Who would true valour see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather There's no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avowed 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 fear not what men say, He'll labour night and day To be a pilgrim. Who would true valour see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather There's no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first avowed intent To be a pilgrim.