens were two or three.
Increase their number, Lady, and their fame:

To their devotion add your innocence:
Take so much of th* example, as of the name;

The latter half; and in some recomf)ense
That they did harbour Christ himself, a guest.

Harbour these Hymns, to his dear name addrest.

J.D.

These hymns are now lost to us; but doubtless they were such as
they two now sing in heaven.

There might be more demonstrations of the friendship, and the
many sacred endearments betwixt these two excellent persons, — for
I have many of their letters in my hand, — and much more might be
said of her great prudence and piety; but my design was not to
write hers, but the life of her son; and therefore I shall only tell my
reader, that about that very day twenty years that this letter was
dated and sent her, I saw and heard this Mr. John Donne — who was
then Dean of St. Paul's — weep, and preach her funeral sermon, in
the Parish Church of Chelsea, near London, where she now rests in
her quiet grave: and where we must now leave her, and return to
her son George, whom we left in his study in Cambridge.

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 379

And in Cambridge we may find our George Herbert's behaviour
to be such, that we may conclude he consecrated the first-fruits of his
early age to virtue, and a serious study of learning. And that he did
so, this following letter and sonnet, which were, in the first year of
his going to Cambridge, sent his dear mother for a New Year's gift,
may appear to be some testimony : —

". . . But I fear the heat of my late ague hath dried up those
springs by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their habita-
tions. However, I need not their help to reprove the vanity of those
many love-poems that are daily writ and consecrated to Venus; nor
to bewail that so few are writ that look towards God and heaven.
For my own part, my meaning — dear mother — is, in these sonnets,
to declare my resolution to be, that my poor abiUties in poetry shall
be all and ever consecrated to God's glory: and I beg you to receive
this as one testimony."

My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,

Wherewith whole shoals of Martyrs once did burn,

Besides their other flames? Doth Poetry
Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn?
Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and lays

Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love

Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise
As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove
Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight?

Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same,

Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name?
Why doth that (ire, which by thy power and might

Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose

Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse?
Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry

Oceans of ink; for as the Deluge did

Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty;
Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid
Poets to turn it to another use.

Roses and lilies speak Thee; and to make

A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse.
Why should I women's eyes for crystal take?
Such poor invention burns in their low mind

Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go

To praise, and on thee, Lx)rd, some ink bestow.

380 IZAAK WALTON

Open the bones, and you shall nothing find
In the best face but filth; when Lord, in Thee
The beauty lies in the discovery.

G. H.

This was his resolution at the sending this letter to his dear mother,
about which time he was in the seventeenth year of his age; and as
he grew older, so he grew in learning, and more and more in favour
both with God and man: insomuch that, in this morning of that
short day of his life, he seemed to be marked out for virtue, and to
become the care of Heaven; for God still kept his soul in so holy
a frame, that he may, and ought to be a pattern of virtue to all
posterity, and especially to his brethren of the clergy, of which the
reader may expect a more exact account in what will follow.

I need not declare that he was a strict student, because, that he
was so, there will be many testimonies in the future part of his life.
I shall therefore only tell, that he was made Minor Fellow in the
year 1609, Bachelor of Arts in the year 161 1 ; Major Fellow of the
College, March 15th, 1615: and that in that year he was also made
Master of Arts, he being then in the twenty-second year of his age;
during all which time, all, or the greatest diversion from his study,
was the practice of music, in which he became a great master; and
of which he would say, "That it did relieve his drooping spirits,
compose his distracted thoughts, and raised his weary soul so far
above earth, that it gave him an earnest of the joys of heaven, before
he possessed them." And it may be noted, that from his first entrance
into the college, the generous Dr. Nevil was a cherisher of his studies,
and such a lover of his person, his behaviour, and the excellent
endowments of his mind, that he took him often into his own com-
pany; by which he confirmed his native gentleness: and if during
his time he expressed any error, it was that he kept himself too much
retired, and at too great a distance with all his inferiors; and his
clothes seemed to prove that he put too great a value on his parts
and parentage.

This may be some account of his disposition, and of tfie employ-
ment of his time till he was Master of Arts, which was anno 1615,
and in the year 1619 he was chosen Orator for the University. His
two precedent Orators were Sir Robert Naunton and Sir Francis

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 38 1

Nediersole. The first was not long after made Secretary of State,
and Sir Francis, not very long after his being Orator, was made
secretary to the Lady EHzabeth, Queen of Bohemia. In this place o£
Orator our George Herbert continued eight years; and managed it
with as becoming and grave a gaiety as any had ever before or since
his time. For "he had acquired great learning, and was blessed with
a high fancy, a civil and sharp wit; and with a natural elegance, both
in his behaviour, his tongue, and his pen." Of all which there might
be very many particular evidences; but I will limit myself to the
mention of but three.

And the first notable occasion of showing his fitness for this em-
ployment of Orator was manifested in a letter to King James, upon
the occasion of his sending that university his book called Basilicon
Down; and their Orator was to acknowledge this great honour,
and return their gratitude to his Majesty for such a condescension; at
the close of which letter he writ.

Quid Vaticanam Bodleianamque objicis, hospest
Unicus est nobis Bibliotheca Uber.

This letter was writ in such excellent Latin, was so full of conceits,
and all the expressions so suited to the genius of the King, that he
inquired the Orator's name, and then asked William, Earl of Pem-
broke, if he knew him? whose answer was, "That he knew him
very well, and that he was his kinsman; but he loved him more for
his learning and virtue than for that he was of his name and family."
At which answer the King smiled, and asked the Earl leave that
he might love him too, for he took him to be the jewel of that
university.

The next occasion he had and took to show his great abilities was,
with them, to show also his great affection to that Church in which
he received his baptism, and of which he professed himself a member;
and the occasion was this: There was one Andrew Melvin, a
minister of the Scotch Church, and Rector of St. Andrew's; who,
by a long and constant converse with a discontented part of that
clergy which opposed episcopacy, became at last to be a chief leader
of that faction; and had proudly appeared to be so to King James,
when he was but King of that nation, who, the second year after

382 IZAAK WALTON

his coronation in England, convened a part of the bishops, and other
learned divines of his Church, to attend him at Hampton Court, in
order to a friendly conference with some dissenting brethren, both
of this and the Church of Scotland: of which Scotch party Andrew
Melvin was one; and he being a man of learning, and inchned to
satirical poetry, had scattered many malicious, bitter verses against
our Liturgy, our ceremonies, and our Church government; which
were by some of that party so magnified for the wit, that they were
therefore brought into Westminster School, where Mr. George
Herbert, then, and often after, made such answers to them, and
such reflections on him and his Kirk, as might unbeguile any man
that was not too deeply pre-engaged in such a quarrel. But to return
to Mr. Melvin at Hampton Court conference: he there appeared
to be a man of an unruly wit, of a strange confidence, of so furious
a zeal, and of so ungoverned passions, that his insolence to the King,
and others at this conference, lost him both his Rectorship of St.
Andrew's and his Uberty too; for his former verses, and his present
reproaches there used against the Church and State, caused him to
be committed prisoner to the Tower of London; where he remained
very angry for three years. At which time of his commitment he
found the Lady Arabella an innocent prisoner there; and he pleased
himself much in sending, the next day after his commitment, these
two verses to the good lady; which I will underwrite, because they
may give the reader a taste of his others, which were like these:

Casua tibi mecum est communis, carceris, Ara-
Bella, tibi causa est, Araque sacra mihi.

I shall not trouble my reader with an account of his enlargement
from that prison, or his death; but tell him Mr. Herbert's verses
were thought so worthy to be preserved, that Dr. Dufjort, the
learned Dean of Peterborough, hath lately collected and caused
many of them to be printed, as an honourable memorial of his friend
Mr. George Herbert, and the cause he undertook.

And in order to my third and last observation of his great abilities,
it will be needful to declare, that about this time King James came
very often to hunt at Newmarket and Royston, and was almost as
often invited to Cambridge, where his entertainment was comedies.

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 383

suited to his pleasant humour; and where Mr. George Herbert was
to welcome him with gratulations, and the applauses of an Orator;
which he always performed so well, that he still grew more into
the King's favour, insomuch that he had a particular appointment
to attend his Majesty at Royston; where, after a discourse with him,
his Majesty declared to his kinsman, the Earl of Pembroke, that he
found the Orator's learning and wisdom much above his age or wit.
The year following, the King appointed to end his progress at
Cambridge, and to stay there certain days; at which time he was
attended by the great secretary of nature and all learning. Sir Francis
Bacon, Lord Verulam, and by the ever-memorable and learned Dr.
Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, both which did at that time begin
a desired friendship with our Orator. Upon whom, the first put such
a value on his judgment, that he usually desired his approbation
before he would expose any of his books to be printed; and thought
him so worthy of his friendship, that having translated many of
the Prophet David's Psalms into English verse, he made George
Herbert his patron, by a public dedication of them to him, as the
best judge of divine poetry. And for the learned Bishop, it is
observable, that at that time there fell to be a modest debate betwixt
them two about predestination, and sanctity of life; of both of which
the Orator did, not long after, send the Bishop some safe and
useful aphorisms, in a long letter, written in Greek; which letter
was so remarkable for the language and reason of it, that, after
the reading of it, the Bishop put it into his bosom, and did often
show it to many scholars, both of this and foreign nations; but did
always return it back to the place where he first lodged it, and
continued it so near his heart till the last day of his life.

