The PILGRIMAGE.  Written by Sir Walter Raleigh, Knight, After his CONDEMNATION, The Day before his Death. 

GIve me my Scollap-Shell of Quiet,  
My Staff of Faith to lean upon;  
My Scrip of Joy, Immortal Diet,  
My Bottle of Salvation;  
My Gown of Glory, Hopes True Gage:  
And thus I'll go my Pilgrimage.   

Blood must be my Body's Balm,  
For here no other Balm is given;  
Whilst my Soul, like a quiet Palm,  
Travels to the Land of Heaven,  
And there I'll kiss the Bowl of Bliss,  
And drink m'Eternal Fill on e v'ry milky Hill.  
My Soul may be a thirst before;  
But after, it shall ne'er thirst more.   

And in this happy Blissful Way  
More Painful Pilgrims I shall see,  
Which have put off their Rags of Clay,  
And go Apparelled Fresh, like me:  
I'll bring them first to quench their Thirst  
To the Pure Wells where Sweetness dwells;  
And then to Taste of Nectar-Suckets,  
Drawn up by Saints in Crystal Buckets.   

And when our Bottles, and all We,  
Are filled with Immortality,  
The Holy Paths of Heaven we'll Travel,  
With Rubies strewed as thick as Gravel;  
Ceilings of diamonds, Saphire-Floors,  
High Walls of Coral, Pearly-Bow'rs.  
And then to heavens Bribeless Hall,  
Where no Corrupted Voices bawl;  
No Conscience moulded into Gold;  
No Forged Accuser Bought nor Sold;  
No Cause Deferred, no vain-spent Journey:  
For CHRIST Himself's the King's Attorney,  
Who Pleads for All, without Degrees;  
For He hath Angels, but no Fees.  
And when the Grand Twelve-Million Jury  
Of all my Sins, shall, in a Fury,  
Against my Soul Black Verdict give;  
Christ pleads His Death, and I shall Live.  
Great Counsellor! Plead Thou my Cause;  
In Thy Proceedings can be found no Flaws;  
Thou won'st Salvation as an Alms,  
Not by the Lawyers Bribed Palms.  
And this shall be my Eternal Plea,  
To Him that made Heaven, Earth, and Sea,  
That Since my Flesh must Die so soon,  
And want a Head to Dine next Noon;  
Even at the Stroke when my Veins spread,  
Set on my Soul an Everlasting Head.  
Then am I Ready, like a Palmer fit,  
To Tread those Paths that I before have Writ.    

London, Printed by George Larkin, in Scalding-Alley in the Poultry. 1681.