He who would valiant be, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather Theres no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avowd 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, Hell 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, Hell not fear what men say; Hell labour night and day To be a pilgrim.

John Bunyan
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