To this I might add the long and entire friendship betwixt him
and Sir Henry Wotton, and Dr. Donne; but I have promised to
contract myself, and shall therefore only add one testimony to what
is also mentioned in the life of Dr. Donne; namely, that a little
before his death he caused many seals to be made, and in them to
be engraven the figure of Christ, crucified on an anchor, — the emblem
of hof)e, — and of which Dr. Donne would often say, "Crux mihi
anchora." — These seals he gave or sent to most of those friends on
which he put a value; and, at Mr. Herbert's death, these verses were

384 IZAAK WALTON

found wrapt up with that seal, which was by the Doctor given to
him:

When my dear friend could write no more,

He gave this Seal and so gave o'er.

When winds and waves rise highest I am sure,
This Anchor keeps my faith, that me, secure.

At this time of being Orator, he had learned to understand the
Italian, Spanish, and French tongues very perfectly: hoping that as
his predecessors, so he might in time attain the place of a Secretary
of State, he being at that time very high in the King's favour, and
not meanly valued and loved by the most eminent and most power-
ful of the court nobility. This, and the love of a court conversation,
mixed with a laudable ambition to be something more than he then
was, drew him often from Cambridge, to attend the King whereso-
ever the court was, who then gave him a sinecure, which fell into
his Majesty's disposal, I think, by the death of the Bishop of St.
.\saph. It was the same that Queen Elizabeth had formerly given
to her favourite Sir Philip Sidney, and valued to be worth an hundred
and twenty pounds per annum. With this, and his annuity, and
the advantage of his college, and of his Oratorship, he enjoyed his
genteel humour for clothes, and court-like company, and seldom
looked towards Cambridge, unless the King were there, but then
he never failed; and, at other times, left the manage of his Orator's
place to his learned friend, Mr. Herbert Thorndike, who is now
Prebend of Westminster.

I may not omit to tell, that he had often designed to leave the
university, and decline all study, which he thought did impair his
health; for he had a body apt to a consumption, and to fevers, and
other infirmities, which he judged were increased by his studies; for
he would often say, "He had too thoughtful a wit; a wit like a
penknife in too narrow a sheath, too sharp for his body." But his
mother would by no means allow him to leave the university, or to
travel; and though he inclined very much to both, yet he would by
no means satisfy his own desires at so dear a rate, as to prove an
undutiful son to so affectionate a mother; but did always submit to
her wisdom. And what I have now said may partly appear in a

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 385

copy of verses in his printed poems; 'tis one of those that bear the
title of Affliction; and it appears to be a pious reflection on God's
providence, and some passages of his Ufe, in which he says, —

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took

The way that takes the town:
Thou didst betray me to a hngering book,

And wrapt me in a gown:
I was entangled in a world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threaten'd oft the siege to raise.

Not simpering all mine age;
Thou often didst with academic praise

Melt and dissolve my rage:
I took the sweeten'd pill, till I came where
I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be

In my unhappiness.
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me

Into more sicknesses.
Thus doth thy p)ower cross-bias me, not making
Thine own gifts good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me

None of my books will show.
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree.

For then sure I should grow
To fruit or shade, at least some bird would trust
Her household with me, and I would be just.

Yet, though thou troublest me, I must be meek.

In weakness must be stout.
Well, I will change my service, and go seek

Some other master out;
Ah, my dear God! though I am clean forgot.
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.

G. H.

In this time of Mr. Herbert's attendance and expectation of some
good occasion to remove from Cambridge to court, God, in whom
there is an unseen chain of causes, did in a short time put an end

386 IZAAK WALTON

to the lives of two of his most obliging and most powerful friends,
Lodowick Duke of Richmond, and James Marquis of Hamilton; and
not long after him King James died also, and with them all Mr.
Herbert's court hopes: so that he presently betook himself to a retreat
from London, to a friend in Kent, where he lived very privately,
and was such a lover of solitariness, as was judged to impair his
health more than his study had done. In this time of retirement he
had many conflicts with himself, whether he should return to the
painted pleasures of a court life, or betake himself to a study of
divinity, and enter into sacred orders, to which his mother had
often persuaded him. These were such conflicts as they only can
know that have endured them; for ambitious desires, and the out-
ward glory of this world, are not easily laid aside; but at last God
inclined him to put on a resolution to serve at his altar.

He did, at his return to London, acquaint a court-friend with his
resolution to enter into sacred orders, who persuaded him to alter
it, as too mean an employment, and too much below his birth, and
the excellent abilities and endowments of his mind. To whom he
replied, "It hath been formerly judged that the domestic servants
of the King of Heaven should be of the noblest families on earth.
And though the iniquity of the late times have made clergymen
meanly valued, and the sacred name of priest contemptible; yet I
will labour to make it honourable, by consecrating all my learning,
and all my p)oor abilities to advance the glory of that God that gave
them; knowing that I can never do too much for him, that hath
done so much for me as to make me a Christian. And I will labour
to be like my Saviour, by making humility lovely in the eyes of all
men, and by following the merciful and meek example of my dear
Jesus."

This was then his resolution; and the God of constancy, who in-
tended him for a great example of virtue, continued him in it, for
within that year he was made deacon, but the day when, or by
whom, I cannot learn; but that he was about that time made deacon
is most certain; for I find by the records of Lincoln, that he was
made Prebend of Layton Ecclesia, in the diocese of Lincoln, July
15th, 1626, and that this Prebend was given him by John, then Lord

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 387

Bishop of that see. And now he had a fit occasion to show that
piety and bounty that was derived from his generous mother, and
his other memorable ancestors, and the occasion was this.

This Layton Ecclesia is a village near to Spalden, in the county
of Huntingdon, and the greatest part of the parish church was fallen
down, and that of it which stood was so decayed, so little, and so
useless, that the parishioners could not meet to {perform their duty
to God in public prayer and praises; and thus it had been for almost
twenty years, in which time there had been some faint endeavours
for a public collection to enable the parishioners to rebuild it; but
with no success, till Mr. Herbert undertook it; and he, by his own,
and the contribution of many of his kindred, and other noble friends,
undertook the re-edification of it; and made it so much his whole
business, that he became restless till he saw it finished as it now
stands; being for the workmanship, a costly mosaic; for the form,
an exact cross; and for the decency and beauty, I am assured, it is
the most remarkable parish church that this nation affords. He
lived to see it so wainscotted as to be exceeded by none, and, by
his order, the reading pew and pulpit were a little distance from
each other, and both of an equal height; for he would often say,
"They should neither have a precedency or priority of the other; but
that prayer and preaching, being equally useful, might agree like
brethren, and have an equal honour and estimation."

Before I proceed further, I must look back to the time of Mr.
Herbert's being made Prebend, and tell the reader, that not long
after, his mother being informed of his intentions to rebuild that
church, and apprehending the great trouble and charge that he was
Uke to draw upon himself, his relations and friends, before it could
be finished, sent for him from London to Chelsea, — where she then
dwelt, — and at his coming, said, "George, I sent for you, to persuade
you to commit simony, by giving your patron as good a gift as he
has given to you; namely, that you give him back his prebend; for,
George, it is not for your weak body, and empty purse, to undertake
to build churches." Of which, he desired he might have a day's time
to consider, and then make her an answer. And at his return to her
the next day, when he had first desired her blessing, and she given

388 IZAAK WALTON

it him, his next request was, "That she would, at the age of thirty-
three years, allow him to become an undutiful son; for he had made
a vow to God, that, if he were able, he would rebuild that church."
And then showed her such reasons for his resolution, that she
presently subscribed to be one of his benefactors; and undertook to
soUcit William Earl of Pembroke to become another, who subscribed
for fifty pounds; and not long after, by a witty and persuasive letter
from Mr. Herbert, made it fifty pounds more. And in this nomina-
tion of some of his benefactors, James Duke of Lenox, and his
brother, Sir Henry Herbert, ought to be remembered; as also the
bounty of Mr. Nicholas Farrer, and Mr. Arthur Woodnot: the one
a gentleman in the neighbourhood of Layton, and the other a gold-
smith in Foster Lane, London, ought not to be forgotten: for the
memory of such men ought to outlive their lives. Of Mr. Farrer
I shall hereafter give an account in a more seasonable place; but
before I proceed further, I will give this short account of Mr. Arthur
Woodnot.

He was a man that had considered overgrown estates do often
require more care and watchfulness to preserve than get them, and
considered that there be many discontents that riches cure not; and
did therefore set limits to himself, as to desire of wealth. And having
attained so much as to be able to show some mercy to the poor, and
preserve a competence for himself, he dedicated the remaining part
of his life to the service of God, and to be useful to his friends; and
he proved to be so to Mr. Herbert; for besides his own bounty, he
collected and returned most of the money that was paid for the
rebuilding of that church; he kept all the account of the charges, and
would often go down to state them, and see all the workmen paid.
When I have said that this good man was a useful friend to Mr.
Herbert's father, and to his mother, and continued to be so to him,
till he closed his eyes on his death-bed, I will forbear to say more,
till I have the next fair occasion to mention the holy friendship that
was betwixt him and Mr. Herbert. From whom Mr. Woodnot
carried to his mother this following letter, and delivered it to her in
a sickness, which was not long before that which proved to be her
last: —

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 389

A Letter of Mr. George Herbert to his mother, in her sicf^ness.

