The Pilgrim's Progress

It beareth the name of Vanity Fair, because the town where 't is kept is lighter than vanity.

Every fat must stand upon its own bottom.

Some things are of that nature as to make

One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.

He who would valiant be,

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.Whoso 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 not fear what men say;

He’ll labour night and day

To be a pilgrim.