THE LEGEND OF SIR GUY.

29, the.

36, E'er match'd.

44, fellow.

91, so.

100, Kind Haud's son of Seuwake.

112, flashing.

117, 'spied.

120, rushing.

"Published from an ancient MS. copy in the Editor's old folio volume, collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black-letter in the Pepys collection." PERCY.

An inferior copy is printed in Ritson'sAncient Songs and Ballads, ii. 193.

From an essay on the romance of Sir Guy, read by Mr. Wright before the British Archæological Association during its meeting at Warwick, we extract the following remarks in illustration of the history of the present ballad, and other similar popular heroic traditions.

"As the Teutonic tribes progressed in their migrations, and settled in new lands—and especially when they received a new faith, and made advances in civilization,—the mythic romances of their forefathers underwent remarkable modifications to adapt them to new sentiments and new manners. Among people who had forgotten the localities to which they referred, they received a new location and became identified with places and objects with which people were better acquainted, and in this manner they underwenta new historical interpretation. It would be no uninteresting task to point out how many romantic tales that are soberly related of individuals of comparatively modern history, are merely new applications of these early myths.

"Among the romances of the Anglo-Danish cycle by no means the least celebrated is that of GUY OF WARWICK. It is one, of the few, which has been preserved in its Anglo-Norman form, since which it has gone through an extraordinary number of versions, and Chaucer enumerated it among theromances of pris, or those which in the fourteenth century were held in the highest estimation. It is doubtless one of those stories in which an ancient mythic romance has undergone the series of modifications I have been describing; a legend which had become located by popular traditions in the neighbourhood we are now visiting, in which the contests between northern chieftains are changed into tilts and tournaments, but in which the combats with dragons and giants are still preserved. Whatever may have been the name of the original hero, that which he now bears, Guy, is a French name, and could not have been given till Norman times.

"From the Anglo-Norman poem, so great was its popularity, two or three different English metrical versions were made, which are still found in manuscripts, and the earliest of which, that of the well-known Auchinlech manuscript, has been printed in a very expensive form by one of the Scottish Antiquarian clubs. It was next transformed into French prose, and in that form was popular in the fifteenth century, and was printed by some of the earlier printers. It was finally reduced to a popular chap-book in prose and abroadside ballad in verse, and in these forms was hawked about the streets until a very recent period. Such has in general been the fate of the romantic literature of the middle ages; a remarkable proof of the tenacity with which it has kept its hold on the popular mind."Gentleman's Magazine, Sept. 1847, p. 300.

Was ever knight for ladyes sakeSoe tost in love, as I, Sir Guy,For Phelis fayre, that lady brightAs ever man beheld with eye?5She gave me leave myself to try,The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,Ere that her love she would grant me;Which made mee venture far and neare.Then proved Ia baron bold,10In deeds of armes the doughtyest knightThat in those dayes in England was,With sworde and speare in feild to fight.An English man I was by birthe:In faith of Christ a christyan true:15The wicked lawes of infidellsI sought by prowesse to subdue.'Nine' hundredtwenty yeere and oddeAfter our Saviour Christ his birth,When King Athelstone wore the crowne,20I lived heere upon the earth.Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,And, as I sayd, of very truthA ladyes love did me constraineTo seeke strange ventures in my youth;25To win me fame by feates of armesIn strange and sundry heathen lands;Where I atchieved for her sakeRight dangerous conquests with my hands.For first I sayled to Normandye,30And there I stoutlye wan in fightThe emperours daughter of Almaine,From manye a vallyant worthye knight.Then passed I the seas to Greece,To helpe the emperour in his right,35Against the mightye souldans hoasteOf puissant Persians for to fight:Where I did slay of Sarazens,And heathen pagans, manye a man;And slew the souldans cozen deere,40Who had to name doughtye Coldràn.Eskeldered, a famous knight,To death likewise I did pursue:And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe,Most terrible in fight to viewe.45I went into the souldans hoast,Being thither on embassage sent,And brought his head awaye with mee;I having slaine him in his tent.There was a dragon in that land50Most fiercelye mett me by the waye,As hee a lyon did pursue,Which I myself did alsoe slay.Then soon I past the seas from Greece,And came to Pavye land aright;55Where I the duke of Pavye killed,His hainous treason to requite.To England then I came with speede,To wedd faire Phelis, lady bright;For love of whome I travelled farr60To try my manhood and my might.But when I had espoused her,I stayd with her but fortye dayes,Ere that I left this ladye faire,And went, from her beyond the seas.65All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,My voyage from her I did takeUnto the blessed Holy-Land,For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,70And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,Who with the cruell SarazensIn prison for long time had beene.I slew the gyant AmarantIn battel fiercelye hand to hand,75And doughty Barknard killed I,A treacherous knight of Pavye land.Then I to England came againe,And here with Colbronde fell I fought;An ugly gyant, which the Danes80Had for their champion hither brought.I overcame him in the feild,And slewe him soone right valliantlye;Wherebye this land I did redeemeFrom Danish tribute utterlye.85And afterwards I offered uppThe use of weapons solemnlyeAt Winchester, whereas I fought,In sight of manye farr and nye.'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye90A bore of passing might and strength;Whose like in England never wasFor hugenesse both in bredth and length.Some of his bones in Warwicke yettWithin the castle there doth lye;95One of his sheeld-bones to this dayHangs in the citye of Coventrye.On Dunsmore heath I alsoe sleweA monstrous wyld and cruell beast,Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;100Which manye people had opprest.Some of her bones in Warwicke yettStill for a monument doth lye,And there exposed to lookers viewe,As wondrous strange, they may espye.105A dragon in NorthumberlandI alsoe did in fight destroye,Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,And all the countrye sore annoye.At length to Warwicke I did come,110Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne;And there I lived a hermitts lifeA mile and more out of the towne.Where with my hands I hewed a houseOut of a craggy rocke of stone,115And lived like a palmer pooreWithin that cave myself alone:And daylye came to begg my breadOf Phelis att my cattle gate;Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,120Who dailye mourned for her mate.Till att the last I fell sore sicke,Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;I sent to her a ring of golde,By which shee knew me presentlye.125Then shee repairing to the cave,Before that I gave up the ghost,Herself closd up my dying eyes;My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.Thus dreadful death did me arrest,130To bring my corpes unto the grave,And like a palmer dyed I,Wherby I sought my soule to save.My body that endured this toyle,Though now it be consumed to mold,135My statue, faire engraven in stone,In Warwicke still you may behold.