"Madam,

"At my last parting from you, I was the better content, because
I was in hope I should myself carry all sickness out of your family :
but since I know I did not, and that your share continues, or rather
increaseth, I wish earnestly that I were again with you; and would
quickly make good my wish, but that my employment does fix me
here, it being now but a month to our commencement : wherein my
absence, by how much it naturally augmenteth suspicion, by so much
shall it make my prayers the more constant and the more earnest
for you to the God of all consolation. In the meantime, I beseech
you to be cheerful, and comfort yourself in the God of all comfort,
who is not willing to behold any sorrow but for sin. — What hath
affliction grievous in it more than for a moment? or why should
our afflictions here have so much power or boldness as to oppose the
hope of our joys hereafter? Madam, as the earth is but a point in
respect of the heavens, so are earthly troubles compared to heavenly
joys; therefore, if either age or sickness lead you to those joys,
consider what advantage you have over youth and health, who are
now so near those true comforts. Your last letter gave me earthly
preferment, and I hope kept heavenly for yourself: but would you
divide and choose too? Our college customs allow not that: and
I should account myself most happy, if I might change with you;
for I have always observed the thread of life to be like other threads
or skeins of silk, full of snarles and incumbrances. Happy is he
whose bottom is wound up, and laid ready for work in the New
Jerusalem. For myself, dear mother, I always feared sickness more
than death, because sickness hath made me unable to perform those
offices for which I came into the world, and must yet be kept in it;
but you are freed from that fear, who have already abundantly dis-
charged that part, having both ordered your family and so brought
up your children, that they have attained to the years of discretion,
and competent maintenance. So that now, if they do not well, the
fault cannot be charged on you, whose example and care of them
will justify you both to the world and your own conscience; inso-

390 IZAAK WALTON

much that, whether you turn your thoughts on the life past, or on
the joys that are to come, you have strong preservatives against all
disquiet. And for temporal afflictions, I beseech you consider, all
that can happen to you are either afflictions of estate, or body, or
mind. For those of estate, of what poor regard ought they to be?
since, if we had riches, we are commanded to give them away: so
that the best use of them is having, not to have them. But perhaps,
being above the common people, our credit and estimation calls on
us to live in a more splendid fashion: but, O God! how easily is
that answered, when we consider that the blessings in the holy
scripture are never given to the rich, but to the poor. I never find
'Blessed be the rich,' or 'Blessed be the noble'; but 'Blessed be
the meek,' and 'Blessed be the poor,' and 'Blessed be the mourners,
for they shall be comforted.' And yet, O God! most carry them-
selves so as if they not only not desired, bu' even feared to be
blessed. And for afflictions of the body, dear madam, remember the
holy martyrs of God, how they have been burned by thousands, and
have endured such other tortures, as the very mention of them might
beget amazement; but their fiery trials have had an end; and yours —
which, praised be God, are less — are not like to continue long. I
beseech you, let such thoughts as these moderate your present fear
and sorrow; and know that if any of yours should prove a Goliah-
like trouble, yet you may say with David, 'That God, who hath
delivered me out of the paws of the lion and bear, will also deliver
me out of the hands of this uncircumcised Philistine.' Lasdy, for
those afflictions of the soul; consider that God intends that to be as
a sacred temple for himself to dwell in, and will not allow any room
there for such an inmate as grief; or allow that any sadness shall be
his competitor. And, above all, if any care of future things molest
you, remember those admirable words of the Psalmist: 'Cast thy
care on the Lord, and he shall nourish thee.' ' To which join that of
St. Peter, 'Casting all your care on the Lord, for he careth for you.' *
What an admirable thing is this, that God puts his shoulder to our
burden, and entertains our care for us, that we may the more quietly
intend his service! To conclude, let me commend only one place
more to you : Philipp. iv. 4. St. Paul saith there, 'Rejoice in the Lord

• Psalm Iv. 22. ' I Peter v. 7.

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 39I

always: and again I say, Rejoice.* He doubles it, to take away the
scruple of those that might say. What, shall we rejoice in afflic-
tions? Yes, I say again, rejoice; so that it is not left to us to rejoice,
or not rejoice; but, whatsoever befalls us, we must always, at all
times, rejoice in the Lord, who taketh care for us. And it follows in
the next verses: 'Let your moderation appear to all men: The Lord
is at hand: Be careful for nothing.' What can be said more comfort-
ably? Trouble not yourselves; God is at hand to deliver us from all,
or in all. Dear madam, pardon my boldness, and accept the good

meaning of

Your most obedient son,

Trin. Coll., George Herbert."

May 25/A, 1622.

About the year 1629, and the thirty-fourth of his age, Mr. Herbert
was seized with a sharp quotidian ague, and thought to remove it
by the change of air; to which end he went to Woodford in Essex,
but thither more chiefly to enjoy the company of his beloved brother,
Sir Henry Herbert, and other friends then of that family. In his
house he remained about twelve months, and there became his own
physician, and cured himself of his ague, by forbearing to drink,
and not eating any meat, no not mutton, nor a hen, or pigeon, unless
they were salted; and by such a constant diet he removed his ague,
but with inconveniences that were worse; for he brought upon him-
self a disposition to rheums, and other weaknesses, and a supposed
consumption. And it is to be noted that in the sharpest of his extreme
fits he would often say, "Lord, abate my great affliction, or increase
my patience: but Lord, I repine not; I am dumb, Lord, before thee,
because thou doest it." By which, and a sanctified submission to the
will of God, he showed he was inclinable to bear the sweet yoke of
Christian discipline, both then and in the latter part of his life, of
which there will be many true testimonies.

And now his care was to recover from his consumption, by a
change from Woodford into such an air as was most proper to that
end. And his remove was to Dauntsey in Wiltshire, a noble house,
which stands in a choice air; the owner of it then was the Lord
Danvers, Earl of Danby, who loved Mr. Herbert so very much, that
he allowed him such an apartment in it as might best suit with his

392 IZAAK WALTON

accommodation and liking. And in this place, by a spare diet, de-
clining all perplexing studies, moderate exercise, and a cheerful con-
versation, his health was apparently improved to a good degree of
strength and cheerfulness. And then he declared his resolution both
to marry and to enter into the sacred orders of priesthood. These
had long been the desire of his mother and his other relations; but
she lived not to see either, for she died in the year 1627. And though
he was disobedient to her about Layton Church, yet, in conformity
to her will, he kept his Orator's place till after her death, and then
presently declined it; and the more willingly that he might be
succeeded by his friend Robert Creighton, who now is Dr. Creighton,
and the worthy Bishop of Wells.

I shall now proceed to his marriage; in order to which, it will be
convenient that I first give the reader a short view of his person, and
then an account of his wife, and of some circumstances concerning
both. He was for his person of a stature inclining towards tallness;
his body was very straight, and so far from being cumbered with too
much flesh, that he was lean to an extremity. His aspect was cheerful,
and his speech and motion did both declare him a gentleman; for
they were all so meek and obliging, that they purchased love and
respect from all that knew him.

These, and his other visible virtues, begot him much love from a
gentleman of a noble fortune, and a near kinsman to his friend the
Earl of Danby; namely, from Mr. Charles Danvers of Bainton, in
the county of Wilts, Esq. This Mr. Danvers, having known him
long, and familiarly, did so much afTect him, that he often and
publicly declared a desire that Mr. Herbert would marry any of his
nine daughters, — ^for he had so many, — but rather his daughter
Jane than any other, because Jane was his beloved daughter. And
he had often said the same to Mr. Herbert himself; and that if he
could like her for a wife, and she him for a husband, Jane should
have a double blessing: and Mr. Danvers had so often said the like
to Jane, and so much commended Mr. Herbert to her, that Jane
became so much a platonic as to fall in love with Mr. Herbert unseen.

This was a fair preparation for a marriage; but, alas! her father
died before Mr. Herbert's retirement to Dauntsey: yet some friends
to both parties procured their meeting; at which time a mutual

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 393

affection entered into both their hearts, as a conqueror enters into
a surprised city; and love having got such possession, governed,
and made there such laws and resolutions as neither party was able
to resist; insomuch, that she changed her name into Herbert the
third day after this first interview.

This haste might in others be thought a love-frenzy, or worse;
but it was not, for they had wooed so like princes, as to have select
proxies; such as were true friends to both parties, such as well under-
stood Mr. Herbert's and her temper of mind, and also their estates,
so well before this interview, that the suddenness was justifiable by
the strictest rules of prudence; and the more, because it proved so
happy to both parties; for the eternal lover of mankind made them
happy in each other's mutual and equal affections, and compliance;
indeed, so happy, that there never was any opposition betwixt them,
unless it were a contest which should most incline to a compliance
with the other's desires. And though this begot, and continued in
them, such a mutual love, and joy, and content, as was no way
defective; yet this mutual content, and love, and joy, did receive a
daily augmentation, by such daily obligingness to each other, as
still added such new affluences to the former fulness of these divine
souls, as was only improvable in heaven, where they now enjoy it.

About three months after this marriage. Dr. Curie, who was then
Rector of Bemerton, in Wiltshire, was made Bishop of Bath and
Wells, and not long after translated to Winchester, and by that
means the presentation of a clerk to Bemerton did not fall to the
Earl of Pembroke, — who was the undoubted patron of it, — but to the
King, by reason of Dr. Curie's advancement: but Philip, then Earl
of Pembroke, — for William was lately dead — requested the King to
bestow it upon his kinsman George Herbert; and the King said,
"Most willingly to Mr. Herbert, if it be worth his acceptance;" and
the Earl as willingly and suddenly sent it him, without seeking. But
though Mr. Herbert had formerly put on a resolution for the clergy;
yet, at receiving this presentation, the apprehension of the last great
account, that he was to make for the cure of so many souls, made
him fast and pray often, and consider for not less than a month: in
which time he had some resolutions to decline both the priesthood
and that living. And in this time of considering, "he endured," as

394 IZAAK WALTON

he would often say, "such spiritual conflicts as none can think, but
only those that have endured them."

