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Pilgrim. WHAT darknes clouds my senses? hath the day | |
| Forgot his season, and the sunne his way? | |
| Doth God withdraw his all-sustaining might, | |
| And works no more with his faire creature, light, | |
| While heau’n and earth for such a losse complaine, | 5 |
| And turne to rude vnformed heapes againe? | |
| My paces with intangling briers are bound, | |
| And all this forrest in deepe silence drown’d; | |
| Here must my labour and my iourney cease, | |
| By which in vaine I sought for rest and peace; | 10 |
| But now perceiue that man’s vnquiet mind | |
| In all his waies can onely darknesse finde. | |
| Here must I starue and die, vnlesse some light | |
| Point out the passage from this dismall night. | |
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World. Distressed pilgrim, let not causelesse feare | 15 |
| Depresse thy hopes, for thou hast comfort neare, | |
| Which thy dull heart with splendor shall inspire, | |
| And guide thee to thy period of desire. | |
| Clear vp thy browes, and raise thy fainting eyes; | |
| See how my glitt’ring palace open lies | 20 |
| For weary passengers, whose desp’rate case | |
| I pitie, and prouide a resting-place. | |
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Pilgrim. O thou whose speeches sound, whose beauties shine | |
| Not like a creature, but some power diuine, | |
| Teach me thy stile, thy worth and state declare, | 25 |
| Whose glories in this desart hidden are. | |
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World. I am thine end; Felicity my name; | |
| The best of Wishes, Pleasures, Riches, Fame, | |
| Are humble vassals which my throne attend, | |
| And make you mortals happy when I send: | 30 |
| In my left hand delicious fruits I hold, | |
| To feede them who with mirth and ease grow old, | |
| Afraid to lose the fleeting dayes and nights; | |
| That seaze on times, and spend it in delights. | |
| My right hand with triumphant crownes is stor’d, | 35 |
| Which all the kings of former times ador’d: | |
| These gifts are thine: then enter where no strife, | |
| No griefe, no paine, shall interrupt thy life. | |
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Vertue. Stay, hasty wretch, here deadly serpents dwell, | |
| And thy next step is on the brinke of hell: | 40 |
| Wouldst thou, poore weary man, thy limbs repose? | |
| Behold my house, where true contentment growes; | |
| Not like the baites which this seducer giues, | |
| Whose blisse a day, whose torment euer liues. | |
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World. Regard not these vaine speeches, let them goe; | 45 |
| This is a poore worme, my contemned foe, | |
| Bold thredbare Vertue; who dare promise more | |
| From empty bags, than I from all my store; | |
| Whose counsels make men draw vnquiet breath, | |
| Expecting to be happy after death. | 50 |
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Vertue. Canst thou now make, or hast thou euer made | |
| Thy seruants happy in those things that fade? | |
| Heare this my challenge: one example bring | |
| Of such perfection; let him be the king | |
| Of all the world, fearing no outward check, | 55 |
| And guiding others by his voice or beck: | |
| Yet shall this man at eu’ry moment find | |
| More gall than hony in his restlesse mind. | |
| Now, monster, since my words haue struck thee dumb, | |
| Behold this garland, whence such vertues come; | 60 |
| Such glories shine, such piercing beames are throwne | |
| As make thee blind, and turne thee to a stone. | |
| And thou, whose wand’ring feet were running downe | |
| Th’ infernall steepnesse, looke vpon this crowne: | |
| Within these folds lie hidden no deceits, | 65 |
| No golden lures, on which perdition waites; | |
| But when thine eyes the prickly thornes haue past, | |
| See in the circle boundlesse ioyes at last. | |
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Pilgrim. These things are now most cleare; thee I imbrace: | |
| Immortall wreath, let worldlings count thee base; | 70 |
| Choyce is thy matter, glorious is thy shape, | |
| Fit crowne for them who tempting dangers scape. | |
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