THE HISTORY OF THE Life & Martyrdom OF St. GEORGE, THE Titular Patron of England: With his Conversion of Arabia by killing of a dreadful Dragon, and delivering the King's Daughter.  
By THOMAS LOWICK, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed by J. Best, for WILLIAM CROOK, at the three Bibles on Fleet-Bridge, 1664.   

Licenced,  
June 24. 1664. ROGER LESTRANGE.   

TO THE KING'S Most Excellent Majesty.  
Dread Sovereign,  
I Have read so many lying Books set forth  
Of great St. George which much obscured his worth,  
That much I mused and grieved for to see  
None of the sharers in the Daphnean Tree,  
For King, for Patron, and for Country's sake,  
Did such a glorious Subject undertake:  
And their neglect only made me so bold,  
Though aged now eighty and two years old,  
with my old withered Hand to write upon  
The noblest Subject that the world hath one,  
And have with all Sincerity set down,  
St. George his Martial deeds and Martyrdom:  
Vouchsafe then gracious Monarch for to take  
This little Poem for your Patron's sake:  
For in my judgement never English King  
Had greater cause than You, to honour Him:  
Heroic force and Martial form withal,  
Twixt King and Patron were collateral,  
And that bright Orb where Mars is stellified,  
‛ Did equal influence 'twixt you both divide:  
And your great daring both as boundless were  
As that bold youths, Apollo's Charioteer:  
Be pleased then earth's greatest Martial King,  
To hear your Vassal on your Patron sing,  
And do vouchsafe him your propitious eyes,  
He perisheth unless you Patronise.  
Your Majesty's most Humble Subject, THOMAS LOWICK. July 6. 1664.   

THE Life & Martyrdom OF St. GEORGE.  

ST. George, the Patron of our English men,  
Was the Descendent of a Knightly stem,  
Great Arms professors, and to their great fame,  
Professors all of Jesus Christ his Name.  
His Father Sir Patritius was trained  
In Caesar's Wars, and Martial honour gained:  
Where venturing for the conquest of the Field,  
He died renowned, under his sword and Shield;  
Leaving St. George, who was his only Son,  
For to inherit great Possessions young;  
Which he committing to a Steward's care,  
Left Cappadocia his birth honoured Air;  
And with his Mother lived in Palestine,  
Where he was Schooled in rudiments Divine,  
Till stealing Time and Nature lent to him  
More force than Hector's in Arms managing;  
And as complete a beauty fixed thereon,  
As had the Scriptures much-praised Absalon;  
Nor wanted in his fair external frame,  
Those moral gifts should dignify the same:  
Both Wit and Valour in his beauteous shape,  
In such large measure did predominate,  
That he was nature's Manuscript indeed,  
Where her prerogatives the world might read:  
And lest he should sinisterly incline,  
God stored his bosom with such gifts Divine,  
That not so fair a type of Christ was then,  
As great St. George, amongst the sons of men;  
And heimbellished, thus himself addressed,  
For Martial service in true honour's quest;  
For which being come unto the Court of Rome,  
Great Caesar noting his endowments soon,  
Moved with his Father's death and Martial force,  
He made St. George the General of his Horse;  
Where like a prodigal of life did he,  
Supply that place so magnanimously,  
That never Rome in all her swelling pride  
Saw her bold sons led by a braver Guide;  
Nor one that boldlier led the Imperial Horse  
Through their proud foes with more robustous force  
He charged them through, and charged them back again,  
And brought his Troops where first he placed them,  
And ceased not charging till the foes all were  
Dispersed, and run like scattered Herds of Deer;  
Yet never Trumpet his bold Conquest sounded,  
Before the listing of his slain and wounded;  
Whom he still with sad sighs and watery eyes,  
Would see born back to honoured obsequies;  
That his brave actions from conjunction move  
Of Martial fire, and fire of sacred love.  
He courts the bold Bellona with his Horse,  
And snatched her favours with such strenuous force,  
That the Iron Goddess did enamoured grow,  
And her coy favours on this Champion throw;  
And Mars looked envious from his fiery star,  
To see his great Competitor in War,  
And jealous to see his Bellona court him,  
Whilst he in field so Martially did sport him,  
That his appearance 'mongst his foes was feared,  
Like to the blazing of a Comets beard;  
None was so bold to tempt an angry fate,  
Or buy his honour at so dear a rate,  
As to encounter this Knight hand to hand,  
But spelded duty on the groaning land:  
And those Commanders which through proud disdain,  
Loathed for to hear the swelling of his fame,  
And spurred with glory thirst in fears despite,  
Would needs buy honours of this valiant Knight,  
He sent as Nuntioes to black Acheron,  
To tell th' exploits the Red-cross Knight had done;  
And bid those Ghosts their sulphurous vaults to cleanse,  
For those proud guests St. George would send from thence;  
And those which scape with life his sword's incision,  
And captives laid in Provost Marshal's prison,  
Had rather live there then again go feel,  
The ponderous blows of his remorseless steel:  
In brief, his great exploits and Martial glory,  
Filled all th' Italian Confines with his story;  
For great St. George had never Paragon,  
But that immortal Champion which St. John  
Saw riding on the white Horse from Heavens gates, 
Rev. 6.2.   
With power to conquer earth's proud Potentates;  
Yet his sweet candour during all the War,  
Made many others seem canicular;  
For all the darts and swords in Vulcan's forge,  
Like tender pity pierced not princely George.  