In the midst of these conflicts, his old and dear friend, Mr. Arthur
Woodnot, took a journey to salute him at Bainton, — where he then
was with his wife's friends and relations — and was joyful to be an
eye-witness of his health and happy marriage. And after they had
rejoiced together some few days, they took a journey to Wilton, the
famous seat of the Earls of Pembroke; at which time the King, the
Earl, and the whole court were there, or at Salisbury, which is near
to it. And at this time Mr. Herbert presented his thanks to the Earl
for his presentation to Bemerton, but had not yet resolved to accept
it, and told him the reason why: but that night, the Earl acquainted
Dr. Laud, then Bishop of London, and after Archbishop of Canter-
bury, with his kinsman's irresolution. And the Bishop did the next
day so convince Mr. Herbert that the refusal of it was sin, that a
tailor was sent for to come speedily from Salisbury to Wilton, to
make measure, and make him canonical clothes against next day;
which the tailor did : and Mr. Herbert being so habited, went with
his presentation to the learned Dr. Davenant, who was then Bishop
of Salisbury, and he gave him institution immediately, — for Mr.
Herbert had been made deacon some years before, — and he was also
the same day — which was April 26th, 1630 — inducted into the good,
and more pleasant than healthful, parsonage of Bemerton, which is
a mile from Salisbury.

I have now brought him to the parsonage of Bemerton, and to the
thirty-sixth year of his age, and must stop here, and bespeak the
reader to prepare for an almost incredible story, of the great sanctity
of the short remainder of his holy life; a life so full of charity,
humility, and all Christian virtues, that it deserves the eloquence of
St. Chrysostom to commend and declare it: a life, that if it were re-
lated by a pen like his, there would then be no need for this age to
look back into times past for the examples of primitive piety; for they
might be all found in the Ufe of George Herbert. But now, alas! who
is fit to undertake it? I confess I am not; and am not pleased with
myself that I must; and profess myself amazed when I consider how
few of the clergy lived like him then, and how many live so unlike
him now. But it becomes not me to censure: my design is rather

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 395

to assure the reader that I have used very great diligence to inform
myself, that I might inform him of the truth of what follows; and
though I cannot adorn it with eloquence, yet I will do it with
sincerity.

When at his induction he was shut into Bemerton Church, being
left there alone to toll the bell, — as the law requires him, — he stayed
so much longer than an ordinary time, before he returned to those
friends that stayed expecting him at the church door, that his friend
Mr. Woodnot looked in at the church window, and saw him lie
prostrate on the ground before the altar; at which time and place —
as he after told Mr. Woodnot — he set some rules to himself, for the
future manage of his life; and then and there made a vow to labour
to keep them.

And the same night that he had his induction, he said to Mr.
Woodnot, "I now look back upon my aspiring thoughts, and think
myself more happy than if I had attained what then I so ambitiously
thirsted for. And I now can behold the court with an impartial eye,
and see plainly that it is made up of fraud and titles, and flattery,
and many other such empty, imaginary, painted pleasures; pleasures
that are so empty as not to satisfy when they are enjoyed. But in
God, and his service, is a fulness of all joy and pleasure, and no
satiety. And I will now use all my endeavours to bring my relations
and dependants to a love and reliance on him, who never fails those
that trust him. But above all, I will be sure to live well, because the
virtuous life of a clergyman is the most powerful eloquence to
persuade all that see it to reverence and love, and at least to desire
to live like him. And this I will do, because I know we live in an
age that hath more need of good examples than precepts. And I
beseech that God, who hath honoured me so much as to call me to
serve him at his altar, that as by his special grace he hath put into
my heart these good desires and resolutions; so he will, by his assist-
ing grace, give me ghostly strength to bring the same to good effect.
And I beseech him, that my humble and charitable life may so win
upon others, as to bring glory to my Jesus, whom I have this day
taken to be my master and governor; and I am so proud of his
service, that I will always observe, and obey, and do his will; and
always call him, Jesus my Master; and I will always contemn my

396 IZAAK WALTON

birth, or any title or dignity that can be conferred upon me, when
I shall compare them with my title of being a priest, and serving at
the altar of Jesus my Master."

And that he did so may appear in many parts of his book of
Sacred Poems: especially in that which he calls "The Odour." In
which he seems to rejoice in the thoughts of that word Jesus, and
say, that the adding these words, my master, to it, and the often
repetition of them, seemed to perfume his mind, and leave an oriental
fragrancy in his very breath. And for his unforced choice to serve
at God's altar, he seems in another place of his (xjems, "The Pearl"
(Matt. xiii. 45, 46), to rejoice and say: "He knew the ways of learn-
ing; knew what nature does willingly, and what, when it is forced
by fire; knew the ways of honour, and when glory inclines the soul
to noble expressions: knew the court: knew the ways of pleasure, of
love, of wit, of music, and upon what terms he declined all these for
the service of his master Jesus": and then concludes, saying:

That, through these labyrinths, not my grovelling wit.

But thy silk twist, let down from Heaven to me,
Did both conduct, and teach me, how by it

To climb to thee.

The third day after he was made Rector of Bemerton, and had
changed his sword and silk clothes into a canonical coat, he returned
so habited with his friend Mr. Woodnot to Sainton; and immediately
after he had seen and saluted his wife, he said to her — "You are now
a minister's wife, and must now so far forget your father's house
as not to claim a precedence of any of your parishioners; for you are
to know, that a priest's wife can challenge no precedence or place,
but that which she purchases by her obliging humility; and I am
sure, places so purchased do best become them. And let me tell you,
that I am so good a herald, as to assure you that this is truth." And
she was so meek a wife, as to assure him, "it was no vexing news to
her, and that he should see her observe it with a cheerful willingness."
And, indeed, her unforced humility, that humility that was in her
so original, as to be born with her, made her so happy as to do so;
and her doing so begot her an unfeigned love, and a serviceable
respect from all that conversed with her; and this love followed her

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 397

in all places, as inseparably as shadows follow substances in sunshine.

It was not many days before he returned back to Bemerton, to
view the church and repair the chancel: and indeed to rebuild almost
three parts of his house, which was fallen down, or decayed by
reason of his predecessor's living at a better parsonage-house; namely,
at Minal, sixteen or twenty miles from this place. At which time of
Mr. Herbert's coming alone to Bemerton, there came to him a poor
old woman, with an intent to acquaint him with her necessitous
condition, as also with some troubles of her mind: but after she had
spoke some few words to him, she was surprised with a fear, and
that begot a shortness of breath, so that her spirits and speech failed
her; which he jjerceiving, did so compassionate her, and was so hum-
ble, that he took her by the hand, and said, "Speak, good mother;
be not afraid to speak to me; for I am a man that will hear you with
patience; and will relieve your necessities too, if I be able: and this
I will do willingly; and therefore, mother, be not afraid to acquaint
me with what you desire." After which comfortable speech, he again
took her by the hand, made her sit down by him, and understanding
she was of his parish, he told her "He would be acquainted with her,
and take her into his care." And having with patience heard and
understood her wants, — and it is some relief for a poor body to be
but heard with patience, — he, like a Christian clergyman, comforted
her by his meek behaviour and counsel; but because that cost him
nothing, he relieved her with money too, and so sent her home with
a cheerful heart, praising God, and praying for him. Thus worthy,
and — like David's blessed man — thus lowly, was Mr. George Herbert
in his own eyes, and thus lovely in the eyes of others.

At his return that night to his wife at Bainton, he gave her an
account of the passages betwixt him and the poor woman; with
which she was so affected, that she went next day to Salisbury, and
there bought a pair of blankets, and sent them as a token of her
love to the poor woman; and with them a message, "that she would
see and be acquainted with her, when her house was built at
Bemerton."

There be many such passages both of him and his wife, of which
some few will be related: but I shall first tell, that he hasted to get

398 IZAAK WALTON

the parish church repaired; then to beautify the chapel, — which
stands near his house, — and that at his own great charge. He then
proceeded to rebuild the greatest part of the parsonage-house, which
he did also very completely, and at his own charge; and having done
this good work, he caused these verses to be writ upon, or engraven
in, the mantel of the chimney in his hall.

TO MY SUCCESSOR

If thou chance for to find

A new house to thy mind.
And built without thy cost;

Be good to the poor.

As God gives thee store,
And then my labour's not lost.

We will now, by the reader's favour, suppose him fixed at Bemer-
ton, and grant him to have seen the church repaired, and the chapel
belonging to it very decently adorned at his own great charge, —
which is a real truth; — and having now fixed him there, I shall
proceed to give an account of the rest of his behaviour, both to his
parishioners, and those many others that knew and conversed with
him.

Doubtless Mr. Herbert had considered, and given rules to himself
for his Christian carriage both to God and man, before he entered
into holy orders. And 'tis not unlike, but that he renewed those
resolutions at his prostration before the holy altar, at his induction
into the church of Bemerton: but as yet he was but a deacon, and
therefore longed for the next ember-week, that he might be ordained
priest, and made capable of administering both the sacraments. At
which time the Reverend Dr. Humphrey Henchman, now Lord
Bishop of London, — who does not mention him but with some
veneration for his life and excellent learning, — tells me, "He laid his
hand on Mr. Herbert's head, and, alas! within less than three years
lent his shoulder to carry his dear friend to his grave."