Was ever knight for ladyes sakeSoe tost in love, as I, Sir Guy,For Phelis fayre, that lady brightAs ever man beheld with eye?

5She gave me leave myself to try,The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,Ere that her love she would grant me;Which made mee venture far and neare.

Then proved Ia baron bold,10In deeds of armes the doughtyest knightThat in those dayes in England was,With sworde and speare in feild to fight.

An English man I was by birthe:In faith of Christ a christyan true:15The wicked lawes of infidellsI sought by prowesse to subdue.

'Nine' hundredtwenty yeere and oddeAfter our Saviour Christ his birth,When King Athelstone wore the crowne,20I lived heere upon the earth.

Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,And, as I sayd, of very truthA ladyes love did me constraineTo seeke strange ventures in my youth;

25To win me fame by feates of armesIn strange and sundry heathen lands;Where I atchieved for her sakeRight dangerous conquests with my hands.

For first I sayled to Normandye,30And there I stoutlye wan in fightThe emperours daughter of Almaine,From manye a vallyant worthye knight.

Then passed I the seas to Greece,To helpe the emperour in his right,35Against the mightye souldans hoasteOf puissant Persians for to fight:

Where I did slay of Sarazens,And heathen pagans, manye a man;And slew the souldans cozen deere,40Who had to name doughtye Coldràn.

Eskeldered, a famous knight,To death likewise I did pursue:And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe,Most terrible in fight to viewe.

45I went into the souldans hoast,Being thither on embassage sent,And brought his head awaye with mee;I having slaine him in his tent.

There was a dragon in that land50Most fiercelye mett me by the waye,As hee a lyon did pursue,Which I myself did alsoe slay.

Then soon I past the seas from Greece,And came to Pavye land aright;55Where I the duke of Pavye killed,His hainous treason to requite.

To England then I came with speede,To wedd faire Phelis, lady bright;For love of whome I travelled farr60To try my manhood and my might.

But when I had espoused her,I stayd with her but fortye dayes,Ere that I left this ladye faire,And went, from her beyond the seas.

65All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,My voyage from her I did takeUnto the blessed Holy-Land,For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.

Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,70And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,Who with the cruell SarazensIn prison for long time had beene.

I slew the gyant AmarantIn battel fiercelye hand to hand,75And doughty Barknard killed I,A treacherous knight of Pavye land.

Then I to England came againe,And here with Colbronde fell I fought;An ugly gyant, which the Danes80Had for their champion hither brought.

I overcame him in the feild,And slewe him soone right valliantlye;Wherebye this land I did redeemeFrom Danish tribute utterlye.

85And afterwards I offered uppThe use of weapons solemnlyeAt Winchester, whereas I fought,In sight of manye farr and nye.

'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye90A bore of passing might and strength;Whose like in England never wasFor hugenesse both in bredth and length.

Some of his bones in Warwicke yettWithin the castle there doth lye;95One of his sheeld-bones to this dayHangs in the citye of Coventrye.

On Dunsmore heath I alsoe sleweA monstrous wyld and cruell beast,Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;100Which manye people had opprest.

Some of her bones in Warwicke yettStill for a monument doth lye,And there exposed to lookers viewe,As wondrous strange, they may espye.

105A dragon in NorthumberlandI alsoe did in fight destroye,Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,And all the countrye sore annoye.

At length to Warwicke I did come,110Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne;And there I lived a hermitts lifeA mile and more out of the towne.

Where with my hands I hewed a houseOut of a craggy rocke of stone,115And lived like a palmer pooreWithin that cave myself alone:

And daylye came to begg my breadOf Phelis att my cattle gate;Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,120Who dailye mourned for her mate.

Till att the last I fell sore sicke,Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;I sent to her a ring of golde,By which shee knew me presentlye.

125Then shee repairing to the cave,Before that I gave up the ghost,Herself closd up my dying eyes;My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.

Thus dreadful death did me arrest,130To bring my corpes unto the grave,And like a palmer dyed I,Wherby I sought my soule to save.

My body that endured this toyle,Though now it be consumed to mold,135My statue, faire engraven in stone,In Warwicke still you may behold.

9, The proud Sir Guy, PC.

17, Two hundred, MS. and PC.

The following rhymed legend, which, like several other pieces in this Book, can be called a ballad only by an objectionable, though common, extension of the term, was printed by Percy (with some alterations) from two "ancient" black-letter copies in the Pepys collection.

Real popular ballads on St. George's victory over the Dragon exist in several languages, though not in English.[2]Such a ballad is known to have been sung by the Swedes at the battle of Brunkeberg in 1471, and one is still sung by the people both of Denmark and Sweden. Grundtvig gives three copies of the Danish ballad, two of the 16th and 17th centuries, and one of the present. Four versions of the Swedish have been published, of various ages (e.g.Svenska Folkvisor, ii. 252). A German ballad is given by Meinert,Altdeutsche Volkslieder, p. 254; after him by Erlach, iv. 258; and Haupt and Schmalerhave printed two widely different versions of the ballad in Wendish,Volkslieder der Wenden, vol. i. No. 285, ii. No. 195. These are all the proper traditional ballads upon this subject which are known to be preserved, unless we include a piece calledJürg Drachentödterin Zuccalmaglio'sDeutsche Volkslieder, No. 37, which is of suspicious authenticity. The piece calledRitter St. Georg, inDes Knaben Wunderhorn, i. 151, is not a proper ballad, but a rhymed legend, like the one here printed, though intended to be sung.

