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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 the Crown 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."

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

Now of the Seven Champions here

My purpose is to write,

To show how they with sword and spear

Put many foes to flight;

5 Distressed ladies to release,

And captives bound in chains,

That Christian glory to increase

Which evermore remains.

First, I give you to understand

10 That 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,

15 The which to her did clearly seem

Her days would be forlorn.

This was her dream; that she did bear

A 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 reveal

Unto her husband dear;

25 Who went for to inquire straight

Of an enchanteress;

When, knocking at her iron gate,

Her answer it was this:

"The lady shall bring forth a son,

30 By 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;

35 Your lady, she shall die before

You see her face again."

His leave he took, and home he went;

His wife departed lay;

But that which did his grief augment,

40 The 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 abide

45 With 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,

50 Upon a certain day,

To him her cunning magic art,

And where six Champions lay

Within a brazen castle strong,

By an enchanted sleep,

55 And where they had continued long;

She did the castle keep.

She taught and show'd him every thing

Through being free and fond;

Which did her fatal ruin bring;

60 For with a silver wand

He clos'd her up into a rock,

By giving one small stroke;

So took possession of her stock,

And the enchantment broke.

65 Those Christian Champions being freed

From their enchanted state,

Each mounted on his prancing steed,

And took to travel straight;

Where we will leave them to pursue

70 Kind fortune's favours still,

To treat of our own champion, who

Did courts with wonders fill.

For as he came to understand,

At an old hermit's cell,

75 How, in the vast Egyptian land,

A dragon fierce and fell

Threatened the ruin of them all,

By his devouring jaws,

His sword releas'd them from that thrall,

80 And soon remov'd the cause.

This dreadful dragon must destroy

A virgin every day,

Or else with stinks he'll them annoy,

And many thousands slay.

85 At 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,

90 If any hardy knight

Could free this fair young royal maid,

And slay the dragon quite,

Then should he have her for his bride,

And, after death, likewise

95 His 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 hilt

100 In 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.

105 The daughter of a king, for pride

Transformed into a tree

Of mulberries, Saint Denis spied, And being hungery, Of that fair fruit he ate a part, 110 And was transformed likewise Into the fashion of a hart, For seven years precise.

At which he long bewail'd the loss

Of manly shape: then goes

115 To him his true and trusty horse,

And brings a blushing rose,

By which the magic spell was broke,

And both were fairly freed

From the enchanted heavy yoke:

120 They 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:

125 Who 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,

130 Was 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.

135 She of her father begg'd his life

Upon her bended knees;

Saying, "my gracious sovereign Lord,

And honoured father dear,

He well deserves a large reward;

140 Then 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.

145 Now 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,

150 The terror of mankind:

Young ladies fair, pure virgins too,

This giant kept confined

Within his castle walls of stone,

And gates of solid brass,

155 Where 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 sacrifice

160 To this fierce giant's rage.

Fair daughters to a royal king!

Yet fortune, after all,

Did our renowned champion bring

To free them from their thrall.

165 Assisted 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,

170 The famous Scottish knight,

Dark gloomy deserts travelled through,

Where Phoebus gave no light.

Haunted with spirits, for a while

His weary course he steers,

175 Till fortune blessed him with a smile,

And shook off all his fears.

This Christian champion travell'd long,

Till at the length he came

Unto the giant's castle strong,

180 Great Blanderon by name,

Where the king's daughters were transform'd

Into the shape of swans:

Though them he freed, their father storm'd,

But he his malice shuns.

185 For though five hundred armed knights

Did straight beset him round,

Our Christian champion with them fights,

Till on the heathen ground

Most of those Pagans bleeding lay;

190 Which 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,

195 He travelled, as we understand,

Till at the length he came

Into a grove where satyrs dwelt,

Where ladies he beheld,

Who had their raged fury felt,

200 And were with sorrow fill'd.

He drew his sword, and did maintain

A sharp and bloody fray,

Till the ring-leader he had slain;

The rest soon fled away.

205 This 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,

210 Whom a brave Scottish knight

Did 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 rest

Till I find him likewise.

"So, ladies, if you do intend

To take your lot with me,

This sword of mine shall you defend

220 From savage cruelty."

The ladies freely gave consent

To travel many miles;

Through shady groves and woods they went,

In search of fortune's smiles.

225 The Christian champion David, went

To the Tartarian court,

Where at their tilt and tournament,

And such like royal sport,

He overthrew the only son

230 Of the Count Palatine;

This noble action being done

His fame began to shine.

The young Count's sad and sudden death

Turn'd all their joys to grief;

235 He bleeding lay, bereaved of breath,

The father's son in chief;

But lords and ladies blazed the fame

Of our brave champion bold;

Saying, they ought to write his name

240 In characters of gold.

Here have I writ a fair account

Of each heroic deed,

Done by these knights, which will surmount

All those that shall succeed.

245 The ancient chronicles of kings,

Ere since the world begun,

Can't boast of such renowned things

As these brave knights have done.

Saint George he was for England,

250 Saint Dennis was for France,

Saint James for Spain, whose valiant hand

Did Christian fame advance:

Saint Anthony for Italy,

Andrew for Scots ne'er fails,

255 Patrick too stands for Ireland,

Saint David was for Wales.

Thus have you those stout champions names

In this renowned song:

Young captive ladies bound in chains,

260 Confined in castles strong,

They did by knightly prowess free,

True honour to maintain:

Then let their lasting memory

From age to age remain.

107, which Dennis.