That little child Christ let the Apostles see,  
To teach them meekness, was less meek than he;  
Whose actions like learned Lectures taught the rude,  
That love is still betrothed to fortitude.  
How then learned Homer didst thou so digress,  
To style thy stormy Grecian valorous?  
The valiant should he like that God and man,  
Which David Lion, Esaiah called Lamb:  
So was St. George, who ne'er did internect  
A torvous look within his mild aspect;  
He never was dejected nor elate,  
With Protean changes of unconstant fate;  
Nor did he ever vulgar Plaudit seek,  
Vain glorious breath did never swell his cheek.   

But my rude laudes injure his virtue's glory,  
Therefore I leave them and relate his story.   

Whilst he and his Comrades enlarge the lands  
Of their great Caesar with successful hands,  
Came an Embassage from th' Arabian coast,  
And thus annunciates to that famous host:   

You Mars starred children of victorious Rome,  
Commanded by th' Arabian King I come  
To Rome's great Monarch, at whose feet do bow  
The greatest Potentates on earth below,  
His aid and best assistance to request,  
Against a Monster doth our Land infest;  
Whose dreadful sight, unto the eyes of man,  
Exceeds the terror of Leviathan;  
And for the vastness of his size doth pass,  
That monstrous Horse the Grecians made of brass,  
And by his entrails works us more annoy,  
Then the dissolving of that Horse, did Troy;  
This Monster hath affixed wings and fins,  
And flies through Air, and through the water swims,  
And from his entrails he exhaleth breath,  
Which doth depopulate each place with death;  
Nor will our Gods or Priests give their consent,  
We by removal scape this punishment;  
For Jove, (as all our Priests affirm) did bring,  
This Monster for to vindicate our sin;  
And therefore do we offer every day,  
A Maid of noble lineage for his prey;  
By Jove's decree, whose Priest expressly saith,  
Those Virgin's blood must expiate his wrath;  
And having had Jove's preordained number,  
The monster will no more our Land encumber.  
But at the last their Sacrilege did bring,  
Unto that fate, the daughter of our King;  
Who for her birth sake hath by Jove's consent,  
An hundred days to her in respite lent;  
But then as an Oblation must be tied,  
Unto a Pillar near the City's side;  
Upon the margin of a Lake profound,  
Which doth circumplicate an Orb of ground,  
Wherein this ugly Dragon hath his Den,  
Within the concave of a loathsome Fen;  
From whence he cometh to the Town each day,  
To fetch the Virgin his oblated prey;  
Which if he find not at the pillar placed,  
His pest and ravine doth our City waste.  
Now therefore Romans unto you I came,  
Because to us it is divulged by fame,  
Here is a God called Jesus Christ, whose power  
Surpasseth all the gods that we adore,  
And that his servants far more potent are,  
Then Mars, Apollo, or great Jupiter;  
If therefore that great God would some design,  
And him invertue with his power Divine,  
To kill this Dragon, and set free our Land,  
His Altars should in all our Temples stand;  
And that same Champion so select by him,  
Shall have great honours from th' Arabian King.  
Which words did make that canvas builded City  
Much moved, both with wonder and with pity:  
But not a tongue durst speak of Jesus Name,  
Lest his bold words to Caesar's hearing came,  
Until St. George whose never daunted breast,  
Much longing to divulge the power of Christ,  
Replied, Arabian, lo I am the man,  
Which dare encounter that Leviathan,  
And shall thereby discriminate the odds,  
'Twixt Jesus Christ and your deluding gods;  
For if I do not Heavens decrees misconstrue,  
I am designed the ruin of that Monster;  
And hope my Imperial Lord will lend to me  
Some certain time to set that Princess free;  
And if I do survive, I vow my hands,  
Shall expeditiously wait his commands:  
But by these words the Emperor did find,  
His General was to Christian Faith inclined,  
And vexed said, Let the mad Christian go,  
I cannot match him with a fit foe;  
But then the Arabian said, Brave Champion, know,  
It is not your hand nor a thousand more,  
Can conquer him, Christ must his Champion save,  
Or the great Dragons guts must be his grave;  
But yet this fearless Knight himself addressed  
Unto Arabia on this famous quest,  
And came at last conducted by his Guide,  
Unto Berytus their chief City's side,  
Upon whose Walls the Citizens appear,  
In sable Robes to show their mournful cheer;  
Expecting, now this being the latest day,  
To see the Dragon fetch his Royal prey.   

But as they gazed, behold this Christian Knight,  
Approached near upon a Courser bright;  
On whose white back reflective Sunbeams shine,  
From his guilt Armour like some light Divine,  
Making th' amazed gazers to suppose,  
Some glory did both man and horse enclose;  
And others which were more idolatrous,  
Thought him their day-god on his Pegasus:  
But surely of this Knight spoke David then,  
That God from Angels scarce distinguished men;  
For he appeared in as glorious show,  
As that armed Angel came to Jericho;  
For never Knight in combat lift, but he,  
Appeared with such Godlike Majesty;  
Nor of our English or Barbarian breed,  
Can ever Horse compare with his white Steed;  
So that all circling Titan ne'er lent light  
Unto so brave or so well-mounted Knight.  