And that Mr. Herbert might the better preserve those holy rules
which such a priest as he intended to be ought to observe; and that
time might not insensibly blot them out of his memory, but that
the next year might show him his variations from this year's resolu-
tions; he therefore did set down his rules, then resolved upon, in that

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 399

order as the world now sees them printed in a little book, called The
Country Parson; in which some of his rules are:

The Parson's knowledge. The Parson arguing.

The Parson on Sundays. The Parson condescending.

The Parson praying. The Parson in his journey.

The Parson preaching. The Parson in his mirth.

The Parson's charity. The Parson with his Church-
The Parson comforting the wardens.

sick. The Parson blessing the people.

And his behaviour towards God and man may be said to be a
practical comment on these, and the other holy rules set down in
that useful book: a book so full of plain, prudent, and useful rules,
that that country parson that can spare twelve pence, and yet wants
it, is scarce excusable; because it will both direct him what he ought
to do, and convince him for not having done it.

At the death of Mr. Herbert this book fell into the hands of his
friend Mr. Woodnot; and he commended it into the trusty hands
of Mr. Barnabas Oley, who published it with a most conscientious
and excellent preface; from which I have had some of those truths,
that are related in this life of Mr. Herbert. The text of his first
sermon was taken out of Solomon's Proverbs, chap. iv. 23, and the
words were, "Keep thy heart with all diligence." In which first
sermon he gave his parishioners many necessary, holy, safe rules for
the discharge of a good conscience, both to God and man; and
delivered his sermon after a most florid manner, both with great
learning and eloquence; but, at the close of this sermon, told them,
"That should not be his constant way of preaching; for since Al-
mighty God does not intend to lead men to heaven by hard questions,
he would not therefore fill their heads with unnecessary notions; but
that, for their sakes, his language and his expressions should be more
plain and practical in his future sermons." And he then made it
his humble request, "That they would be constant to the afternoon's
service, and catechising;" and showed them convincing reasons why
he desired it; and his obliging example and [persuasions brought
them to a willing conformity to his desires.

The texts for all his future sermons — which God knows were not
many — were constantly taken out of the gospel for the day; and he

400 IZAAK WALTON

did as constantly declare why the Church did appoint that portion
of scripture to be that day read; and in what manner the collect for
every Sunday does refer to the gospel, or to the episde then read to
them; and, that they might pray with understanding, he did usually
take occasion to explain, not only the collect for every particular
Sunday, but the reasons of all the other collects and responses in our
Church service; and made it appear to them that the whole service
of the Church was a reasonable, and therefore an acceptable sacrifice
to God: as namely, that we begin with "Confession of ourselves to
be vile, miserable sinners;" and that we begin so, because, till we
have confessed ourselves to be such, we are not capable of that mercy
which we acknowledge we need, and pray for: but having, in the
prayer of our Lord, begged pardon for those sins which we have
confessed; and hoping, that as the priest hath declared our absolution,
so by our public confession, and real repentance, we have obtained
that pardon; then we dare and do proceed to beg of the Lord, "to
op)en our lips, that our mouth may show forth his praise;" for till
then we are neither able nor worthy to praise him. But this being
supposed, we are then fit to say, "Glory be to the Father, and to
the Son, and to the Holy Ghost;" and fit to proceed to a further
service of our God, in the collects, and psalms, and lauds, that follow
in the service.

And as to the psalms and lauds, he proceeded to inform them why
they were so often, and some of them daily, repeated in our Church
service; namely, the psalms every month, because they be an historical
and thankful repetition of mercies past, and such a composition of
prayers and praises, as ought to be repeated often, and publicly; for
with such sacrifice God is honoured and well-pleased. This for the
psalms.

And for the hymns and lauds appointed to be daily repeated or
sung after the first and second lessons are read to the congregation;
he proceeded to inform them, that it was most reasonable, after they
have heard the will and goodness of God declared or preached by
the priest in his reading the two chapters, that it was then a season-
able duty to rise up, and express their gratitude to Almighty God
for those his mercies to them, and to all mankind; and then to say
with the Blessed Virgin, "that their souls do magnify the Lord, and

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 40I

that their spirits do also rejoice in God their Saviour:" and that it
was their duty also to rejoice with Simeon in his song, and say with
him, "That their eyes have" also "seen their salvation;" for they
have seen that salvation which was but prophesied till his time: and
he then broke out into these expressions of joy that he did see it; but
they live to see it daily in the history of it, and therefore ought daily
to rejoice, and daily to offer up their sacrifices of praise to their God,
for that particular mercy. A service, which is now the constant em-
ployment of that Blessed Virgin and Simeon, and all those blessed
saints that are possessed of heaven: and where they are at this
time interchangeably and constantly singing, "Holy, holy, holy. Lord
God; glory be to God on high, and on earth peace." And he taught
them that to do this was an acceptable service to God, because the
Prophet David says in his Psalms, "He that praiseth the Lord honour-
eth him."

He made them to understand how happy they be that are freed
from the encumbrances of that law which our forefathers groaned
under: namely, from the legal sacrifices, and from the many cere-
monies of the Levitical law; freed from circumcision, and from the
strict observation of the Jewish Sabbath, and the like. And he made
them know, that having received so many and great blessings, by
being born since the days of our Saviour, it must be an acceptable
sacrifice to Almighty God, for them to acknowledge those blessings
daily, and stand up and worship, and say as Zacharias did, "Blessed
be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath — in our days — visited and
redeemed his people; and — he hath in our days — remembered, and
showed that mercy, which by the mouth of the prophets he promised
to our forefathers; and this he has done according to his holy
covenant made with them." And he made them to understand that
we live to see and enjoy the benefit of it, in his birth, in his life, his
passion, his resurrection, and ascension into heaven, where he now
sits sensible of all our temptations and infirmities; and where he is
at this present time making intercession for us, to his and our Father:
and therefore they ought daily to express their public gratulations,
and say daily with Zacharias, "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, that
hath thus visited and thus redeemed his people." These were some
of the reasons by which Mr. Herbert instructed his congregation for

402 IZAAK WALTON

the use of the psalms and hymns appointed to be daily sung or said
in the Church service.

He informed them also when the priest did pray only for the
congregation, and not for himself; and when they did only pray
for him;as namely,after the repetition of the creed before he proceeds
to pray the Lord's Prayer, or any of the appointed collects, the priest
is directed to kneel down and pray for them, saying, "The Lord be
with you;" and when they pray for him, saying, "And with thy
spirit;" and then they join together in the following collects: and he
assured them, that when there is such mutual love, and such joint
prayers offered for each other, then the holy angels look down from
heaven, and are ready to carry such charitable desires to God Al-
mighty, and he is ready to receive them; and that a Christian con-
gregation calling thus upon God with one heart, and one voice, and
in one reverent and humble posture, looks as beautifully as Jerusalem,
that is at peace with itself.

He instructed them also why the prayer of our Lord is prayed
often in every full service of the Church; namely, at the conclusion
of the several parts of that service; and prayed then, not only because
it was composed and commanded by our Jesus that made it, but as
a perfect pattern for our less perfect forms of prayer, and therefore
fittest to sum up and conclude all our imperfect petitions.

He instructed them also, that as by the second commandment we
are required not to bow down, or worship an idol, or false God;
so, by the contrary rule, we are to bow down and kneel, or stand
up and worship the true God. And he instructed them why the
Church required the congregation to stand up at the repetition of the
creeds; namely, because they thereby declare both their obedience to
the Church, and an assent to that faith into which they had been
baptized. And he taught them, that in that shorter creed or doxology,
so often repeated daily, they also stood up to testify their belief to
be, that "the God that they trusted in was one God, and three
persons; the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost; to whom they
and the priest gave glory." And because there had been heretics that
had denied some of those three persons to be God, therefore the
congregation stood up and honoured him, by confessing and saying,
"It was so in the beginning, is now so, and shall ever be so, world

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 4O3

without end." And all gave their assent to this belief, by standing up
and saying Amen.

He instructed them also what benefit they had by the Church's
appointing the celebration of holy-days and the excellent use of them,
namely, that they were set apart for particular commemorations of
particular mercies received from Almighty God; and — as Reverend
Mr. Hooker says — to be the landmarks to distinguish times; for by
them we are taught to take notice how time passes by us, and that
we ought not to let the years pass without a celebration of praise for
those mercies which those days give us occasion to remember, and
therefore they were to note that the year is appointed to begin the
25th day of March; a day in which we commemorate the angel's
appearing to the Blessed Virgin, with the joyful tidings that "she
should conceive and bear a son, that should be the redeemer of man-
kind." And she did so forty weeks after this joyful salutation;
namely, at our Christmas; a day in which we commemorate his
birth with joy and praise: and that eight days after this happy birth
we celebrate his circumcision; namely, in that which we call New
Year's day. And that, upon that day which we call Twelfth day,
we commemorate the manifestation of the unsearchable riches of
Jesus to the Gentiles: and that that day we also celebrate the memory
of his goodness in sending a star to guide the three wise men from
the east to Bethlehem, that they might there worship, and present
him with their oblation of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And he —
Mr. Herbert — instructed them that Jesus was forty days after his
birth presented by his blessed mother in the temple; namely, on
that day which we call "The Purification or the Blessed Virgin,
Saint Mary." And he instructed them that by the Lent-fast we imitate
and commemorate our Saviour's humiUation in fasting forty days;
and that we ought to endeavour to be like him in purity: and that
on Good Friday we commemorate and condole his crucifixion;
and on Easter commemorate his glorious resurrection. And he
taught them that after Jesus had manifested himself to his dis-
ciples to be "that Christ that was crucified, dead and buried;"
and by his appearing and conversing with his disciples for the space
of forty days after his resurrection, he then, and not till then, ascended
into heaven in the sight of those disciples; namely, on that day

404 IZAAK WALTON

which we call the ascension, or Holy Thursday. And that we then
celebrate the performance of the promise which he made to his dis-
ciples at or before his ascension ; namely, "that though he left them,
yet he would send them the Holy Ghost to be their comforter;" and
that he did so on that day which the Church calls Whitsunday. Thus
the Church keeps an historical and circular commemoration of times,
as they pass by us; of such times as ought to incline us to occasional
praises, for the particular blessings which we do, or might receive,
by those holy commemorations.

