Who would true valour see,
Let him come hither,
One here will constant be,
Come win, come weather,
There's no discouragement
Shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent
To be a pilgrim.

Who so beset him round
With dismal stories,
Do but themselves confound;
His strength the more is.
No lion can him fright,
Hell with a giant fight,
But he will have a right
To be a pilgrim.

Hobgoblin nor foul friend
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.