Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Restoration Verse. 1910.

The Author’s Apology for His Book

John Bunyan (1628–1688)

WHEN at the first I took my pen in hand,

Thus for to write; I did not understand

That I at all should make a little Book

In such a mode; Nay, I had undertook

To make another, which when almost done,

Before I was aware, I this begun.

And thus it was: I writing of the Way

And Race of Saints, in this our Gospel-Day,

Fell suddenly into an Allegory

About their Journey, and the way to Glory,

In more than twenty things, which I set down;

This done, I twenty more had in my Crown,

And they again began to multiply,

Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly.

Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast,

I’ll put you by yourselves, lest you at last

Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out

The Book that I already am about.

Well, so I did; but yet I did not think

To show to all the World my Pen and Ink

In such a mode; I only thought to make

I knew not what: nor did I undertake

Thereby to please my Neighbour; no not I;

And did it mine own self to gratify.

Neither did I but vacant seasons spend

In this my scribble; nor did I intend

But to divert myself in doing this,

From worser thoughts, which make me do amiss.

Thus I set Pen to Paper with delight,

And quickly had my thoughts in black and white.

For having now my Method by the end,

Still as I pull’d, it came; and so I penn’d

It down; until at last it came to be,

For length and breadth the bigness which you see.

Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,

I shew’d them others, that I might see whether

They would condemn them, or them justify:

And some said, let them live; some, let them die.

Some said, John, print it; others said, Not so:

Some said, It might do good; others said, No.

Now was I in a strait, and did not see

Which was the best thing to be done by me;

At last I thought, Since you are thus divided,

I print it will; and so the case decided.

For, thought I, Some I see, would have it done,

Though others in that Channel do not run;

To prove then who advised for the best,

Thus I thought fit to put it to the test.

I further thought, if now I did deny

Those that would have it thus, to gratify,

I did not know but hinder them I might

Of that which would to them be great delight.

For those which were not for its coming forth,

I said to them, Offend you I am loth;

Yet since your Brethern pleased with it be,

Forbear to judge, till you do further see.

If that thou wilt not read, let it alone;

Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone:

Yea, that I might them better palliate,

I did too with them thus expostulate.

May I not write in such a style as this?

In such a method too, and yet not miss

Mine end, thy good? why may it not be done?

Dark Clouds bring Waters, when the bright bring none;

Yea, dark, or bright, if they their Silver drops

Cause to descend, the Earth, by yielding Crops,

Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either,

But treasures up the Fruit they yield together:

Yea, so commixes both, that in her Fruit

None can distinguish this from that, they suit

Her well, when hungry: but if she be full,

She spues out both, and makes their blessings null.

You see the ways the Fisherman doth take

To catch the Fish; what Engins doth he make?

Behold how he engageth all his Wits,

Also his Snares, Lines, Angles, Hooks, and Nets.

Yet Fish there be, that neither Hook nor Line,

Nor Snare, nor Net, nor Engine can make thine,

They must be grop’t for, and be tickled too,

Or they will not be catcht, what ere you do.

How doth the Fowler seek to catch his Game,

By divers means, all which one cannot name?

His Gun, his Nets, his Limetwigs, light, and bell:

He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea who can tell

Of all his postures, Yet there’s none of these

Will make him master what Fowls he please.

Yea, he must Pipe, and Whistle to catch this;

Yet if he does so, that Bird he will miss.

If that a Pearl, may in a Toads-head dwell,

And may be found too in an Oystershell;

If things that promise nothing, do contain

What better is than Gold; who will disdain,

(That have an inkling of it,) there to look,

That they may find it. Now my little Book,

(Tho’ void of all those paintings that may make

It with this or the other Man to take,)

Is not without those things that do excel

What do in brave, but empty notions dwell.

Well, yet I am not fully satisfied,

That this your Book will stand when soundly try’d;

Why, what’s the matter! it is dark, what tho?

But it is feigned. What of that I tro?

Some men by feigning words as dark as mine,

Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine.

But they want solidness: Speak man thy mind,

They drown’d the weak; Metaphors make us blind.

Solidity, indeed becomes the Pen

Of him that writeth things Divine to men:

But must I needs want solidness, because

By Metaphors I speak; Was not Gods Laws,

His Gospel-Laws, in older time held forth

By Types, Shadows and Metaphors? Yet loth

Will any sober man be to find fault

With them, lest he be found for to assault

The highest Wisdom. No, he rather stoops,

And seeks to find out what by pins and loops,

By Calves, and Sheep, by Heifers, and by Rams;

By Birds, and Herbs, and by the blood of Lambs,

God speaketh to him. And happy is he

That finds the light, and grace that in them be.