The hero of these ballads, St. George of Cappadocia, is said to have suffered martyrdom during the persecution in Syria, in the year 303. In the 6th century he was a recognized saint both in the western and the eastern churches, and his reputation was limited to this character until the 13th. Reinbot von Dorn, (1231-53,) in his poemDer Heilige Georg, (Von der Hagen and Büsching'sDeutsche Gedichte des Mittelalters,) and Vincent de Beauvais (died 1262) in hisSpeculum Historiale(XII. 131-32), content themselves with recounting his martyrdom, and appear to know nothing about his fight with the Dragon. The first known writer who attributes this exploit to St. George is Jacobus a Voragine (died 1298), in theGolden Legend. Of course it does not follow that the story originated there. It is probable that the legend of the Dragon arose at the time of the Crusades, and indeed was partly occasioned by them, though we ought not hastily to admit, what has been suggested, that it was founded upon some tradition which the Crusaders heard in Syria.

The Byzantians had long before ascribed various miracles to St. George, but it was the Normans, who, so to say, first pressed him into active military service.It was he that commanded the heavenly host that came to the help of the Crusaders against the Turks, under the walls of Antioch, in the year 1098, on which occasion he was seen on his white horse, bearing the white banner with the red cross. He manifested himself again at the storming of Jerusalem in the following year, and a hundred years later was seen to fight in the front rank against the Moors in Spain, and for Frederic Barbarossa, in his crusade in 1190. But though he had entered into the service of the German emperor, this did not prevent his aiding the orthodox William of Holland in taking Aix-la-Chapelle from the excommunicated Emperor Frederic in 1248.—The most various races have contended for his protection. His feast was in 1222 ordered to be kept as a holiday throughout all England: from the beginning of the 14th century, or since the Mongol dominion was shaken off, he has been one of the guardian saints of Russia: in 1468, the Emperor Frederic III. founded the Austrian Order of St. George for the protection of the Empire against the Turks, and a few years later, in 1471, at the momentous battle of Brunkeberg, his name was the war-cry of both parties, Swedes and Danes.

That the subjugation of the Dragon (a symbolical mode of representing the extinction of Evil common to all times and peoples) should be attributed to St. George, would seem to be sufficiently explained by his having become the Christian Hero of the Middle Ages. A special reason may, however, be alleged for his connection with such a legend. Long before the Crusades, he was depicted by the artists of the Oriental Church as the Great Martyr, with the Dragon (Anti-Christ or the Devil) at his feet, and a crowned virgin (the Church) at his side. In like manner had Constantinethe Great had himself drawn, and many other saints are represented in the same way, as Theodore, Victor, and Margaret. This symbolic representation would naturally lead to the Crusaders making St. George the hero in an achievement which was well known in connection with other names: and it would then not be too much to assume that the Normans (who, as already said, were the first to recognize his presence in battle),—the same Normans who were properly the creators of the romantic poetry of the Middle Ages,—were also the first to connect St. George with the conquest of the Dragon.

But however we may account for St. George's being introduced into such a legend, so much is sure; that from the 14th century on, the story and the hero have been inseparable: all the legendaries and all the pictures of him exhibit him as the conqueror of the Dragon: his martyrdom is nearly lost sight of, and in ballads is entirely forgotten.—As to the place which was the scene of the fight, there are many opinions. Some have fixed it in Cappadocia, others in Lybia, others in Syria, and some European nations have assigned the adventure to a locality within their own bounds. Thus the Wallachians lay the scene at Orwoza, one of the Wendish ballads at Berlin, the Germans at Leipsic, the Dutch at Oudenarde, and—the people of the island of Funen at Svendborg!

[2]What follows is abridged from Grundtvig,Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser, ii. 554.