He made them know also why the Church hath appointed ember-
weeks; and to know the reason why the commandments, and the
epistles and gospels, were to be read at the altar or communion table:
why the priest was to pray the Litany kneeling; and why to pray
some collects standing: and he gave them many other observations,
fit for his plain congregation, but not fit for me now to mention;
for I must set limits to my pen, and not make that a treatise which
I intended to be a much shorter account than I have made it; but
I have done, when I have told the reader that he was constant in
catechising every Sunday in the afternoon, and that his catechising
was after his second lesson, and in the pulpit; and that he never
exceeded his half-hour, and was always so happy as to have an
obedient and full congregation.

And to this I must add, that if he were at any time too zealous in
his sermons, it was in reproving the indecencies of the people's
behaviour in the time of divine service; and of those ministers that
huddle up the Church prayers, without a visible reverence and
affection; namely, such as seemed to say the Lord's Prayer or a
collect in a breath. But for himself, his custom was to stop betwixt
every collect, and give the people time to consider what they had
prayed, and to force their desires affectionately to God, before he
engaged them into new petitions.

And by this account of his diligence to make his parishioners
understand what they prayed, and why they praised and adored their
Creator, I hope I shall the more easily obtain the reader's belief to
the following account of Mr. Herbert's own practice; which was
to appear constantly with his wife and three nieces — the daughters
of a deceased sister — and his whole family, twice every day at the

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 405

Church prayers in the chapel, which does almost join his parsonage-
house. And for the time of his appearing, it was strictly at the
canonical hours of ten and four: and then and here he lifted up
pure and charitable hands to God in the midst of the congregation.
And he would joy to have spent that time in that place, where the
honour of his master Jesus dwelleth; and there, by that inward
devotion which he testified constantly by an humble behaviour and
visible adoration, he, like Joshua, brought not only "his own house-
hold thus to serve the Lord;" but brought most of his parishioners,
and many gentlemen in the neighbourhood, constantly to make a
part of his congregation twice a day: and some of the meaner sort
of his parish did so love and reverence Mr. Herbert, that they would
let their plough rest when Mr. Herbert's saint's-bell rung to prayers,
that they might also offer their devotions to God with him; and
would then return back to their plough. And his most holy life
was such, that it begot such reverence to God, and to him, that they
thought themselves the happier when they carried Mr. Herbert's
blessing back with them to their labour. Thus powerful was his
reason and example to persuade others to a practical piety and
devotion.

And his constant public prayers did never make him to neglect his
own private devotions, nor those prayers that he thought himself
bound to perform with his family, which always were a set form,
and not long; and he did always conclude them with a collect which
the Church hath appointed for the day or week. Thus he made
every day's sanctity a step towards that kingdom, where impurity
cannot enter.

His chiefest recreation was music, in which heavenly art he was
a most excellent master, and did himself compose many divine
hymns and anthems, which he set and sung to his lute or viol: and
though he was a lover of retiredness, yet his love to music was such,
that he went usually twice every week, on certain appointed days,
to the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; and at his return would say,
"That his time spent in prayer, and cathedral-music, elevated his
soul, and was his heaven upon earth." But before his return thence
to Bemerton, he would usually sing and play his part at an appointed
private music-meeting; and, to justify this practice, he would often

406 IZAAK WALTON

say, "Religion does not banish mirth, but only moderates and sets
rules to it."

And as his desire to enjoy his heaven upon earth drew him twice
every week to Salisbury, so his walks thither were the occasion of
many happy accidents to others; of which I will mention some few.

In one of his walks to Salisbury, he overtook a gentleman, that
is still living in that city; and in their walk together, Mr. Herbert
took a fair occasion to talk with him, and humbly begged to be
excused, if he asked him some account of his faith; and said, "I do
this the rather because though you are not of my parish, yet 1 receive
tithe from you by the hand of your tenant; and, sir, I am the bolder
to do it, because I know there be some sermon-bearers that be like
those fishes that always live in salt water, and yet are always fresh."

After which expression, Mr. Herbert asked him some needful
questions, and having received his answer, gave him such rules for
the trial of his sincerity, and for a practical piety, and in so loving
and meek a manner, that the gentleman did so fall in love with him,
and his discourse, that he would often contrive to meet him in his
walk to Salisbury, or to attend him back to Bemerton; and still
mentions the name of Mr. George Herbert with veneration, and still
praiseth God for the occasion of knowing him.

In another of his Salisbury walks he met with a neighbour min-
ister; and after some friendly discourse betwixt them, and some con-
dolement for the decay of piety, and too general contempt of the
clergy, Mr. Herbert took occasion to say :

"One cure for these distempers would be for the clergy themselves
to keep the ember-weeks strictly, and beg of their parishioners to
join with them in fasting and prayers for a more religious clergy.

"And another cure would be for themselves to restore the great
and neglected duty of catechising, on which the salvation of so many
of the poor and ignorant lay-people does depend; but principally,
that the clergy themselves would be sure to live unblamably; and
that the dignified clergy especially which preach temjjerance would
avoid surfeiting and take all occasions to express a visible humility
and charity in their lives; for this would force a love and an imitation,
and an unfeigned reverence from all that knew them to be such."
(And for proof of this, we need no other testimony than the life

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 407

and death of Dr. Lake, late Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells.) "This,"
said Mr. Herbert, "would be a cure for the wickedness and growing
atheism of our age. And, my dear brother, till this be done by us,
and done in earnest, let no man expect a reformation of the manners
of the laity; for 'tis not learning, but this, this only that must do it;
and, till then, the fault must lie at our doors."

In another walk to Salisbury he saw a poor man with a poorer
horse, that was fallen under his load: they were both in distress,
and needed present help; which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off
his canonical coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after to
load, his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he blessed
the poor man; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him
money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "That
if he loved himself he should be merciful to his beast." Thus he left
the poor man : and at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury,
they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so
trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed:
but he told them the occasion. And when one of the company
told him "He had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment,"
his answer was, "That the thought of what he had done would
prove music to him at midnight; and that the omission of it would
have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he
should pass by that place: for if I be bound to pray for all that be
in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power,
to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like
occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass
one day of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy;
and I praise God for this occasion. And now let's tune our
instruments."

Thus, as our blessed Saviour, after his resurrection, did take occa-
sion to interpret scripture to Cleopas, and that other disciple, which
he met with and accompanied in their journey to Emmaus; so Mr.
Herbert, in his path toward heaven, did daily take any fair occasion
to instruct the ignorant, or comfort any that were in affliction; and
did always confirm his precepts by showing humility and mercy, and
ministering grace to the hearers.

And he was most happy in his wife's unforced compliance with

408 IZAAK WALTON

his acts of charity, whom he made his almoner, and paid constandy
into her hand a tenth penny of what money he received for tithe,
and gave her power to dispose that to the poor of his parish, and
with it a power to dispose a tenth part of the corn that came yearly
into his barn: which trust she did most faithfully perform, and would
often offer to him an account of her stewardship, and as often beg
an enlargement of his bounty; for she rejoiced in the employment:
and this was usually laid out by her in blankets and shoes for some
such poor people as she knew to stand in most need of them. This
as to her charity. — And for his own, he set no limits to it: nor did
ever turn his face from any that he saw in want, but would relieve
them; especially his poor neighbours; to the meanest of whose houses
he would go, and inform himself of their wants, and relieve them
cheerfully, if they were in distress; and would always praise God,
as much for being willing, as for being able to do it. And when
he was advised by a friend to be more frugal, because he might have
children, his answer was, "He would not see the danger of want so
far off: but being the scripture does so commend charity, as to tell
us that charity is the top of Christian virtues, the covering of sins,
the fulfilling of the law, the life of faith; and that charity hath a
promise of the blessings of this life, and of a reward in that life
which is to come: being these, and more excellent things are in scrip-
ture spx)ken of thee, O charity! and that, being all my tithes and
Church dues are a deodate from thee, O my Ciod! make me, O my
God! so far to trust thy promise, as to return them back to thee; and
by thy grace I will do so, in distributing them to any of thy poor
members that are in distress, or do but bear the image of Jesus my
master." "Sir," said he to his friend, "my wife hath a competent
maintenance secured her after my death; and therefore, as this is my
prayer, so this my resolution shall, by God's grace, be unalterable."
This may be some account of the excellencies of the active part
of his Hfe; and thus he continued, till a consumption so weakened
him as to confine him to his house, or to the chapel, which does
almost join to it; in which he continued to read prayers constantly
twice every day, though he were very weak: in one of which times
of his reading his wife observed him to read in pain, and told him
so, and that it wasted his spirits, and weakened him; and he confessed

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 409

it did, but said, his "life could not be better spent than in the
service of his master Jesus, who had done and suffered so much for
him. But," said he, "I will not be wilful; for though my spirit be
willing, yet I find my flesh is weak; and therefore Mr. Bostock shall
be appointed to read prayers for me to-morrow; and I will now be
only a hearer of them, till this mortal shall put on immortality."
And Mr. Bostock did the next day undertake and continue this
happy employment till Mr. Herbert's death. This Mr. Bostock was
a learned and virtuous man, an old friend of Mr. Herbert's, and then
his curate to the church of Pulsion, which is a mile from Bemerton,
to which church Bemerton is but a chapel of ease. And this Mr.
Bostock did also constantly supply the Church service for Mr.
Herbert in that chapel, when the music-meeting at Salisbury caused
his absence from it.