But as St. George road thus in Martial guise,  
Lo his fair eye as fair an Object spies;  
For here alas, the King's sole Daughter stands,  
Tied to a Pillar by her dainty hands:  
This being th' appointed day, her woeful fate,  
The Priests of Jove would not procrastinate;  
So there she stood, and like an Angel shone,  
In purest lawns, fret o'er with gold and stone,  
Which scarce her bosom's candour could conceal,  
It gave such lustre through that slender vail;  
Her dangling tresses strove her face to hid,  
Scorning to prostitute rich nature's pride;  
Or lest some eyes, gazing on her fair cheek,  
Should lose themselves, and have their light to seek;  
For she all Ladies did surpass as far  
As orbed Cynthia doth the dimmest star;  
And nature had expressed in her such power,  
As she ne'er deigned to show the world before;  
For since th'alternate course of nights and days,  
Shone never Lady with such sideral blaze;  
And sure her piteous looks were then so sweet,  
As had made Tigers prostrate at her feet;  
Or calmed the Dragon with her eyes sweet glance,  
Without th'assistance of St. George his Lance;  
But as she raised her dejected eyes,  
St. George the star of Knighthood she espies,  
Who after congeant tender of his duty,  
To her the Phoenix of all mortal beauty,  
Said, Royal Princess, I am a Christian Knight,  
Which with this dreadful Dragon came to fight;  
Drawn hither from th' Italian Wars with pity,  
Of your distress, and this abused City;  
And am resolved to win your liberty,  
Or have precedence in your Tragedy.   

Brave Knight, said she again, return again,  
I prise thy love, but thy attempt is vain:  
Hadst thou the cloud-supporting Atlas' power,  
Or wert sublime and strong as Babel's Tower,  
The suffocation of this Dragon's breath,  
Would leave thee enclosed in the cold arms of death;  
For Jove himself did this great Monster bring;  
Thou dost oppose our gods opposing him:  
What honour then bold Knight canst thou attain,  
To cast thyself away for glory vain?  
Or what avails it now proud Phaeton,  
That he rid in the chariot of the Sun?  
Do not therefore such daring actions follow;  
Take council, and be not thy own Apollo.   

To whom the valiant Knight replied again,  
Fair Princess, you do much mistake my aim;  
My youth's not heated with vain glorious fire,  
Nor your rare beauties, which all else admire;  
I came not hither on such vain pretence,  
My mission is of greater consequence;  
The finger of the Christian God points me  
To overthrow your vain idolatry;  
This Monster here was merely bred by kind,  
Nor was he hither sent by Jove assigned;  
Though Jove would now the King tempt to such evil,  
As offering his fair Daughter to the Devil;  
For trust me Madam, those you gods do call,  
Are manufacts and things inanimal,  
Wherein the damned spirits augurize,  
To make the simple give them sacrifice;  
Yet know not those damned Angels things to come,  
Nor have they prescience of the Almighty's doom;  
But intermix conjectural truths with lies,  
Which proves they are but Devils, not Deities:  
But Jesus Christ torments those gods of yours,  
Which are but damned subterranean powers,  
With dateless pains; Nor could they move from thence,  
But by the leave of his Omnipotence:  
Be happy then, and expiate God's wrath,  
By your conversion to the Christian Faith;  
And doubt not but he will invertue me,  
In spite of all those Devils to set you free.  
Renowned Christian, said this Royal Maid,  
But contrite sighs a space her speeches stayed;  
And then with tear-imbalmed words said She,  
Brave Knight, thy speech so consolateth me,  
That sure some great and secret power Divine,  
Involved in this verbal Air of thine,  
Exhaleth those gross errors which of late.  
Did my dark soul so much obnubilate;  
For lo me thinks our vain idolatry.  
Appeareth in such sordid nudity,  
That all versutious idols now I hate,  
And unto Christ my service consecrate:  
Which verbal Air of hers more grateful came  
Then odours from the Phoenix funeral flames  
And like an Incense-offering did present  
Itself unto the great Almighty's scent;  
It pleased God, and comforted this Knight,  
As Manna did the starved Abramite;  
But lo from mural Towers adjacent near,  
Much people which their conference did hear,  
And subinvited by celestial grace,  
Resolved the Faith of Jesus to embrace;  
To which effect a Messenger was sent,  
To internunciate thus the King's intent:  
Bold Christian Knight, if that thy God set free  
This woeful Lady by thy Victory,  
We will renounce our gods, and Christ agnize,  
The indubitable Regent of the skies:  
Which Message to St. George did comfort bring,  
As Samuel to Saul anointing him;  
Or, as that Angel which to Abraham came,  
And held his sword when Isaac should be slain;  
And made Heavens joyful Angels sing sweet notes,  
To hear the Consort of such heavenly votes;  
No wonder seeing its the Gospel's voice,  
All Angels at one Convertite rejoice:  
And now St. George confided he was sent  
On this exploit by Heaven's atturnament;  
And his most sacred Zeal those souls to win,  
Like Sampsons' locks invigorateth him,  
Making his valiant heart so hate delay,  
That thus he objurgates the Dragons stay;  
When lands the Dragon on this Lakes broad marge,  
I must go make my barded Steed my Barge;  
And rouse him in his Water fenced Fen,  
Within the cavern of his loathsome Den:  
But as he spoke, luctiferous noises rise  
From off the Walls, like Irish Funeral cries;  
For they behold, though to behold they fear,  
The Dragon's head, and flaming eyes appear:  
It seems the genius of Berytus City  
Had roused the Monster out of sacred pity,  
To expedite his death, and vilify  
Th'enshrined Jupiter's false Prophecy;  
For lo the Dragon longing for his prey,  
Through the broad Lake cuts out his frothy way,  
Driving before him billows to the side,  
Like Aquilonian storms, or New-moon tied,  
That by the fluctuous Lake St. George doth know  
The monstrous size of his approaching foe;  
Yet boldly without fear he took his stand  
In most commodious place of all the Land;  
From whence he met him with such fierce career,  
