Pilgrim's Progress, The The. John Bunyan

      Let me add one word more. O man of God,

       Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had

       Put forth my matter in another dress?

       Or, that I had in things been more express?

       Three things let me propound; then I submit

       To those that are my betters, as is fit.

      1. I find not that I am denied the use

       Of this my method, so I no abuse

       Put on the words, things, readers; or be rude

       In handling figure or similitude,

       In application; but, all that I may,

       Seek the advance of truth this or that way

       Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave

       (Example too, and that from them that have

       God better pleased, by their words or ways,

       Than any man that breathes now-a-days)

       Thus to express my mind, thus to declare

       Things unto you that more excellent are.

      2. I find that men (as high as trees) will write

       Dialogue-wise; yet no man doth them slight

       For writing so: indeed, if they abuse

       Truth, cursed be they, and the craft they use

       To that intent; but yet let truth be free

       To make her sallies upon thee and me,

       Which way it pleases God; for who knows how,

       Better than he that taught us first to plough,

       To guide our mind and pens for his design?

       And he makes base things usher in divine.

      3. I find that holy writ in many places

       Hath semblance with this method, where the cases

       Do call for one thing, to set forth another;

       Use it I may, then, and yet nothing smother

       Truth’s golden beams: nay, by this method may

       Make it cast forth its rays as light as day.

       And now before I do put up my pen,

       I’ll show the profit of my book, and then

       Commit both thee and it unto that Hand

       That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.

      This book it chalks out before thine eyes

       The man that seeks the everlasting prize;

       It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes;

       What he leaves undone, also what he does;

       It also shows you how he runs and runs,

       Till he unto the gate of glory comes.

      It shows, too, who set out for life amain,

       As if the lasting crown they would obtain;

       Here also you may see the reason why

       They lose their labour, and like fools do die.

      This book will make a traveller of thee,

       If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be;

       It will direct thee to the Holy Land,

       If thou wilt its directions understand:

       Yea, it will make the slothful active be;

       The blind also delightful things to see.

      Are you for something rare and profitable?

       Would you see a truth within a fable?

       Art thou forgetful? Would you remember

       From New-Year’s day to the last of December?

       Then read my fancies; they will stick like burs,

       And may be, to the helpless, comforters.

      This book is writ in such a dialect

       As may the minds of listless men affect:

       It seems a novelty, and yet contains

       Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains.

       Would you divert thyself from melancholy?

       Would you be pleasant, yet be far from folly?

       Would you read riddles, and their explanation?

       Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?

       Dost thou love picking meat? Or Would you see

       A man in the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?

       Would you be in a dream, and yet not sleep?

       Or Would you in a moment laugh and weep?

       Would you lose thyself and catch no harm,

       And find thyself again without a charm?

       Wouldst read thyself, and read you know not what,

       And yet know whether thou art blest or not,

      By reading the same lines? Oh, then come hither,

       And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.

      JOHN BUNYAN

      THE PILGRIM’S PROGRESS

      In the Similitude of a

      DREAM

1 CHRISTIAN FLEES FROM THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION

AS I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and I laid me down in that place to sleep; and, as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back.¹ I looked, and saw him open the book, and read therein; and, as he read, he wept, and trembled; and, not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry, saying, “What shall I do?”²

      In this plight, therefore, he went home and refrained himself as long as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his distress; but he could not be silent long, because that his trouble increased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and children; and thus he began to talk to them: O my dear wife, said he, and you the children of my bowels, I, your dear friend, am in myself undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am for certain informed that this our city will be burned with fire from heaven; in which fearful overthrow, both myself, with thee my wife, and you my sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin, except (the which yet I see not) some way of escape can be found, whereby we may be delivered. At this his relations were sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them was true, but because they thought that some frenzy distemper had got into his head; therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with all haste they got him to bed. But the night was as troublesome to him as the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. So, when the morning was come, they would know how he did. He told them, Worse and worse: he also set to talking to them again; but they began to be hardened. They also thought to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages to him; sometimes they would deride, sometimes they would chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he began to retire himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and also to condole his own misery; he would also walk solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: and thus for some days he spent his time.

      Now, I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that he was, as he was wont, reading in his book, and greatly distressed in his mind; and, as he read, he burst out, as he had done before, crying, “What shall