OME fay the Pilgrim's Progrefs is not mine,
In Name and Fame by the Worth of another,
Like fome made rich by robbing of their Brother:
Or that fo fond I am of being Sire,
I'll Father Baftards; or if Need require,
I'll tell a Lie in Print to get Applause:
I fcorn it; John fuch Dirt heap never was,
Since God converted him.
To shew why I my Pilgrim Patronize.
It came from mine own Heart, fo to my Head,
And thence into my Fingers trickled;
Then to my Pen, from whence immediately
On Paper I did dribble it daintily.
Manner and Matter too was all mine owa,
Nor was it unto any Mortal known,
Till I had done it. Nor did any then,
By Books, by Wits by Tongues, or Hand or Pen
Add five-Words to it, or write half a Line
Therefore: The Whole, and every whit is mine.
Alfo for This, thine Eye is now upon,
The Matter in this Manner came from none
But the fame Heart, and Head, Fingers and Pen,
As did the others. Witness all good Men;
For none in all the World without a Lie,
Can fay that this is mine excepting I.
I write not this of any Oftentation,
Nor 'caufe I feek of Men their Commendation
I do it to keep them from fuch furmize,
As tempt them will my Name to fcandalize,
Witnefs my Name, if anagram'd to thee,"
The Letters make, Nu hony in a B.
JOHN BUNYAN.