He quite transpierced him with his fatal Spear;  
Whilst on his scaly breast his Horse's knees  
Beat like a ram composed of Oaken trees,  
And turned him o'er with such impetuous might,  
That Tellus bosom trembled with his weight;  
But yet it seemed that his conquering Lance  
Had missed his heart by some sinister chance;  
For lo the Dragon recollecting force,  
With furious charge encounters man and horse;  
And now the Monster, and this Christian Knight,  
For the survivership so fiercely fight,  
That never was encounters like to these,  
Since Hell's great porter fought with Hercules;  
And sure the Knight had died, but heavenly power  
Subsisted him in this robustous stowre:  
It seems th'Almighty was disposed then,  
By ruin of the Dragon of this Fen,  
Th'archangel's conquest to configurate,  
Against the Dragon of the Stygean Lake;  
For lo St. George in heat of Martial pride,  
With deadly wounds doth carve his scaly hide,  
And with a ponderous blow nigh cleft his brain,  
Which did subvert him on the sandy Plain;  
Wherewith he cried, that his loud yells did enter  
Through all the concaves of earth's vaulted centre;  
Making all Tellus bosom dance for joy,  
To see herself freed from so great annoy;  
Or else may be th'Avernal Potentate,  
Leaving the Dragon he possessed of late,  
Expanded now his passage to Hell's strand,  
And caused that tremefaction of the Land;  
But howsoe'er it was our conquering Knight,  
Dreadless of Devil or Dragon, plies the fight;  
And at the last with his sharp piercing blade,  
Unto his heart so wide a passage made,  
That from his bulk run torrents of such gore,  
As nigrified the black Lake more and more;  
And cutting off his Head, did it advance,  
Against the Walls upon his Oaken Lance;  
Then joyfully that Princess hands unties,  
And to Berytus led his beauteous prize:  
Thus like those twins of light the Sun and Moon,  
Their darksome clouds of danger overblown,  
With tedious fixure they retain each eye,  
T' admire their beauty's intersplendency;  
But as they progress to the Palace gate,  
The King did meet them in all pompous state,  
With all his Lords and Peers of chiefest ranks,  
To tender both their welcome and their thanks;  
And to the Palace did conduct their guest,  
Where his great entertainment was expressed  
With all the delicates that could be wished  
By the most Epicureal Palatist;  
And with all curious shows they could devise  
To make the Court a type of Paradise;  
For all the Court in plenitude expressed  
Their joys to that freed Princess and her guest;  
In which great Jubilee they take content,  
Like two freed souls from the dark Limbus sent,  
THE Elysian joys; but worldly honours weights,  
With their Auxilaries the Courts delights,  
Like armed squadrons did attempt by force  
St. George his love from Jesus to divorce;  
But being endorsed with such burdens then,  
And knowing the proclivity of men,  
Like wise Ulysses instantly he parted  
From amorous Myrmaids which his course diverted;  
And in that great and spacious Palace Hall  
St. George did convocate the Princes all,  
And with Angelic eloquence expressed,  
The life and Miracles of Jesus Christ,  
Connecting by such learned Theology,  
To their effect each sacred Prophecy,  
That all Prophetic Scriptures did appear  
Complete in Christ which in the Bibles were;  
By which great Majesty of sacred Writ,  
All did the indenegable truth admit;  
And throwing all their Idols in the flame,  
With general Jubilee confessed Christ's Name,  
And promised to erect magnificent  
And sumptuous Temples to th' Omnipotent;  
For whose Conversion did St. George assign  
The thank and glory to the grace Divine;  
And now his Voyage he intends again,  
To Caesar's Tents to glorify Christ's Name;  
For whose departure, both the King and Queen,  
With all the Court, in sable Robes were seen;  
For never Knight such cordial interest gained  
In a whole City's love, since earth was framed;  
Yet he Apostle-like all gifts denied,  
Wherewith the bounteous King him gratified,  
Except the Idols melted gold, the King  
Did there compulsively confer on him,  
Which as a Monument he did transport,  
To witness his exploits in Caesar's Court,  
And then was reconducted with a Train  
Of honoured persons to the shore again;  
Where, after many valedictions past,  
His canvas winged Ship he boards at last;  
Whilst Heavens commanded Neptune as he passes,  
Makes smooth his prosperous way with looking-glasses;  
And Cynthia came to visit him by night,  
And court his favours with full orbed light;  
But doubtful he should such a Lady scorn,  
As he should find behind a bush of thorn:  
Inexorable Aeolus likewise  
Did tender his unconstant courtesies;  
And for his convoy sent a prosperous gale,  
Which to the shore brought safe his swelling sail;  
Where being landed with Berytians sent,  
For to conduct him to great Caesar's Tent,  
And in his presence there to testify,  
His Champions great exploit and valiancy;  
Making the Emperor take a great delight,  
To hear the bold deportment of his Knight,  
And by his absence now they understand,  
How much depended on his powerful hand;  
Who striving to respond their great expects,  
No glorious opportunities neglects:  
But when his Troops lie vacant, sendeth forth  
Some Trumpeter, 'mongst men of Martial worth,  
To see if any in base feats despite,  
Durst venture combat with this valiant Knight;  
And if his service be in open War,  
He still doth charge where greatest perils are,  
And with a strenuous hand his passage strews  
With his proud glory thirsting plumed foes;  
And Caesar joyed to see his General lead  
So War Godlike to the Battalians head;  
But whilst Fame, Fortune, and Bellona too,  
Their stock of favours on this Champion throw,  
This Heaven-dear Knight begun to vilepend  
Those dusty honours do on Mars attend,  
And only aimed at the true renown,  
Which is annexed to the Martyr's crown;  
And seeing the times for Martyrdom were fit,  
Snatched at th' occasion for to purchase it;  
The manner how my Muse shall here impart,  
Though much I fear to injure his desert;  
Therefore good Angel Guardian guide my Pen,  
For I suppose thou wert spectator then;  