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing,And of the sack of stately Troy,What griefs fair Helena did bring,Which was Sir Paris' only joy:5And by my pen I will reciteSt. George's deeds, an English knight.Against the Sarazens so rudeFought he full long and many a day,Where many gyaunts he subdu'd,10In honour of the Christian way;And after many adventures past,To Egypt land he came at last.Now, as the story plain doth tell,Within that countrey there did rest15A dreadful dragon, fierce and fell,Whereby they were full sore opprest:Who by his poisonous breath each dayDid many of the city slay.The grief whereof did grow so great20Throughout the limits of the land,That they their wise men did intreatTo shew their cunning out of hand;What way they might this fiend destroy,That did the countrey thus annoy.25The wise men all before the king,This answer fram'd incontinent:The dragon none to death might bringBy any means they could invent;His skin more hard than brass was found,That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.30When this the people understood,They cryed out most piteouslye,The dragon's breath infects their blood,That every day in heaps they dye;35Among them such a plague is bred,The living scarce could bury the dead.No means there were, as they could hear,For to appease the dragon's rage,But to present some virgin clear,40Whose blood his fury might asswage;Each day he would a maiden eat,For to allay his hunger great.This thing by art the wise men found,Which truly must observed be;45Wherefore, throughout the city round,A virgin pure of good degreeWas, by the king's commission, stillTaken up to serve the dragon's will.Thus did the dragon every day50Untimely crop some virgin flowr,Till all the maids were worn away,And none were left him to devour;Saving the king's fair daughter bright,Her father's only heart's delight.55Then came the officers to the king,That heavy message to declare,Which did his heart with sorrow sting;"She is," quoth he, "my kingdom's heir:O let us all be poisoned here,60Ere she should die, that is my dear."Then rose the people presently,And to the king in rage they went;They said his daughter dear should dye,The dragon's fury to prevent:65"Our daughters all are dead," quoth they,"And have been made the dragon's prey;"And by their blood we rescued were,And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;And now in sooth it is but faire,70For us thy daughter so should die.""O save my daughter," said the king,"And let ME feel the dragon's sting."Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,And to her father dear did say,75"O father, strive not thus for me,But let me be the dragon's prey;It may be, for my sake aloneThis plague upon the land was thrown."'Tis better I should dye," she said,80"Than all your subjects perish quite;Perhaps the dragon here was laid,For my offence to work his spite,And after he hath suckt my gore,Your land shall feel the grief no more."85"What hast thou done, my daughter dear,For to deserve this heavy scourge?It is my fault, as may appear,Which makes the gods our state to purge;Then ought I die, to stint the strife,90And to preserve thy happy life."Like mad-men, all the people cried,"Thy death to us can do no good;Our safely only doth abideIn making her the dragon's food."95"Lo! here I am, I come," quoth she,"Therefore do what you will with me.""Nay stay, dear daughter," quoth the queen,"And as thou art a virgin bright,That hast for vertue famous been,100So let me cloath thee all in white;And crown thy head with flowers sweet,An ornament for virgins meet."And when she was attired so,According to her mother's mind,105Unto the stake then did she go,To which her tender limbs they bind;And being bound to stake a thrall,She bade farewell unto them all."Farewell, my father dear," quoth she,110"And my sweet mother, meek and mild;Take you no thought nor weep for me,For you may have another child;Since for my country's good I dye,Death I receive most willinglye."115The king and queen and all their trainWith weeping eyes went then their way,And let their daughter there remain,To be the hungry dragon's prey:But as she did there weeping lye,120Behold St. George came riding by.And seeing there a lady brightSo rudely tyed unto a stake,As well became a valiant knight,He straight to her his way did take:125"Tell me, sweet maiden," then quoth he,"What caitif thus abuseth thee?"And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,Which here is figured on my breast,I will revenge it on his brow,130And break my lance upon his chest:"And speaking thus whereas he stood,The dragon issued from the wood.The lady, that did first espyThe dreadful dragon coming so,135Unto St. George aloud did cry,And willed him away to go;"Here comes that cursed fiend," quoth she,"That soon will make an end of me."St. George then looking round about,140The fiery dragon soon espy'd,And like a knight of courage stout,Against him did most fiercely ride;And with such blows he did him greet,He fell beneath his horse's feet.145For with his launce, that was so strong,As he came gaping in his face,In at his mouth he thrust along;For he could pierce no other place:And thus within the lady's view150This mighty dragon straight he slew.The savour of his poisoned breathCould do this holy knight no harm;Thus he the lady sav'd from death,And home he led her by the arm;155Which when King Ptolemy did see,There was great mirth and melody.When as that valiant champion thereHad slain the dragon in the field,To court he brought the lady fair,160Which to their hearts much joy did yield,He in the court of Egypt staidTill he most falsely was betray'd.That lady dearly lov'd the knight,He counted her his only joy;165But when their love was brought to light,It turn'd unto their great annoy.Th' Morocco king was in the court,Who to the orchard did resort;Dayly, to take the pleasant air;170For pleasure sake he us'd to walk;Under a wall he oft did hearSt. George with Lady Sabra talk;Their love he shew'd unto the king,Which to St. George great woe did bring.175Those kings together did deviseTo make the Christian knight away:With letters him in curteous wiseThey straightway sent to Persia,But wrote to the sophy him to kill,180And treacherously his blood to spill.Thus they for good did him rewardWith evil, and most subtilly,By such vile meanes, they had regardTo work his death most cruelly;185Who, as through Persia land he rode,With zeal destroy'd each idol god.For which offence he straight was thrownInto a dungeon dark and deep;Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,190He bitterly did wail and weep:Yet like a knight of courage stout,At length his way he digged out.Three grooms of the King of PersiaBy night this valiant champion slew,195Though he had fasted many a day,And then away from thence he flewOn the best steed the sophy had;Which when he knew he was full mad.Towards Christendom he made his flight,200But met a gyant by the way,With whom in combat he did fightMost valiantly a summer's day:Who yet, for all his bats of steel,Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.205Back o'er the seas, with many bandsOf warlike souldiers soon he past,Vowing upon those heathen landsTo work revenge; which at the last,Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,210He wrought unto his heart's content.Save onely Egypt land he spar'd,For Sabra bright her only sake,And, ere for her he had regard,He meant a tryal kind to make:215Meanwhile the king, o'ercome in field,Unto Saint George did quickly yield.Then straight Morocco's king he slew,And took fair Sabra to his wife,But meant to try if she were true,220Ere with her he would lead his life;And, tho' he had her in his train,She did a virgin pure remain.Toward England then that lovely dameThe brave St. George conducted strait,225An eunuch also with them came,Who did upon the lady wait.These three from Egypt went alone:Now mark St. George's valour shown.When as they in a forest were,230The lady did desire to rest:Meanwhile St. George to kill a deerFor their repast did think it best:Leaving her with the eunuch there,Whilst he did go to kill the deer.235But lo! all in his absence cameTwo hungry lyons, fierce and fell,And tore the eunuch on the sameIn pieces small, the truth to tell;Down by the lady then they laid,240Whereby they shew'd she was a maid.But when he came from hunting back,And did behold this heavy chance,Then for his lovely virgin's sakeHis courage strait he did advance,245And came into the lions sight,Who ran at him with all their might.Their rage did him no whit dismay,Who, like a stout and valiant knight,Did both the hungry lyons slay250Within the Lady Sabra's sight:Who all this while, sad and demure,There stood most like a virgin pure.Now when St. George did surely knowThis lady was a virgin true,255His heart was glad, that erst was woe,And all his love did soon renew:He set her on a palfrey steed,And towards England came with speed.Where being in short space arriv'd260Unto his native dwelling place,Therein with his dear love he liv'd,And fortune did his nuptials grace:They many years of joy did see,And led their lives at Coventry.

Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing,And of the sack of stately Troy,What griefs fair Helena did bring,Which was Sir Paris' only joy:5And by my pen I will reciteSt. George's deeds, an English knight.

Against the Sarazens so rudeFought he full long and many a day,Where many gyaunts he subdu'd,10In honour of the Christian way;And after many adventures past,To Egypt land he came at last.

Now, as the story plain doth tell,Within that countrey there did rest15A dreadful dragon, fierce and fell,Whereby they were full sore opprest:Who by his poisonous breath each dayDid many of the city slay.

The grief whereof did grow so great20Throughout the limits of the land,That they their wise men did intreatTo shew their cunning out of hand;What way they might this fiend destroy,That did the countrey thus annoy.

25The wise men all before the king,This answer fram'd incontinent:The dragon none to death might bringBy any means they could invent;His skin more hard than brass was found,That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.

30When this the people understood,They cryed out most piteouslye,The dragon's breath infects their blood,That every day in heaps they dye;35Among them such a plague is bred,The living scarce could bury the dead.

No means there were, as they could hear,For to appease the dragon's rage,But to present some virgin clear,40Whose blood his fury might asswage;Each day he would a maiden eat,For to allay his hunger great.

This thing by art the wise men found,Which truly must observed be;45Wherefore, throughout the city round,A virgin pure of good degreeWas, by the king's commission, stillTaken up to serve the dragon's will.

Thus did the dragon every day50Untimely crop some virgin flowr,Till all the maids were worn away,And none were left him to devour;Saving the king's fair daughter bright,Her father's only heart's delight.

55Then came the officers to the king,That heavy message to declare,Which did his heart with sorrow sting;"She is," quoth he, "my kingdom's heir:O let us all be poisoned here,60Ere she should die, that is my dear."

Then rose the people presently,And to the king in rage they went;They said his daughter dear should dye,The dragon's fury to prevent:65"Our daughters all are dead," quoth they,"And have been made the dragon's prey;

"And by their blood we rescued were,And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;And now in sooth it is but faire,70For us thy daughter so should die.""O save my daughter," said the king,"And let ME feel the dragon's sting."

Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,And to her father dear did say,75"O father, strive not thus for me,But let me be the dragon's prey;It may be, for my sake aloneThis plague upon the land was thrown.

"'Tis better I should dye," she said,80"Than all your subjects perish quite;Perhaps the dragon here was laid,For my offence to work his spite,And after he hath suckt my gore,Your land shall feel the grief no more."

85"What hast thou done, my daughter dear,For to deserve this heavy scourge?It is my fault, as may appear,Which makes the gods our state to purge;Then ought I die, to stint the strife,90And to preserve thy happy life."

Like mad-men, all the people cried,"Thy death to us can do no good;Our safely only doth abideIn making her the dragon's food."95"Lo! here I am, I come," quoth she,"Therefore do what you will with me."

"Nay stay, dear daughter," quoth the queen,"And as thou art a virgin bright,That hast for vertue famous been,100So let me cloath thee all in white;And crown thy head with flowers sweet,An ornament for virgins meet."

And when she was attired so,According to her mother's mind,105Unto the stake then did she go,To which her tender limbs they bind;And being bound to stake a thrall,She bade farewell unto them all.

"Farewell, my father dear," quoth she,110"And my sweet mother, meek and mild;Take you no thought nor weep for me,For you may have another child;Since for my country's good I dye,Death I receive most willinglye."

115The king and queen and all their trainWith weeping eyes went then their way,And let their daughter there remain,To be the hungry dragon's prey:But as she did there weeping lye,120Behold St. George came riding by.

And seeing there a lady brightSo rudely tyed unto a stake,As well became a valiant knight,He straight to her his way did take:125"Tell me, sweet maiden," then quoth he,"What caitif thus abuseth thee?

"And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,Which here is figured on my breast,I will revenge it on his brow,130And break my lance upon his chest:"And speaking thus whereas he stood,The dragon issued from the wood.

The lady, that did first espyThe dreadful dragon coming so,135Unto St. George aloud did cry,And willed him away to go;"Here comes that cursed fiend," quoth she,"That soon will make an end of me."

St. George then looking round about,140The fiery dragon soon espy'd,And like a knight of courage stout,Against him did most fiercely ride;And with such blows he did him greet,He fell beneath his horse's feet.

145For with his launce, that was so strong,As he came gaping in his face,In at his mouth he thrust along;For he could pierce no other place:And thus within the lady's view150This mighty dragon straight he slew.

The savour of his poisoned breathCould do this holy knight no harm;Thus he the lady sav'd from death,And home he led her by the arm;155Which when King Ptolemy did see,There was great mirth and melody.

When as that valiant champion thereHad slain the dragon in the field,To court he brought the lady fair,160Which to their hearts much joy did yield,He in the court of Egypt staidTill he most falsely was betray'd.

That lady dearly lov'd the knight,He counted her his only joy;165But when their love was brought to light,It turn'd unto their great annoy.Th' Morocco king was in the court,Who to the orchard did resort;

Dayly, to take the pleasant air;170For pleasure sake he us'd to walk;Under a wall he oft did hearSt. George with Lady Sabra talk;Their love he shew'd unto the king,Which to St. George great woe did bring.

175Those kings together did deviseTo make the Christian knight away:With letters him in curteous wiseThey straightway sent to Persia,But wrote to the sophy him to kill,180And treacherously his blood to spill.

