"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."