For if St. Paul told the Corinthians true, 
1. Cor 4.9 In our sunerings for Christ, we are made spectacles to the world and to Angels.   
You heavenly Spirits do our Passions view;  
Assist me therefore in this precious charge,  
To tell each needful circumstance at large.  
When Rome's proud Dioclesian stood posselsed  
Of all between the Orient and the West,  
That Titan scarce in all his annual toil,  
Can rise or set but on this Monarch's soil,  
And was so fortunate, his Ensigns sight,  
Like gideon's lanterns put all foes to flight;  
Which great success and prosperous Martial thrift,  
He did ascribe unto Apollo's gift;  
And therefore in requital of the same,  
Did a most sumptuous sacrifice ordain;  
On which was every man charged to attend,  
That would be counted for great Caesar's Friend;  
So that there came a greater multitude,  
Then all Apollo's Temple could include:  
But lo the crying Priest in vain doth call,  
Apollo would not augurate at all,  
And their god beareth in a deep disdain  
Would for no sacrifice divine to them;  
But said, If Caesar will have us his Friends,  
By whom his Empire now so far extends,  
He must permit no Christians here to live,  
And then we will our divinations give;  
Enough said Caesar, I'll remove th' offence  
Which causeth this their wrathful conticence,  
Which to effect he doth a Council file,  
The Christians from his Empire to exile;  
Yet in the mean time filled his Jails with them,  
Releasing Thiefs and Homicides again;  
This was the tenth and greatest persecution,  
This Tyrant raised for Christian bloods effusion;  
In which, as Roman Histories explain,  
Twelve thousand Martyrs did their crowns obtain;  
And let me to our Patron's honour say,  
He was the chief which led that glorious way;  
Nor were of those twelve thousand Martyrs any,  
Whose tortures were like his, so great or many;  
And now the Roman Peers in solemn state,  
Did all unto that Council congregate,  
'Mongst whom as Umpire sat that awful man,  
The world's great Monarch Dioclesian,  
In purple Robes, embossed with gold and stone,  
Upon a glorious high supported Throne;  
About the which at distance circular,  
Did stand his choicest armed guards of War;  
That 'mongst the great and dreadful sons of men,  
What saw great Titan like Bomet Monarch then?  
But these great props of awe, which did affright  
All weaker spirits, more inflamed our Knight;  
For lo St. George disposing goods and Lands,  
Which were exceeding great in Christian alms,  
Did boldly enter 'mongst those Princes all,  
Which were convented in that Council-Hall;  
And like a valiant Christian armed with Zeal,  
Did thus solicit for the Church's Weal:  
You noble Romans which were wont to make,  
So many good Laws for your Country's sake,  
What fury thus infascinateth you  
Here to consult the Christians overthrow,  
Seeing yourselves designed are to be  
The chief support of Christianity?  
For Esaiah, Heavens great Prophet now long since,  
Foretelling of the Church's eminence,  
Doth say, Her chiefest power and strength should stand  
Amidst the glory of the Gentiles Land;  
And where's the Gentiles glory now, but Rome,  
Where Jews and Gentiles both with Tribute come?  
Which Christ's Apostle Paul confirmeth true,  
When writing his Epistle unto you,  
First Romans, I give thanks for you, he saith,  
Which through the world first published your Faith;  
Then publish still that Faith, renowned Prince,  
Which heavens Omniscience hath foretold long since,  
Shall here be glorious, for it is not good  
T' incur God's wrath by spilling Christian blood:  
At which bold words the Princes sitting by,  
Were all possessed with stupidity;  
And on the Emperor fixed their silent eyes,  
Expecting from him strange and rough replies;  
But in respect St. George his noble parts  
Had gained great interest in the Roman hearts,  
Caesar connived that more patience  
Might gain his Tyranny more just pretence;  
And therefore to Magnentius his chief Friend,  
Did give a kind of notice with his hand,  
That in his place he should apologate  
To that displicient speech St. George did make;  
Wherefore Magnentius tokening him to come  
To nearer distance, thus his speech begun:  
Bold Christian Knight, declare to us from whence  
Proceedeth this unheard of insolence!  
What vile seditious Author prompts thy tongue,  
To thy own ruin, and great Caesar's wrong?  
No other Author but the Truth, said he,  
I am prompted by the eternal Verity;  
What is the Truth? Magnentius said again;  
Jesus, said He, which on the Cross was slain;  
And to give witness of his power and glory,  
I hither came to this great Consistory;  
Which bold confession did that Council make,  
In various manners intermurmurate,  
Till silence being called, the Emper or burst  
From that deep muse, wherein he long was tossed,  
Through agitations of his vexed soul,  
And Dragon like did his fierce eyeballs roll  
From head to foot of that  Knight,  
And thus bespoke him with indignant spite;  
Vile Wretch, what Star predominates in thee,  
And draws thee on this timeless destiny?  