Thus they for good did him rewardWith evil, and most subtilly,By such vile meanes, they had regardTo work his death most cruelly;185Who, as through Persia land he rode,With zeal destroy'd each idol god.

For which offence he straight was thrownInto a dungeon dark and deep;Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,190He bitterly did wail and weep:Yet like a knight of courage stout,At length his way he digged out.

Three grooms of the King of PersiaBy night this valiant champion slew,195Though he had fasted many a day,And then away from thence he flewOn the best steed the sophy had;Which when he knew he was full mad.

Towards Christendom he made his flight,200But met a gyant by the way,With whom in combat he did fightMost valiantly a summer's day:Who yet, for all his bats of steel,Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.

205Back o'er the seas, with many bandsOf warlike souldiers soon he past,Vowing upon those heathen landsTo work revenge; which at the last,Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,210He wrought unto his heart's content.

Save onely Egypt land he spar'd,For Sabra bright her only sake,And, ere for her he had regard,He meant a tryal kind to make:215Meanwhile the king, o'ercome in field,Unto Saint George did quickly yield.

Then straight Morocco's king he slew,And took fair Sabra to his wife,But meant to try if she were true,220Ere with her he would lead his life;And, tho' he had her in his train,She did a virgin pure remain.

Toward England then that lovely dameThe brave St. George conducted strait,225An eunuch also with them came,Who did upon the lady wait.These three from Egypt went alone:Now mark St. George's valour shown.

When as they in a forest were,230The lady did desire to rest:Meanwhile St. George to kill a deerFor their repast did think it best:Leaving her with the eunuch there,Whilst he did go to kill the deer.

235But lo! all in his absence cameTwo hungry lyons, fierce and fell,And tore the eunuch on the sameIn pieces small, the truth to tell;Down by the lady then they laid,240Whereby they shew'd she was a maid.

But when he came from hunting back,And did behold this heavy chance,Then for his lovely virgin's sakeHis courage strait he did advance,245And came into the lions sight,Who ran at him with all their might.

Their rage did him no whit dismay,Who, like a stout and valiant knight,Did both the hungry lyons slay250Within the Lady Sabra's sight:Who all this while, sad and demure,There stood most like a virgin pure.

Now when St. George did surely knowThis lady was a virgin true,255His heart was glad, that erst was woe,And all his love did soon renew:He set her on a palfrey steed,And towards England came with speed.

Where being in short space arriv'd260Unto his native dwelling place,Therein with his dear love he liv'd,And fortune did his nuptials grace:They many years of joy did see,And led their lives at Coventry.

The Famous Historie of the Seven Champions of Christendom, is the work of Richard Johnson, a ballad maker of some note at the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th century. All that is known of him may be seen in Chappel's Introduction to theCrown Garland of Golden Roses, of which Johnson was the compiler or the author. (Percy Society, vol. vi.) "The Story of St. George and the Fair Sabra," says Percy, "is taken almost verbatim from the old poetical legend of Sir Bevis of Hampton."

TheSeven Championsis twice entered on the Stationers' Registers in the year 1596. It is here reprinted fromA Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, vol. i. 28. The same copy is in Evans's collection, i. 372.

