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| − | |'''WHEN at the first''' I took my pen in hand
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| − | Thus for to write,
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| − | I did not understand
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| − | That I at all should make a little book
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| − | In such a mode: nay,
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| − | I had undertook
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| − | To make another, which when almost done,
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| − | Before I was aware, I this begun.
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| | | | |
| − | And thus it was:
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| − | I, writing of the way
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| − | And race of saints in this our gospel day,
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| − | Fell suddenly into an allegory
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| − | About their journey and the way to glory,
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| − | In more than twenty things, which I set down.
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| − | This done, I twenty more had in my crown;
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| − | And they again began to multiply,
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| − | Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly.
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| − | Nay, then, thought I, if that you breed so fast,
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| − | I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last
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| − | Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out
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| − | The book that I already am about.
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| − |
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| − | Well, so I did: but yet I did not think
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| − | To show to all the world my pen and ink
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| − | In such a mode;
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| − | I only thought to make I knew not what.
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| − | Nor did I undertake
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| − | Thereby to please my neighbour--no, not I!
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| − | I did it mine own self to gratify.
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| − |
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| − | Neither did I but vacant seasons spend
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| − | In this my scribble; nor did I intend
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| − | But to divert myself in doing this,
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| − | From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss.
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| − |
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| − | Thus I set pen to paper with delight,
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| − | And quickly had my thoughts in black and white,
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| − | For having now my method by the end,
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| − | Still as I pulled, it came; and so I penned
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| − | It down; until it came at last to be,
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| − | For length and breadth, the size which you see.
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| − |
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| − | Well, when I had thus put my ends together,
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| − | I showed them others, that I might see whether
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| − | They would condemn them, or them justify:
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| − | And some said, "Let them live"; some, "Let them die";
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| − | Some said, "John, print it"; others said, "Not so";
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| − | Some said, "It might do good"; others said, "No."
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| − |
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| − | Now was I in a strait, and did not see
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| − | Which was the best thing to be done by me:
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| − | At last I thought, "Since you are thus divided:
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| − | I print it will"; and so the case decided:
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| − | "For," thought I, "some, I see, would have it done,
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| − | Though others in that channel do not run."
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| − | To prove then who advised for the best,
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| − | Thus I thought fit to put it to the test.
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| − |
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| − | I further thought: if now I did deny
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| − | Those that would have it thus to gratify,
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| − | I did not know but hinder them I might
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| − | Of that which would to them be great delight.
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| − |
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| − | For those which were not for its coming forth,
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| − | I said to them, "Offend you I am loth;
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| − | Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be,
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| − | Forbear to judge, till you do further see.
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| − |
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| − | If that thou will not read, let it alone:
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| − | Some love the meat; some love to pick the bone.
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| − | Yea, that I might them better moderate,
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| − | I did too with them thus expostulate:
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| − |
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| − | "May I not write in such a style as this;
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| − | In such a method too; and yet not miss
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| − | My end--thy good?
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| − | Why may it not be done?
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| − | Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none.
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| − | Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops
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| − | Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops
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| − | Gives praise to both, and carps not at either;
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| − | But treasures up the fruit they yield together:
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| − | Yea, so mixes both, that in her fruit
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| − | None can distinguish this from that: they suit
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| − | Her well when hungry: but if she be full,
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| − | She spews out both, and makes their blessings null.
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| − |
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| − | You see the ways the fisherman doth take
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| − | To catch the fish: what devices doth he make!
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| − | Behold how he engages all his wits;
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| − | Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets:
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| − | Yet fish there be that neither hook nor line,
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| − | Nor snare, nor net, nor device, can make thine;
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| − | They must be groped for, and be tickled too,
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| − | Or they will not be caught whate'er you do.
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| − |
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| − | How doth the fowler seek to catch his game
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| − | By divers means, all which one cannot name!
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| − | His gun, his nets, his lime twigs, light, and bell:
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| − | He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell
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| − | Of all his postures? Yet there's none of these
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| − | Will make him master of what fowls he please.
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| − | Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this;
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| − | Yet if he does so, that bird he will miss.
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| − |
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| − | If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell,
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| − | And may be found too in an oyster shell;
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| − | If things that promise nothing do contain
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| − | What better is than gold; who will disdain
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| − | That have an inkling of it, there to look,
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| − | That they may find it? Now my little book
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| − | (Though void of all those paintings that may make
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| − | It with this or the other man to take),
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| − | Is not without those things that do excel
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| − | What do in brave but empty notions dwell.
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| − |
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| − | "Well, yet I am not fully satisfied
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| − | That this your book will stand when soundly tried."
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| − | "Why, what's the matter?"
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| − | "It is dark." "What though?"
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| − | "But it is feigned." "What of that?" I trow
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| − | Some men by feigned words as dark as mine
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| − | Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine."
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| − | "But they want solidness."
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| − | "Speak, man, thy mind."
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| − | "They'd drown the weak; metaphors make us blind."
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| − |
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| − | Solidity, indeed, becomes the pen
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| − | Of him that writes things Divine to men;
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| − | But must I needs want solidness because
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| − | By metaphors I speak?
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| − | Were not God's laws, His gospel laws, in olden time held forth
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| − | By types, shadows, and metaphors? Yet loth
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| − | Will any sober man be to find fault
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| − | With them, lest he be found for to assault
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| − | The highest wisdom. No, he rather stoops,
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| − | And seeks to find out what by pins and loops,
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| − | By calves and sheep, by heifers and by rams,
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| − | By birds and herbs, and by the blood of lambs,
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| − | God speaks to him; and happy is he
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| − | That finds the light and grace that in them be.