Dost thou in bloody tortures take content,  
That thou opposest our great Parliament?  
What makes thee like a silly Fly, in vain  
Thus boldly dally with so dangerous flame?  
If thou dost think it after death some pleasure,  
To say thou once affrontedst Roman Caesar;  
I'll send thee ere thy bones be cold to tell  
The power of Caesar to the powers of Hell;  
Yet for thy valour's sake thou shalt not say,  
But that thyself didst cast thyself away;  
This distance still remains 'twixt thee and death,  
If thou wilt yet revoke thy lavish breath,  
And be converted to our gods and faith,  
An act of our Oblivion quits our wrath,  
Or else, what tortures deaths black shop can lend,  
Shall all concur unto thy wretched end.  
I am sorry, gracious Prince, the Saint replied,  
Your love is to such strict conditions tied;  
Might it be purchased as that golden Fleece  
Was from the watchful Dragon brought to Greece,  
Or to obtain it, had but Caesar bid  
Me do those labours great Alcides did,  
I had been pressed; but to adore a Devil  
Instead of Jesus, I abhor that evil;  
I will not blot my soul for the world's gain  
With such a foul indefricable stain;  
And much I muse, great Majesty, that you  
To whom all knees 'twixt East and West do bow,  
Can deign to undergo such vile abjection,  
As tendering to a Devil your genuflection;  
O cease from hence, greeat Emperor, to profane  
Your far commanding tongue with that loathed Name  
Of god Apollo; honour Christ alone,  
And all contentments shall attend your Throne.  
Too much, too much, cried Caesar, we have heard,  
And with redoubled clamours called the Guard;  
Whose bloody haste, his hasty words outrun,  
As bullets do the loud report of Gun,  
And with such raptive rage did snatch him thence,  
As to the Tyrant gave great complacence,  
And then include him in a dampish grate,  
Whose noisome vapours well-nigh suffocate,  
A place where never any yet drew breath,  
But Homicides, and men designed for death;  
There laid they him supinate on the ground,  
His hands and feet in fetters strongly bound,  
Placing a ponderous stone upon his breast,  
Which many Christian souls had dispossessed  
Of earthly cages, who in joys Divine,  
Adorned with glorious Martyrs crowns now shine;  
And in that Dens profundity alone,  
St. George with joy doth now embrace that stone.  
And with continual laudes and hymns expressed  
His most indissoluble love to Christ;  
And Caesar now the second day repairs  
To reconsult upon his great affairs,  
Where his chief Lords with great circumfluence  
In Council-Hall surround their awful Prince,  
Who scarcely can propound his vile decree,  
Ere his obsequious Lords do all agree;  
And having for some certain hours debated  
Their horrid acts which great Jehovah hated,  
Caesar sent one to know what sad distress  
St. George endured under his massy Press;  
For he had lain under that ponderous stone,  
Till Titan once about the world had gone;  
So that the Councils judgement was enforced  
To think his soul and body were divorced,  
Or did remain in such a languid state  
He would be ready to obtemperate;  
But their vain hopes the event deluded quite,  
For lo the glorious Saint approached their sight  
With so great animosity and beauty,  
His graceful presence seemed to challenge duty;  
Which sight did the spectators so amaze,  
That for a space they sit in mutual gaze;  
But Caesar fearing lest that some incline  
To think the Saint preserved by grace Divine,  
Thus with scurrility begun to speak,  
Thou grand Professor of the Magic feat,  
I have another tortular device  
Which shall enforce thee to our Sacrifice.   

You are mistaken, said the Saint again,  
We Christians do abhor such arts profane;  
It is that cursed Devil which you adore,  
Upholds his honour by the Magic power;  
But we that Devil and all his arts despise,  
Much less will tender him our sacrifice,  
Or be enforced to commit such evil  
By any servant of that hateful Devil;  
And know great Caesar, that for Jesus sake,  
I shall your torturing grooms defatigate.   

