1 Who would true valour see,
let them come hither;
here's one will constant be,
come wind, come weather.
There's no discouragement
shall make me once relent
my first avowed intent
to be a pilgrim.

2 Who so beset me round
with dismal stories
do but themselves confound:
my strength the more is.
No foes shall stay my might;
though I with giants fight,
but I will have the right
to be a pilgrim.

3 Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
can daunt my spirit:
I know I at the end
shall life inherit.
Then, fancies, fly away!
Fear not what others say;
I'll labour night and day
to be a pilgrim.