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| − |
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| − | continued at the top of the next column...
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| − | ||
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| − | '''continued...'''
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| − | Be not too forward, therefore, to conclude
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| − | That I want solidness--that I am rude.
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| − | All things solid in show, not solid be:
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| − | All things in parables despise not we;
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| − | Lest things most harmful lightly we receive,
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| − | And things that good are of our souls bereave.
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| − |
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| − | My dark and cloudy words they do but hold
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| − | The truth, as cabinets enclose the gold.
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| − |
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| − | The prophets used much by metaphors
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| − | To set forth truth; yea, whoso considers
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| − | Christ, his apostles too, shall plainly see
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| − | That truths to this day in such mantles be.
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| − |
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| − | Am I afraid to say that Holy Writ,
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| − | Which for its style and phrase puts down all wit,
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| − | Is everywhere so full of all these things--
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| − | Dark figures; allegories; yet there springs
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| − | From that same book, that lustre, and those rays
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| − | Of light that turn our darkest nights today's?
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| − |
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| − | Come, let my carper to his life now look,
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| − | And find there darker lines than in my book
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| − | He finds any; yea, and let him know
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| − | That in his best things there are worse lines too.
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| − | May we but stand before impartial men,
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| − | To his poor one I dare adventure ten,
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| − | That they will take my meaning in these lines
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| − | Far better than his lies in silver shrines.
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| − | Come: Truth, although in swaddling clouts, I find
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| − | Informs the judgment; rectifies the mind;
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| − | Pleases the understanding; makes the will
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| − | Submit: the memory too it doth fill
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| − | With what doth our imaginations please;
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| − | Likewise it tends our troubles to appease.
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| − | Sound words, I know, Timothy is to use,
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| − | And old wives' fables he is to refuse;
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| − | But yet grave Paul, he nowhere did forbid
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| − | The use of parables, in which lay hid
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| − | That gold, those pearls, and precious stones that were
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| − | Worth digging for, and that with greatest care.
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| − |
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| − | Let me add one word more: O man of God,
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| − | Art thou offended? Dost thou wish I had
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| − | Put forth my matter in another dress?
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| − | Or that I had in things been more express?
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| − | Three things let me propound, then I submit
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| − | To those that are my betters, as is fit.
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| − | 1. I find not that I am denied the use
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| − | Of this my method, so I no abuse
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| − | Put on the words, things, readers; or be rude
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| − | In handling figure or similitude
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| − | In application: but, all that I may,
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| − | Seek the advance of truth, this or that way.
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| − | Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave--
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| − | (Examples too and that from them that have
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| − | God better pleased by their words or ways
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| − | Than any man that breathes now-a-days)--
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| − | Thus to express my mind, thus to declare
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| − | Things unto thee, that excellentest are.
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| − |
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| − | 2. I find that men (as high as trees) will write
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| − | Dialogue wise; yet no man doth them slight
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| − | For writing so: indeed, if they abuse
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| − | Truth, cursed be they and the craft they use
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| − | To that intent; but yet let truth be free
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| − | To make her sallies upon thee and me
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| − | Which way it pleases God: for who knows how
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| − | Better than he that taught us first to plough,
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| − | To guide our minds and pens for his design
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| − | And he makes base things usher in divine.
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| − |
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| − | 3. I find that Holy Writ in many places
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| − | Hath semblance with this method, where the cases
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| − | Do call for one thing to set forth another.
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| − | Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother
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| − | Truth's golden beams; nay, by this method may
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| − | Make it cast forth its rays as light as day.
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| − |
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| − | And now, before I do put up my pen,
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| − | I'll show the profit of my book, and then
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| − | Commit both thee and it unto that hand
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| − | That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.
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| − |
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| − | This book it chalks out before thine eyes,
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| − | The man that seeks the everlasting prize:
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| − | It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes,
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| − | What he leaves undone; also what he does:
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| − | It also shows you how he runs, and runs
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| − | Till he unto the gate of glory comes.
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| − |
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| − | It shows too who set out for life amain,
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| − | As if the lasting crown they would attain:
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| − | Here also you may see the reason why
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| − | They lose their labour, and like fools do die.
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| − | This book will make a traveller of thee,
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| − | If by its counsel thou wilt ruled be;
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| − | It will direct thee to the Holy Land,
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| − | If thou wilt its directions understand:
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| − | Yea, it will make the slothful active be;
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| − | The blind also delightful things to see.
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| − | Art thou for something rare and profitable?
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| − | Wouldst thou see a truth within a fable? Art thou forgetful?
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| − | Wouldst thou remember
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| − | From New Year's day to the last of December?
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| − | Then read my fancies; they will stick like burrs
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| − | And may be, to the helpless, comforters.
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| − |
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| − | This book is writ in such a dialect,
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| − | As may the minds of listless men affect:
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| − | It seems a novelty, and yet contains
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| − | Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains.
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| − | Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy,
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| − | Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?
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| − | Wouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation
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| − | Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
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| − | Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see
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| − | A man in the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
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| − | Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
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| − | Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
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| − | Wouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm?
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| − | And find thyself again without a charm?
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| − | Wouldst read thyself, and read thou know'st not what,
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| − | And yet know whether thou are blest or not,
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| − | By reading the same lines? Oh then, come hither,
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| − | And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.
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| − | JOHN BUNYAN.
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| − | |}
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| − | Back to [[The Pilgrim's Progress]]
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