Well, said the Tyrant, and I shall provide  
Such kind of tortures for thee to abide,  
Shall strew thy mangled limbs to Crows and Kites,  
And spare thy Coffin and thy Funeral rites;  
Go Rack-masters, fetch from your crimson School  
The sharpest to tures for this Christian fool;  
At which command they brought a ponderous wheel,  
All circumdented with huge knives of steel,  
Which engine was the dreadfullest that yet  
Invented was by any tyrant's wit,  
And on this wheel extensed by feet and hands,  
St. George was laid fast manacled in bands;  
And here brave English, if you wish to see  
A perfect type of magnanimity,  
Come and attend your noble Patron's story,  
For here are combats of the greatest glory,  
For all St. George his great exploits in War,  
To this Heroic act but may-games are;  
For never did pale death in form appear  
So full of horror as this Ensign here;  
Nor with less fear did ever mortal wight  
Confront such danger, than our valiant Knight,  
Who on this wheel doth lie with pleasant cheer,  
As if that wheel some bed of Roses were,  
Whilst now the turning of that rotal mass,  
Doth by the bloody knives so grind and gash  
The holy Martyr, through each side and limb,  
That the spectators loathed to look on him,  
And were enforced to divert their eyes  
With detestation of those butcheries;  
And Dioclesian judging him quite slain,  
Glorying in his revenge, departs again;  
But scarce this Tyrant left the blood-goared ground,  
When from the Heavens a great and fearful sound  
Break through the Airy regions with huge noise,  
And to the Martyr did transport this voice;   

Be constant George in witnessing my Name,  
For thy Confession many souls must gain,  
Which by thy passions must enlightened be,  
And at my Altars come to honour me;  
And when this great and fearful voice was done,  
An Angel came in glory like the Sun,  
And the blessed Martyr from the wheel unbound,  
And closed up again each gaping wound,  
Resolidating every broken limb,  
That not one fraction did appear in him;  
And resanated thus by heavenly power,  
The Saint stood ready still to suffer more;  
T' amazed gazers at this strange ostent,  
Like marble Statues all sit conticent;  
But one of those with whose distracted sense  
This glorious wonder did at last dispense,  
Went to call back the Emperor again,  
From sacrificing to his gods profane;  
At whose return, sight of St. George restored  
To perfect health, like knives his bosom gored;  
His eyes like bifrons Janus rolled he,  
Scarce trusting them in things he loathed to see;  
But as he fluctuates thus, occasions fall  
Of newer griefs to torture him withal;  
Two reverend Councillors, whose white haired scalps  
Might vie their candour with the snow crowned Alps,  
Prudent as those which in Bomes' Senate sit,  
When Constantine the great first Lorded it,  
Resolved to throw Nature's long Leases in,  
And Martyrs crowns with their short lives to win,  
In the fierce Tyrant's presence did appear,  
And these bold words presented to his ear:  
Why doth obdurate Caesar veil his eyes,  
When gracious Heavens do thus miraculize;  
Desist great Monarch from your bloody spite,  
You do in vain against Christ Jesus fight;  
For if the Christian Faith transgress your Laws,  
Our lives are ready to maintain that Cause:  
Which words from reverence spoke, and heavenly grace,  
Threw such confusion in the Tyrant's face,  
That this grim Tyrants Diabolick state  
No Radamanthus can equiparate;  
His mouth a Mortar-piece did best resemble,  
His words Granadoes-like made all to tremble,  
And in revenge made his unreverent Grooms  
Behead those reverend Martyrs without dooms;  
But lo God's vineyard with more glory grows,  
When on her Vines some stormy tempest blows;  
For as these Martyrs passed to joys Divine,  
Behold another would their number trine;  
For to the presence the great Empress pressed,  
And with bold zeal the Christian faith confessed;  
Which words from her did pierce the Tyrant through  
Like arrows, sent from vexed Diana's bow;  
But lest her words his rage should more incense,  
Magnentius did by force convey her thence;  
Yet though her purpose he did thus restrain,  
Her lives bold tender did inroul her Name  
In Heavens great Register, and was to be  
Commartyrized with St. George by God's decree,  
Shown by the last conclusion of this story,  
To both their honours and eternal glory;  
But now the Jailor and his bloody men,  
Injayled St. George within a sordid Den,  
The Mort-house where grim deaths Artillery lay,  
Where many groaning souls took leave of day;  
But lo th' effect of Esaiahs' Prophecy,  
Go down into a house of earth, said he,  
And in that solitude thou shalt have given,  
Delightful soliques from gracious Heaven,  
For here the Holy Ghost on him conferred  
Those comforts are in Princes Courts debarred.   

But now whilst Caesar did revolve his brains  
How to torment St. George with deadlier pains,  
Some Hellish Salamander did inspire  
His hot ubiqueous brain to choose the fire,  
Which like to Lucifer's just agent he  
Put into practice expeditiously,  
And bid his Grooms so great a Lime-pit make  
As the profundity made all men quake;  
For like Jove's oak this flaming element  
Was both in depth and heigh equivalent;  
These flames did pass that Babylonian fire,  
Which forty cubits did in height aspire,  
And being proud with too much fuels force,  
Serove even to sing the wings of Titan's Horse,  
That well by just resemblance it might warn,  
The guilty Tyrant of the deep Avernus;  
And now the Romans flock both young and old  
In numerous crowds this Furnace to behold,  
That scarce the fire which cinderized Troy's Town,  
Had more spectators than these fires of Rome,  
About the which all circularly standing  
In spacious distance, Caesar so commanding,  
Behold St. George, led with an armed Guard,  
Came for to see what Caesar had prepared;  
A spectacle which the spectators frighted,  
Yet this undaunted Champion much delighted;  
For his undoubted Creed to him did tell,  
Before Christ entered Heaven, he entered Hell;  
And therefore entering this flaming Pit,  
Was made more perfect type of Christ by it;  
For the far greater flames of heavenly love  
Embosomed in this Martyr from above,  
Made these exterior flames his eyes delight,  
As Sunbeams do the frigid Muscovite,  
That scarce his obvious footsteps could refrain  
From leaping into that voracious flame;  
Which sight the Tyrant with such grief possessed,  
That inward rage made Bonfires in his breast,  
And did exclaim his tardy Grooms, did not  
The holy Martyr in the furnace put,  
Which they performing cease not for to throw  
Huge heaps of Limestone on the Saint below:  
O how the conquering Church by this thy flame  
Most sacred Marty, rwon eternal fame!  
