On Himself (Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay)

Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay;My pilgrim's staff, my weed of gray,My palmer's hat, my scallop's shell,My cross, my cord, and all, farewell.For having now my journey done,Just at the setting of the sun,Here I have found a chamber fit,God and good friends be thanked for it,Where if I can a lodger be,A little while from tramplers free,At my up-rising next I shall,If not requite, yet thank ye all.Meanwhile, the holy-rood hence frightThe fouler fiend and evil spriteFrom scaring you or yours this night.