RUMOUR

SAint George for England, is the Patron Knight, Whose ever-conquering, and all-daring hand, Did put whole Hosts of Heathens foes to flight, That did the vigour of his strength withstand. He that did ever live (a Champion stout) With such undaunted holy-high resolve, That through the earth his fame did fly about, Which shall not die till heaven and earth dissolve. Against the Heathen folk his force he proved, By which he did decline their highest pride: For which of heaven and earth he was beloved, And made a glorious Saint when as he died, Upon a hideous Dragon (whose thick scales Like shields, that nought could pierce by force nor Art Did Bulwark him) so fast his Falchion falls, That he through them made way unto his heart. Whose rare achievements and whose rich renown (Flowing from matchless Magnanimity) Still makes them owners of great Britain's Crown, As in this day to crown his memory. Whose Fame's bright Splendour, rarely to depaint In colours rich according to his worth, Would try the tongue of Hermes, sith this Saint Thus travels Britain's glory to bring forth, Many a Monster he by force subdued, And many a fiend incarnate he suppressed, Whose Sword did still mow down their multitude, So to imbarn them in hells restless rest. When lo at length returning to the soil, Wherein he first received his vital breath, He spent his time religiously awhile, Till Death had slain him, who now conquers Death: So, Britain's when they fight with cheer, they say, God and Saint George for England to this day.