Be not to forward therefore to conclude,

That I want solidness, that I am rude:

All things solid in shew, not solid be;

All things in parables despise not we,

Lest things most hurtful lightly we receive,

And things that good are, of our souls bereave.

My dark and cloudy words they do but hold

The Truth, as Cabinets inclose the Gold.

The Prophets used much by Metaphors

To set forth Truth; Yea, who so considers

Christ, his Apostles too, shall plainly see,

That Truths to this day in such Mantles be.

Am I afraid to say that holy Writ,

Which for its Stile, and Phrase puts down all Wit.

Is every where so full of all these things,

(Dark Figures, Allegories,) yet there springs

From that same Book that lustre, and those rays

Of light, that turns our darkest nights to days.

Come, let my Carper to his Life now look,

And find There darker lines than in my Book

He findeth any. Yea, and let him know,

That in his best things there are worse lines too.

May we but stand before impartial men,

To his poor One, I durst adventure Ten,

That they will take my meaning in these lines

Far better than his Lies in Silver Shrines.

Come, Truth, although in Swadling-clouts, I find

Informs the Judgment, rectifies the Mind,

Pleases the Understanding, makes the Will

Submit; the Memory too it doth fill

With what doth our Imagination please;

Likewise, it tends our troubles to appease.

Sound words I know Timothy is to use,

And old Wives Fables he is to refuse;

But yet grave Paul, him no where doth forbid

The use of Parables; in which lay hid

That Gold, those Pearls, and precious stones that were

Worth digging for; and that with greatest care.

Let me add one word more, O man of God!

Art thou offended? dost thou wish I had

Put forth my matter in another dress,

Or that I had in things been more express?

Three things let me propound, then I submit

To those that are my betters, as is fit.

1.I find not that I am denied the use

Of this my method, so I no abuse

Put on the Words, Things, Readers, or be rude

In handling Figure, or Similitude,

In application; but, all that I may,

Seek the advance of Truth, this or that way:

Denied, did I say? Nay, I have leave,

(Example too, and that from them that have

God better pleased by their words or ways,

Than any man that breatheth now a-days,)

Thus to express my mind, thus to declare

Things unto thee, that excellentest are.

2.I find that men (as high as Trees) will write

Dialogue-wise; yet no man doth them slight

For writing so: Indeed if they abuse

Truth, cursed be they, and, the craft they use

To that intent; But yet let Truth be free

To make her Sallies upon Thee, and Me,

Which way it pleases God. For who knows how,

Better than he that taught us first to Plough,

To guide our Mind and Pens for his Design?

And he makes base things usher in Divine.

3.I find that holy Writ in many places,

Hath semblance with this method, where the cases

Doth call for one thing, to set forth another:

Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother

Truths golden Beams; Nay, by this method may

Make it cast forth its rays as light as day.

And now, before I do put up my Pen,

I’ll shew the profit of my Book, and then

Commit both thee, and it unto that hand

That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.

This Book it chalketh out before thine eyes

The man that seeks the everlasting Prize:

It shews you whence he comes, whither he goes,

What he leaves undone; also what he does:

It also shews you how he runs and runs,

Till he unto the Gate of Glory comes.

It shews too, who sets out for life amain,

As if the lasting Crown they should attain:

Here also you may see the reason why

They lose their labour, and like Fools do die.

This Book will make a Traveller of thee,

If by its Counsel thou wilt ruled be;

It will direct thee to the Holy Land,

If thou wilt its Directions understand:

Yea, it will make the slothful, active be;

The Blind also, delightful things to see.

Art thou for something rare, and profitable?

Wouldest thou see a Truth within a Fable?

Art thou forgetful? wouldest thou remember

From New-year’s-day to the last of December?

Then read my fancies, they will stick like Burs,

And may be to the Helpless, Comforters.

This Book is writ in such a Dialect,

As may the minds of listless men affect:

It seems a Novelty, and yet contains

Nothing but sound, and honest Gospel-strains.

Would’st thou divert thyself from Melancholy?

Would’st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly?

Would’st thou read Riddles, and their Explanation?

Or else be drowned in thy Contemplation?

Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst thou see

A man i’ th’ Clouds, and hear him speak to thee?

Would’st thou be in a Dream, and yet not sleep?

Or would’st thou in a moment laugh, and weep?

Wouldest thou lose thyself, and catch no harm?

And find thyself again without a charm?

Would’st read thyself, and read thou know’st not what

And yet know whether thou art blest or not,

By reading the same lines? O then come hither,

And lay my Book, thy Head, and Heart together.