The Pilgrim's Progress.
177
When thou hast told the world of all these things,
Then turn ahent, my Beak, and touch these strings;
Which, if but touched, will such music make,
They'll make a cripple dance, a giant quake.
Those riddles that lie couched within thy breast,
Freely propound, expound; and for the rest
Of thy mysterious lines, let them remain
For those Whose nimble fancies shall them gain.
Now may this Little Book a blessing be
To those that love this Little Book and me:
And may its buyer have no cause to say,
His money is but lost or thrown away.
Yea, may this Second Pilgrim yield that fruit
As may with each geod Pilgrim's fancy suit;
And may it persuade some that go astray,
To turn their feet and heart to the right way,
Is the hearty prayer of
The Author,
JOHN BUNYAN