About one month before his death, his friend Mr. Farrer, — for
an account of whom 1 am by promise indebted to the reader, and
intend to make him sudden payment, — hearing of Mr. Herbert's
sickness, sent Mr. Edmund Duncon — who is now rector of Friar
Barnet in the county of Middlesex — from his house of Gidden Hall,
which is near to Huntingdon, to see Mr. Herbert, and to assure him
he wanted not his daily prayers for his recovery; and Mr. Duncon
was to return back to Gidden, with an account of Mr. Herbert's
condition. Mr. Duncon found him weak, and at that time lying on
his bed, or on a pallet; but at his seeing Mr. Duncon he raised'
himself vigorously, saluted him, and with some earnestness inquired
the health of his brother Farrer; of which Mr. Duncon satisfied him,
and after some discourse of Mr. Farrer's holy life, and the manner of
his constant serving God, he said to Mr. Duncon, — "Sir, 1 see by
your habit that you are a priest, and I desire you to pray with me:"
which being granted, Mr. Duncon asked him, "What prayers?"
To which Mr. Herbert's answer was, "O sir! the prayers of my
mother, the Church of England: no other prayers are equal to them!
But at this time I beg of you to pray only the Litany, for I am weak
and faint:" and Mr. Duncon did so. After which, and some other
discourse of Mr. Farrer, Mrs. Herbert provided Mr. Duncon a plain
supper, and a clean lodging, and he betook himself to rest. This
Mr. Duncon tells me; and he tells me that, at his first view of Mr.

410 IZAAK WALTON

Herbert, he saw majesty and humility so reconciled in his looks and
behaviour, as begot in him an awful reverence for his person; and
says, "his discourse was so pious, and his motion so genteel and
meek, that after almost forty years, yet they remain still fresh in his
memory."

The next morning Mr. Duncon left him, and betook himself to
a journey to Bath, but with a promise to return back to him within
five days; and he did so: but before I shall say anything of what
discourse then fell betwixt them two, I will pay my promised account
of Mr. Farrer.

Mr. Nicholas Farrer — who got the reputation of being called St.
Nicholas at the age of six years — was born in London, and doubtless
had good education in his youth; but certainly was, at an early
age, made Fellow of Clare Hall in Cambridge; where he continued
to be eminent for his piety, temperance, and learning. About the
twenty-sixth year of his age he betook himself to travel : in which he
added to his Latin and Greek a perfect knowledge of all the lan-
guages spoken in the western parts of our Christian world; and
understood well the principles of their religion, and of their manner,
and the reasons of their worship. In this his travel he met with many
persuasions to come into a communion with that Church which
calls itself Catholic; but he returned from his travels as he went,
eminent for his obedience to his mother, the Church of England. In
his absence from England, Mr. Farrer's father — who was a merchant
— allowed him a liberal maintenance; and, not long after his return
into England, Mr. Farrer had, by the death of his father, or an elder
brother, or both, an estate left him that enabled him to purchase land
to the value of four or five hundred pounds a year; the greatest part
of which land was at Little Gidden, four or six miles from Hunting-
don, and about eighteen from Cambridge; which place he chose
for the privacy of it, and for the hall, which had the parish church
or chap)el belonging and adjoining near to it; for Mr. Farrer, having
seen the manners and vanities of the world, and found them to be,
as Mr. Herbert says, "a nothing between two dishes," did so con-
temn it, that he resolved to spend the remainder of his life in mortifi-
cations, and in devotion, and charity, and to be always prepared for
death. And his life was spent thus:

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 4II

He and his family, which were Uke a Uttle college, and about thirty
in number, did most of them keep Lent and all ember-weeks strictly,
both in fasting and using all those mortifications and prayers that
the Church hath appointed to be then used: and he and they did
the Uke constantly on Fridays, and on the vigils or eves to be fasted
before the saints' days: and this frugality and abstinence turned to
the relief of the poor: but this was but a part of his charity; none but
God and he knew the rest.

This family, which I have said to be in number about thirty,
were a part of them his kindred, and the rest chosen to be of a tem-
per fit to be moulded into a devout life; and all of them were for
their dispositions serviceable, and quiet, and humble, and free from
scandal. Having thus fitted himself for his family, he did, about
the year 1630, betake himself to a constant and methodical service
of God; and it was in this manner: — He, being accompanied with
most of his family, did himself use to read the common prayers —
for he was a deacon — every day, at the appointed hours of ten and
four, in the parish church, which was very near his house, and which
he had both repaired and adorned; for it was fallen into a great
ruin, by reason of a depopulation of the village before Mr. Farrer
bought the manor. And he did also constantly read the matins
every morning at the hour of six, either in the church, or in an
oratory, which was within his own house. And many of the family
did there continue with him after the prayers were ended, and there
they spent some hours in singing hymns, or anthems, sometimes in
the church, and often to an organ in the oratory. And there they
sometimes betook themselves to meditate, or to pray privately, or to
read a part of the New Testament to themselves, or to continue their
praying or reading the psalms; and in case the psalms were not
always read in the day, then Mr. Farrer and others of the congrega-
tion did at night, at the ringing of a watch-bell, repair to the church
or oratory, and there betake themselves to prayer and lauding God,
and reading the psalms that had not been read in the day: and when
these, or any part of the congregation, grew weary or faint, the
watch-bell was rung, sometimes before and sometimes after mid-
night; and then another part of the family rose, and maintained the
watch, sometimes by praying, or singing lauds to God, or reading

412 IZAAK WALTON

the psalms; and when, after some hours, they also grew weary or
faint, then they rung the watch-bell and were also relieved by some
of the former, or by a new part of the society, which continued their
devotions — as hath been mentioned — until morning. And it is to
be noted, that in this continued serving of God, the psalter or the
whole book of psalms, was in every four and twenty hours sung
or read over, from the first to the last verse: and this was done as
constantly as the sun runs his circle every day about the world, and
then begins again the same instant that it ended.

Thus did Mr. Farrer and his happy family serve God day and
night; thus did they always behave themselves as in his presence.
And they did always eat and drink by the strictest rules of temper-
ance; eat and drink so as to be ready to rise at midnight, or at
the call of the watch-bell, and perform their devotions to God. And
it is fit to tell the reader, that many of the clergy, that were more
inclined to practical piety and devotion than to doubtful and needless
disputations, did often come to Gidden Hall, and make themselves
a part of that happy society, and stay a week or more, and then join
with Mr. Farrer and the family in these devotions, and assist and
ease him or them in their watch by night. And these various devo-
tions had never less than two of the domestic family in the night;
and the watch was always kept in the church or oratory, unless in
extreme cold winter nights, and then it was maintained in a parlour,
which had a fire in it; and the parlour was fitted for that purpose.
And this course of piety, and great liberality to his poor neighbours,
Mr. Farrer maintained till his death, which was in the year 1639.

Mr. Farrer's and Mr. Herbert's devout lives were both so noted,
that the general report of their sanctity gave them occasion to renew
that slight acquaintance which was begun at their being contempo-
raries in Cambridge; and this new holy friendship was long main-
tained without any interview, but only by loving and endearing
letters. And one testimony of their friendship and pious designs
may appear by Mr. Farrer's commending the Considerations of John
Vddesso — a book which he had met with in his travels, and trans-
lated out of Spanish into English — to be examined and censored by
Mr. Herbert before it was made public: which excellent book Mr.
Herbert did read, and return back with many marginal notes, as

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 413

they be now printed with it; and with them, Mr. Herbert's affec-
tionate letter to Mr. Farrer.

This John Valdesso was a Spaniard, and was for his learning and
virtue much valued and loved by the great Emperor Charles the
Fifth, whom Valdesso had followed as a cavalier all the time of his
long and dangerous wars: and when Valdesso grew old, and grew
weary both of war and the world, he took his fair opportunity to
declare to the Emperor that his resolution was to decline his Majesty's
service, and betake himself to a quiet and contemplative life, "because
there ought to be a vacancy of time betwixt fighting and dying."
The Emperor had himself, for the same, or other like reasons, put
on the same resolution: but God and himself did, till then, only
know them; and he did therefore desire Valdesso to consider well
of what he had said, and to keep his purpose within his own breast,
till they two might have a second opportunity of a friendly discourse;
which Valdesso promised to do.

In the meantime the Emperor appoints privately a day for him
and Valdesso to meet again; and after a pious and free discourse,
they both agreed on a certain day to receive the blessed sacrament
publicly; and appointed an eloquent and devout friar to preach a
sermon of contempt of the world, and of the happiness and benefit
of a quiet and contemplative life; which the friar did most affection-
ately. After which sermon, the Emperor took occasion to declare
openly, "That the preacher had begot in him a resolution to lay down
his dignities, and to forsake the world, and betake himself to a
monastical life." And he pretended he had persuaded John Valdesso
to do the like: but this is most certain, that after the Emperor had
called his son Philip out of England, and resigned to him all his
kingdoms, that then the Emperor and John Valdesso did perform
their resolutions.

