The Author's Apology
FOR HIS BOOK
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;
I 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 on 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 it came at last to be,
For length and breadth, the bigness which you see.
Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,
I show’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 loath;
Yet since your brethren 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,1
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
My 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 spews out both, and makes their blessings null.
You see the ways the fisherman doth take
To catch the fish; what engines 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’d for, and be tickled too,
Or they will not be catch’d, whate’er you do.
How does the fowler seek to catch his game
By divers means! All which one cannot name:
His gun, his nets, his lime-twigs, 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 hi, master of 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 toad’s head dwell,
And may be found too in an oyster-shell;
If things that promise nothing, do contain
What better is than gold; who will disdain,
That have an inkling1of it, there to look,
That they may find it? Now my little book,
(Though void of all those paintings2 that may make
It with this or the other man to take),
Is not without those things that do excel.
What do in brave,3 but empty notions dwell.
Well, yet I am not fully satisfied,
That this your book will stand, when soundly tried.
Why, what’s the matter? It is dark. What though?4
But it is feigned. What of that, I trow?
Some men by feigned words, as dark as mine,
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine!
But they want solidness: Speak, man, thy mind:
They drown 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? Were not God’s laws,
His gospel-laws, in olden time held forth
By types, shadows, and metaphors? Yet loath
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 too forward, therefore, to conclude
That I want solidness, that I am rude:
All things solid in show, 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 enclose 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 style and phrase, puts down all wit,
Is everywhere so full of all these things
(Dark figures, allegories), yet there springs
From that same book,5 that lustre, and those rays
Of light, that turn our darkest night 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 dare adventure ten;
That they will take my meaning in these lines
Far better than his lies in silver shrines.
Come, truth, although in swaddling 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 imaginations 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 nowhere did 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
Do call for one thing to set forth another;
Use it I may, then, and yet nothing smother
Truth’s 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 show 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 shows you whence he comes, whither he goes,
What he leaves undone; also, what he does;
It also shows you how he runs and runs,
’Till he unto the gate of glory comes.
It shows, too, who set out for life amain,
As if the lasting crown they would 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.1
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 would’st 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?
Would’st 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 bless’d or not
By reading the same lines? Oh then come hither,
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together.
The following are the principal Works from which the Notes to this Edition of The Pilgrim have been selected:—
The Pilgrim’s Progress, Part the First. 12mo, 1776. The preface states, that ‘an edition, containing some brief notes to illustrate the more difficult passages, has been long desired. An attempt of this kind is now submitted to the public.’ This appears to be the first edition with notes. There is no indication of who the notes are by; but there can be little doubt but that they are from the pen of the Rev. J. Newton, the friend of Cowper. The Editor bas four editions of this interesting volume—1776, 1782, 1789, and 1797.
The Pilgrim’s Progress; both Parts, with Notes. By W. Mason. 8vo, 1778. In the preface, Mr. Mason says, ‘I have often wished to see some explanatory notes upon certain passages in it. Having been solicited to undertake this, at a time when no one had attempted it, I have endeavoured, according to the ability which God has given me, to execute it.’ This book was published in numbers, and the notes proved very acceptable. The subscribers requested that more frequent and longer notes should be given. Mr. Mason promises to comply with this request. The advertisement is dated ‘Rotherhithe, March 8, 1776.’
The Pilgrim’s Progress, with Notes. By A Bachelor of Arts of Oxford—J. B. 8vo. 1792.
The Pilgrim’s Progress in blank verse. By J. S. Dodd, M.D. Dublin, 1795.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, with a Key to the Allegory. Published by Heptinstall, 1796.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, divided into Chapters. By the Rev. G. Burder, of Coventry. 12mo, 1797.
A Key to the Pilgrim’s Progress. By Andronicus. 12mo, second edition, 1797.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, with Notes. By the Rev. T. Scott. 8vo.
The Pilgrim’s Progress versified, with short Notes. By G. Burder, 1804.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, with Life. By M’Nicoll and Dr A. Clarke. 8vo, 1809.
Warr’s Course of Lectures, Illustrative of the Pilgrim’s Progress. 8vo, 1825.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, with Historical and Practical Notes. By the Rev. J. Ivimey. 8vo. Oxford, 1824; London, 1829.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, an Epic Poem. By C. C. V. G. 8vo. Parsonstown, 1844.
The Pilgrim’s Progress, an Epic Poem, Two Parts. Published by Bagster, 1845.
Dr. Cheever’s [exceedingly interesting] Lectures. 1846.
The extracts from Bunyan’s other works, which so admirably illustrate his Pilgrim’s Progress, have a reference to this new edition.
BEDFORD JAIL AND GATEHOUSE.
Situated over the middle of the river Ouse. In this damp den John Bunyan wrote the wondrous drram. The View was taken in 1761. The Gatehouse was pulled down in 1765. The prison, in which the sleeping apartments are called by Mr. Heward two dungeons. stood unitl that great philanthropist unveikd its gloomy wretchedness in 1789, soon after which it was pulled down.
CHRISTIAN ADDRESSING HIS WIFE AND CHILDREN