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I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay My expectation. A long it was and weary way. The gloomy cave of Desperation I left on th'one, and on the other side The rock of Pride. And so I came to Phansies medow strow'd With many a flower: Fair would I here have made abode, But I was quicken'd by my houre. So to Cares cops I came, and there got through With much ado. That led me to the wilde of Passion, which Some call the wold; A wasted place, but sometimes rich. Here I was robb'd of all my gold, Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti'd Close to my side. At length I got unto the gladsome hill, Where lay my hope, Where lay my heart; and climbing still, When I had gain'd the brow and top, A lake of brackish waters on the ground Was all I found. With that abash'd and struck with many a sting Of swarming fears, I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King; Can both the way and end be tears? Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd I was deceiv'd: My hill was further: so I flung away, Yet heard a crie Just as I went, None goes that way And lives: If that be all, said I, After so foul a journey death is fair, And but a chair.
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