This account of John Valdesso I received from a friend, that had
it from the mouth of Mr. Farrer. And the reader may note that in
this retirement John Valdesso writ his Hundred and Ten Considera-
tions, and many other treatises of worth, which want a second Mr.
Farrer to procure and translate them.

After this account of Mr. Farrer and John Valdesso, I proceed to
my account of Mr. Herbert and Mr. Duncon, who according to his

414 IZAAK WALTON

promise returned from Bath the fifth day, and then found Mr.
Herbert much weaker than he left him; and therefore their discourse
could not be long: but at Mr. Duncon's parting with him, Mr.
Herbert spoke to this purpose: "Sir, I pray you give my brother
Farrer an account of the decaying condition of my body, and tell
him I beg him to continue his daily prayers for me; and let him
know that I have considered, that God only is what he would be;
and that I am, by his grace, become now so like him, as to be pleased
with what pleaseth him; and tell him, that I do not repine but am
pleased with my want of health: and tell him, my heart is fixed on
that place where true joy is only to be found; and that I long to be
there, and do wait for my appointed change with hope and patience."
Having said this, he did, with so sweet a humihty as seemed to exalt
him, bow down to Mr. Duncon, and with a thoughtful and contented
look, say to him, "Sir.I pray dehver this little book to my dear brother
Farrer, and tell him he shall find in it a picture of the many spiritual
conflicts that have passed betwixt God and my soul, before I could
subject mine to the will of Jesus my master: in whose service I have
now found perfect freedom. Desire him to read it; and then, if he
can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul,
let it be made public; if not, let him burn it; for I and it are less
than the least of God's mercies." Thus meanly did this humble
man think of this excellent book, which now bears the name of
The Temple; or, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations; of which
Mr. Farrer would say, "There was in it the picture of a divine soul
in every page: and that the whole book was such a harmony of holy
passions, as would enrich the world with pleasure and piety." And
it appears to have done so; for there have been more than twenty
thousand of them sold since the first impression.

And this ought to be noted, that when Mr. Farrer sent this book
to Cambridge to be licensed for the press, the Vice-Chancellor would
by no means allow the two so much noted verses.

Religion stands a tiptoe in our land,
Ready to pass to the American strand,

to be printed; and Mr. Farrer would by no means allow the book
to be printed and want them. But after some time, and some argu-

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 415

ments for and against their being made public, the Vice-Chancellor
said, "I knew Mr. Herbert well, and know that he had many
heavenly speculations, and was a divine poet: but I hope the world
will not take him to be an inspired prophet, and therefore 1 license
the whole book." So that it came to be printed without the diminu-
tion or addition of a syllable, since it was delivered into the hands of
Mr. Duncon, save only that Mr. Farrer hath added that excellent
preface that is printed before it.

At the time of Mr. Duncon's leaving Mr. Herbert, — which was
about three weeks before his death, — his old and dear friend Mr.
Woodnot came from London to Bemerton, and never left him till
he had seen him draw his last breath, and closed his eyes on his
death-bed. In this time of his decay, he was often visited and prayed
for by all the clergy that lived near to him, especially by his friends
the Bishop and Prebends of the Cathedral Church in Salisbury; but
by none more devoutly than his wife, his three nieces, — then a part
of his family, — and Mr. Woodnot, who were the sad witnesses of
his daily decay; to whom he would often speak to this purpose: "I
now look back upon the pleasures of my hfe past, and see the content
I have taken in beauty, in wit, in music, and pleasant conversation,
are now all passed by me like a dream, or as a shadow that returns
not, and are now all become dead to me, or I to them; and I see, that
as my father and generation hath done before me, so I also shall
now suddenly (with Job) make my bed also in the dark; and I
praise God I am prepared for it; and I praise him that I am not to
learn patience now I stand in such need of it; and that I have
practised mortification, and endeavoured to die daily, that I might
not die eternally; and my hope is, that I shall shortly leave this valley
of tears, and be free from all fevers and pain; and, which will be a
more happy condition, I shall be free from sin, and all the tempta-
tions and anxieties that attend it: and this being past, I shall dwell
in the New Jerusalem; dwell there with men made perfect; dwell
where these eyes shall see my master and Saviour Jesus; and with
him see my dear mother, and all my relations and friends. But I
must die, or not come to that happy place. And this is my content,
that I am going daily towards it: and that every day which I have
lived, hath taken a part of my appointed time from me; and that

4l6 IZAAK WALTON

I shall live the less time, for having lived this and the day past."
These, and the like expressions, which he uttered often, may be said
to be his enjoyment of heaven before he enjoyed it. The Sunday
before his death, he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, called for
one of his instruments, took it into his hand, and said, —

My God, my God,

My music shall find thee.

And every string
Shall have his attribute to sing.

And having tuned it, he played and sung —

The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string.
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King:
On Sundays Heaven's door stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,

More plentiful than hope.

Thus he sung on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels,
and he, and Mr. Farrer now sing in heaven.

Thus he continued meditating, and praying, and rejoicing, till the
day of his death; and on that day said to Mr. Woodnot, "My dear
friend, I am sorry I have nothing to present to my merciful God
but sin and misery; but the first is pardoned, and a few hours will
now put a period to the latter; for I shall suddenly go hence, and be
no more seen." Upon which expression Mr. Woodnot took occasion
to remember him of the re-edifying Layton Church, and his many
acts of mercy. To which he made answer, saying, "They be good
works, if they be sprinkled with the blood of Christ, and not other-
wise." After this discourse he became more restless, and his soul
seemed to be weary of her earthly tabernacle; and this uneasiness
became so visible, that his wife, his three nieces, and Mr. Woodnot
stood constantly about his bed, beholding him with sorrow, and an
unwillingness to lose the sight of him, whom they could not hope
to see much longer. As they stood thus beholding him, his wife
observed him to breathe faintly, and with much trouble, and observed
him to fall into a sudden agony; which so surprised her, that she

LIFE OF GEORGE HERBERT 417

fell into a sudden passion, and required of him to know how he
did. To which his answer was, "that he had passed a conflict with
his last enemy, and had overcome him by the merits of his master
Jesus." After which answer he looked up, and saw his wife and
nieces weeping to an extremity, and charged them, if they loved him,
to withdraw into the next room, and there pray every one alone for
him; for nothing but their lamentations could make his death un-
comfortable. To which request their sighs and tears would not
suffer them to make any reply; but they yielded him a sad obedience,
leaving only with him Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. Immediately
after they had left him, he said to Mr. Bostock, "Pray, sir, open that
door, then look into that cabinet, in which you may easily find my
last will, and give it into my hand": which being done, Mr. Herbert
delivered it into the hand of Mr. Woodnot, and said, "My old friend,
I here deliver you my last will, in which you will find that I have
made you my sole executor for the good of my wife and nieces; and
I desire you to show kindness to them, as they shall need it: I do
not desire you to be just; for I know you will be so for your own
sake; but I charge you, by the religion of our friendship, to be careful
of them." And having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to be so,
he said, "I am now ready to die." After which words he said, "Lord,
forsake me not now my strength faileth me: but grant me mercy for
the merits of my Jesus. And now, Lord — Lord, now receive my
soul." And with those words he breathed forth his divine soul,
without any apparent disturbance, Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock
attending his last breath, and closing his eyes.

Thus he lived, and thus he died, like a saint, unspotted of the
world, full of alms-deeds, full of humility, and all the examples
of a virtuous life; which I cannot conclude better, than with this
borrowed observation:

— All must to their cold graves:

But the religious actions of the just

Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.

Mr. George Herbert's have done so to this, and will doubtless do
so to succeeding generations. I have but this to say more of him:
that if Andrew Melvin died before him, then George Herbert

4l8 IZAAK WALTON

died without an enemy. I wish — if God shall be so pleased — that I
may be so happy as to die Uke him. Iz. Wa.

There is a debt justly due to the memory of Mr. Herbert's virtuous
wife; a part of which I will endeavour to pay, by a very short account
of the remainder of her life, which shall follow.

She continued his disconsolate widow about six years, bemoaning
herself, and complaining, that she had lost the delight of her eyes;
but more that she had lost the spiritual guide for her poor soul; and
would often say, "O that I had, like holy Mary, the mother of Jesus,
treasured up all his sayings in my heart! But since I have not been
able to do that, I will labour to live like him, that where he now is I
may be also." And she would often say, — as the prophet David for
his son Absalom, — "O that I had died for him!" Thus she continued
mourning till time and conversation had so moderated her sorrows,
that she became the happy wife of Sir Robert Cook, of Highnam, in
the county of Gloucester, Knight. And though he put a high value
on the excellent accomplishments of her mind and body, and was
so like Mr. Herbert, as not to govern like a master, but as an affec-
tionate husband; yet she would even to him often take occasion to
mention the name of Mr. George Herbert, and say, that name must
live in her memory till she put off mortality. By Sir Robert she had
only one child, a daughter, whose parts and plentiful estate make her
happy in this world, and her well using of them gives a fair
testimony that she will be so in that which is to come.

Mrs. Herbert was the wife of Sir Robert eight years, and lived his
widow about fifteen; all which time she took a pleasure in mention-
ing and commending the excellencies of Mr. George Herbert. She
died in the year 1663, and lies buried at Highnam: Mr. Herbert in
his own church, under the altar, and covered with a gravestone
without any inscription.

This Lady Cook had preserved many of Mr. Herbert's private
writings, which she intended to make public; but they and Highnam
House were burnt together by the late rebels, and so lost to posterity.

I.W.