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George Herbert - The Pilgrimage
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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:
       Fain would I here have made abode,
       But I was quicken`d by my houre.
So to Care`s 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 tied 
                    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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