Now of the Seven Champions hereMy purpose is to write,To show how they with sword and spearPut many foes to flight;5Distressed ladies to release,And captives bound in chains,That Christian glory to increaseWhich evermore remains.First, I give you to understand10That great Saint George by name,Was the true champion of our land;And of his birth and fame,And of his noble mother's dream,Before that he was born,15The which to her did clearly seemHer days would be forlorn.This was her dream; that she did bearA dragon in her womb;Which griev'd this noble lady fair,20'Cause death must be her doom.This sorrow she could not conceal,So dismal was her fear,So that she did the same revealUnto her husband dear;25Who went for to inquire straightOf an enchanteress;When, knocking at her iron gate,Her answer it was this:"The lady shall bring forth a son,30By whom, in tract of time,Great noble actions shall be done;He will to honour climb."For he shall be in banners wore;This truth I will maintain;35Your lady, she shall die beforeYou see her face again."His leave he took, and home he went;His wife departed lay;But that which did his grief augment,40The child was stole away.Then did he travel in despair,Where soon with grief he died;While the young child, his son and heir,Did constantly abide45With the wise lady of the grove,In her enchanted cell;Amongst the woods he oft did rove,His beauty pleased her well.Blinded with love, she did impart,50Upon a certain day,To him her cunning magic art,And where six Champions layWithin a brazen castle strong,By an enchanted sleep,55And where they had continued long;She did the castle keep.She taught and show'd him every thingThrough being free and fond;Which did her fatal ruin bring;60For with a silver wandHe clos'd her up into a rock,By giving one small stroke;So took possession of her stock,And the enchantment broke.65Those Christian Champions being freedFrom their enchanted state,Each mounted on his prancing steed,And took to travel straight;Where we will leave them to pursue70Kind fortune's favours still,To treat of our own champion, whoDid courts with wonders fill.For as he came to understand,At an old hermit's cell,75How, in the vast Egyptian land,A dragon fierce and fellThreatened the ruin of them all,By his devouring jaws,His sword releas'd them from that thrall,80And soon remov'd the cause.This dreadful dragon must destroyA virgin every day,Or else with stinks he'll them annoy,And many thousands slay.85At length the king's own daughter dear,For whom the court did mourn,Was brought to be devoured here,For she must take her turn.The king by proclamation said,90If any hardy knightCould free this fair young royal maid,And slay the dragon quite,Then should he have her for his bride,And, after death, likewise95His crown and kingdom too beside:Saint George he won the prize.When many hardy strokes he'd dealt,And could not pierce his hide,He run his sword up to the hilt100In at the dragon's side;By which he did his life destroy,Which cheer'd the drooping king;This caused an universal joy,Sweet peals of bells did ring.105The daughter of a king, for prideTransformed into a treeOf mulberries,Saint Denisspied,And being hungery,Of that fair fruit he ate a part,110And was transformed likewiseInto the fashion of a hart,For seven years precise.At which he long bewail'd the lossOf manly shape: then goes115To him his true and trusty horse,And brings a blushing rose,By which the magic spell was broke,And both were fairly freedFrom the enchanted heavy yoke:120They then in love agreed.Now we come to Saint James of Spain,Who slew a mighty boar,In hopes that he might honour gain,But he must die therefore:125Who was allow'd his death to choose,Which was by virgins' darts,But they the same did all refuse,So tender were their hearts.The king's daughter at length, by lot,130Was doomed to work his woe;From her fair hands a fatal shot,Out of a golden bow,Must put a period to the strife;At which grief did her seize.135She of her father begg'd his lifeUpon her bended knees;Saying, "my gracious sovereign Lord,And honoured father dear,He well deserves a large reward;140Then be not so severe.Give me his life!" He grants the boon,And then without delay,This Spanish champion, ere 'twas noon,Rid with her quite away.145Now come we to Saint Anthony,A man with valour fraught,The champion of fair Italy,Who many wonders wrought.First, he a mighty giant slew,150The terror of mankind:Young ladies fair, pure virgins too,This giant kept confinedWithin his castle walls of stone,And gates of solid brass,155Where seven ladies made their moan,But out they could not pass.Many brave lords, and knights likewise,To free them did engage,Who fell a bleeding sacrifice160To this fierce giant's rage.Fair daughters to a royal king!Yet fortune, after all,Did our renowned champion bringTo free them from their thrall.165Assisted by the hand of heaven,He ventured life and limb:Behold the fairest of the seven,She fell in love with him.That champion good, bold Saint Andrew,170The famous Scottish knight,Dark gloomy deserts travelled through,Where Phoebus gave no light.Haunted with spirits, for a whileHis weary course he steers,175Till fortune blessed him with a smile,And shook off all his fears.This Christian champion travell'd long,Till at the length he cameUnto the giant's castle strong,180Great Blanderon by name,Where the king's daughters were transform'dInto the shape of swans:Though them he freed, their father storm'd,But he his malice shuns.185For though five hundred armed knightsDid straight beset him round,Our Christian champion with them fights,Till on the heathen groundMost of those Pagans bleeding lay;190Which much perplexed the king;The Scottish champion clears the way,Which was a glorious thing.Saint Patrick too, of Ireland,That noble knight of fame,195He travelled, as we understand,Till at the length he cameInto a grove where satyrs dwelt,Where ladies he beheld,Who had their raged fury felt,200And were with sorrow fill'd.He drew his sword, and did maintainA sharp and bloody fray,Till the ring-leader he had slain;The rest soon fled away.205This done, he asked the ladies fair,Who were in silks array'd,From whence they came, and who they were.They answered him and said:"We are all daughters to a king,210Whom a brave Scottish knightDid out of tribulation bring:He having took his flight,Now after him we are in quest."Saint Patrick then replies,215"He is my friend, I cannot restTill I find him likewise."So, ladies, if you do intendTo take your lot with me,This sword of mine shall you defend220From savage cruelty."The ladies freely gave consentTo travel many miles;Through shady groves and woods they went,In search of fortune's smiles.225The Christian champion David, wentTo the Tartarian court,Where at their tilt and tournament,And such like royal sport,He overthrew the only son230Of the Count Palatine;This noble action being doneHis fame began to shine.The young Count's sad and sudden deathTurn'd all their joys to grief;235He bleeding lay, bereaved of breath,The father's son in chief;But lords and ladies blazed the fameOf our brave champion bold;Saying, they ought to write his name240In characters of gold.Here have I writ a fair accountOf each heroic deed,Done by these knights, which will surmountAll those that shall succeed.245The ancient chronicles of kings,Ere since the world begun,Can't boast of such renowned thingsAs these brave knights have done.Saint George he was for England,250Saint Dennis was for France,Saint James for Spain, whose valiant handDid Christian fame advance:Saint Anthony for Italy,Andrew for Scots ne'er fails,255Patrick too stands for Ireland,Saint David was for Wales.Thus have you those stout champions namesIn this renowned song:Young captive ladies bound in chains,260Confined in castles strong,They did by knightly prowess free,True honour to maintain:Then let their lasting memoryFrom age to age remain.

First, I give you to understand10That great Saint George by name,Was the true champion of our land;And of his birth and fame,And of his noble mother's dream,Before that he was born,15The which to her did clearly seemHer days would be forlorn.

This was her dream; that she did bearA dragon in her womb;Which griev'd this noble lady fair,20'Cause death must be her doom.This sorrow she could not conceal,So dismal was her fear,So that she did the same revealUnto her husband dear;

25Who went for to inquire straightOf an enchanteress;When, knocking at her iron gate,Her answer it was this:"The lady shall bring forth a son,30By whom, in tract of time,Great noble actions shall be done;He will to honour climb.

"For he shall be in banners wore;This truth I will maintain;35Your lady, she shall die beforeYou see her face again."His leave he took, and home he went;His wife departed lay;But that which did his grief augment,40The child was stole away.

Then did he travel in despair,Where soon with grief he died;While the young child, his son and heir,Did constantly abide45With the wise lady of the grove,In her enchanted cell;Amongst the woods he oft did rove,His beauty pleased her well.

Blinded with love, she did impart,50Upon a certain day,To him her cunning magic art,And where six Champions layWithin a brazen castle strong,By an enchanted sleep,55And where they had continued long;She did the castle keep.

She taught and show'd him every thingThrough being free and fond;Which did her fatal ruin bring;60For with a silver wandHe clos'd her up into a rock,By giving one small stroke;So took possession of her stock,And the enchantment broke.

65Those Christian Champions being freedFrom their enchanted state,Each mounted on his prancing steed,And took to travel straight;Where we will leave them to pursue70Kind fortune's favours still,To treat of our own champion, whoDid courts with wonders fill.

For as he came to understand,At an old hermit's cell,75How, in the vast Egyptian land,A dragon fierce and fellThreatened the ruin of them all,By his devouring jaws,His sword releas'd them from that thrall,80And soon remov'd the cause.

This dreadful dragon must destroyA virgin every day,Or else with stinks he'll them annoy,And many thousands slay.85At length the king's own daughter dear,For whom the court did mourn,Was brought to be devoured here,For she must take her turn.

The king by proclamation said,90If any hardy knightCould free this fair young royal maid,And slay the dragon quite,Then should he have her for his bride,And, after death, likewise95His crown and kingdom too beside:Saint George he won the prize.

When many hardy strokes he'd dealt,And could not pierce his hide,He run his sword up to the hilt100In at the dragon's side;By which he did his life destroy,Which cheer'd the drooping king;This caused an universal joy,Sweet peals of bells did ring.

105The daughter of a king, for prideTransformed into a treeOf mulberries,Saint Denisspied,And being hungery,Of that fair fruit he ate a part,110And was transformed likewiseInto the fashion of a hart,For seven years precise.

At which he long bewail'd the lossOf manly shape: then goes115To him his true and trusty horse,And brings a blushing rose,By which the magic spell was broke,And both were fairly freedFrom the enchanted heavy yoke:120They then in love agreed.

Now we come to Saint James of Spain,Who slew a mighty boar,In hopes that he might honour gain,But he must die therefore:125Who was allow'd his death to choose,Which was by virgins' darts,But they the same did all refuse,So tender were their hearts.

The king's daughter at length, by lot,130Was doomed to work his woe;From her fair hands a fatal shot,Out of a golden bow,Must put a period to the strife;At which grief did her seize.135She of her father begg'd his lifeUpon her bended knees;

Saying, "my gracious sovereign Lord,And honoured father dear,He well deserves a large reward;140Then be not so severe.Give me his life!" He grants the boon,And then without delay,This Spanish champion, ere 'twas noon,Rid with her quite away.

145Now come we to Saint Anthony,A man with valour fraught,The champion of fair Italy,Who many wonders wrought.First, he a mighty giant slew,150The terror of mankind:Young ladies fair, pure virgins too,This giant kept confined

Within his castle walls of stone,And gates of solid brass,155Where seven ladies made their moan,But out they could not pass.Many brave lords, and knights likewise,To free them did engage,Who fell a bleeding sacrifice160To this fierce giant's rage.

Fair daughters to a royal king!Yet fortune, after all,Did our renowned champion bringTo free them from their thrall.165Assisted by the hand of heaven,He ventured life and limb:Behold the fairest of the seven,She fell in love with him.

That champion good, bold Saint Andrew,170The famous Scottish knight,Dark gloomy deserts travelled through,Where Phoebus gave no light.Haunted with spirits, for a whileHis weary course he steers,175Till fortune blessed him with a smile,And shook off all his fears.

This Christian champion travell'd long,Till at the length he cameUnto the giant's castle strong,180Great Blanderon by name,Where the king's daughters were transform'dInto the shape of swans:Though them he freed, their father storm'd,But he his malice shuns.

185For though five hundred armed knightsDid straight beset him round,Our Christian champion with them fights,Till on the heathen groundMost of those Pagans bleeding lay;190Which much perplexed the king;The Scottish champion clears the way,Which was a glorious thing.

Saint Patrick too, of Ireland,That noble knight of fame,195He travelled, as we understand,Till at the length he cameInto a grove where satyrs dwelt,Where ladies he beheld,Who had their raged fury felt,200And were with sorrow fill'd.

He drew his sword, and did maintainA sharp and bloody fray,Till the ring-leader he had slain;The rest soon fled away.205This done, he asked the ladies fair,Who were in silks array'd,From whence they came, and who they were.They answered him and said:

"We are all daughters to a king,210Whom a brave Scottish knightDid out of tribulation bring:He having took his flight,Now after him we are in quest."Saint Patrick then replies,215"He is my friend, I cannot restTill I find him likewise.

"So, ladies, if you do intendTo take your lot with me,This sword of mine shall you defend220From savage cruelty."The ladies freely gave consentTo travel many miles;Through shady groves and woods they went,In search of fortune's smiles.

225The Christian champion David, wentTo the Tartarian court,Where at their tilt and tournament,And such like royal sport,He overthrew the only son230Of the Count Palatine;This noble action being doneHis fame began to shine.

The young Count's sad and sudden deathTurn'd all their joys to grief;235He bleeding lay, bereaved of breath,The father's son in chief;But lords and ladies blazed the fameOf our brave champion bold;Saying, they ought to write his name240In characters of gold.

Here have I writ a fair accountOf each heroic deed,Done by these knights, which will surmountAll those that shall succeed.245The ancient chronicles of kings,Ere since the world begun,Can't boast of such renowned thingsAs these brave knights have done.

Saint George he was for England,250Saint Dennis was for France,Saint James for Spain, whose valiant handDid Christian fame advance:Saint Anthony for Italy,Andrew for Scots ne'er fails,255Patrick too stands for Ireland,Saint David was for Wales.

Thus have you those stout champions namesIn this renowned song:Young captive ladies bound in chains,260Confined in castles strong,They did by knightly prowess free,True honour to maintain:Then let their lasting memoryFrom age to age remain.

Back to Index Next