This fires sublime and flaming rutilance  
The Church's glory did as far advance,  
As where cold ice doth glaze salt Neptune's breast,  
And where hot Titan fires the Phoenix nest;  
And these great tortures which St. George did take  
With patience for his dear Redeemers sake,  
And these so great and many wonders he  
Did in defence of Christianity,  
Made this Saint's life of such a great esteem  
With him which wore the triple Diadem,  
That when our English King did go to Rome  
To visit him which sits in Peter's room,  
The Pope thought then he had no nobler thing  
For to present unto our English King,  
Then this Saint's heart put in a golden Urn,  
With which his Majesty did back return;  
But vexed Pluto raging for to see  
This English King's great zeal and piety,  
With Aeolus and Neptune both compact  
To have that Royal Relick-bearer wracked,  
And 'twixt these two inexorable gods,  
Did spread such malice and pernicious odds,  
That angry Aeolus in deep disdain  
Ploughed up the Champion of the Ocean Plain  
With lofty ridges which did kiss the sky,  
And furrows which laid bare the scaly fry:  
In brief, that time the fierce Leviathan  
Turned upside down the boiling Ocean;  
The Seas and Pilots were at noiseful strife,  
And all the Navy quite despaired of life;  
The pious King to Heaven made his address,  
And praying to St. George for intercess,  
Heavens in a moment's time did counter-trench  
The vast vaults of the wind God's flatulence,  
Who swaging his swollen cheeks doth but suspire  
To pacify Jehovahs' kindled ire;  
And Neptune disadvancing trisulk yields  
To smooth the surface of his azure fields;  
Th' amazed Seamen wondering much from whence  
Proceeded such a sacred indulgence,  
Erected all their sail and joyful pass  
To see the Sea become their looking-glass;  
The King returned, for this strange preservation,  
Did choose St. George for Patron of our Nation,  
And with great reverence kept St. George his heart,  
As Jews the rod of Moses in the Ark;  
But lest fanatics ignorant and bold,  
Sufflate with malice at my Verses scold,  
Th' authority of Scripture shall decide  
What sacred power in Relics doth abide;  
Had not the Handkerchief of great St. Paul  
A sacred power to cure diseases all?  
Did not St. Peter's shadow do the same,  
And cured as many as within it came?  
And once the Jernsalemites did bear  
A certain dead man to his Sepulchre,  
Without the Walls the Scouts returning, said,  
The enemies approached, whereat dismayed,  
They laid the dead man in a cave of stones  
Upon the Prophet Eliseus' bones;  
And that same Scripture clearly doth explain,  
The Prophet's bones raised the dead man again,  
And that same dead man did walk back with them  
As their Sodalie to Jerusalem.  
But pardon, Reader, my digression here,  
It was my zeal unto my Patron dear;  
And now to him I must return again,  
Strongly enclosed within that scorching flame,  
Wherein remained now this flower of Knights,  
Till Sun and Moon gave their alternate lights;  
After which time the Tyrant's rage begun  
To wish his linger Tragedy was done,  
And willing to be freed from further doubt,  
Commands his Grooms to seek his Relics out,  
And to entrench them deeper in the stones,  
That so the fire might pulverize his bones;  
At which command his Grooms did run apace,  
All interenvious each of others graee,  
Striving who first should lend their grateful breath  
To tell their great Lord of St. George his death,  
Whilst Romans novelous to know his fate;  
These bloody Vassals all concomitate;  
But lo these searchers find this Heaven-dear Knight  
Safe, and environed with so great a light,  
That he might well after his tridian pain;  
Resemble Christ returned from Hell again;  
Whilst gazing Romans his bright glory fear  
Like pilate's watchmen of the Sepulchre;  
But one of those spectators quickly went  
T' acquaint the Tyrant with this accident;  
Which news unto enraged Tyrants ear;  
More obsonant and more confounding were  
Then Jeroboams wives  breath,  
Telling the King that God pronounced his death;  
And with a poison swelled the Tyrant's veins,  
To see the Saint scorn his revengeless flames;  
And sending for St. George he thus gins;  
Vile Wretch, thou seest what stupendious things  
Our potent gods have shown thy worthless eyes  
For to attract thee to their sacrifice:  
To whom St. George most boldly said again,  
Caesar, your gods are impotent and vain,  
And cannot save by all their hellish powers,  
Themselves nor others from such fiery showers;  
But Christ that powerful God we Christians serve,  
Can thus his servants from these flames preserve:  
George, said the Tyrant, Christ long since did die;  
What power can rest in srail mortality?  
To whom the valiant Martyr thus replied,  
Those sacred Writs which tell you Jesus died,  
Do tell you he is God and rose again,  
And doth in power and glory now remain;  
Either to all that Scripture credit give,  
Or all that sacred Scripture misbelieve:  
Thus did the clearness of the cause prevent  
The wrangling Tyrant of all argument;  
Yet he in obstinacy passed all  
Those wilfulmen like wild beasts, which St. Paul  
Fought with at Ephesus, and did supply  
His want of reason thus with Tyranny;  
Here Rack-masters, put you upon his feet  
Hot shoes of iron which do glow with heat,  
And then with sharpest and most cruel whips,  
Reduce this frantic Christian to his wits;  
Which said, those slaves discharge their vile commission  
With such abusive rage and expedition,  
That if there be but Farriers in Hell's forge,  
These sure were they set shoes upon St. George,  
And those Hell's Bedlam Beadles l●ther sent  
From Pluto's Bridewell, thus to scourge this Saint;  
For such remorseless stripes they laid on him;  
As wholly purpurate his argent skin,  
And with their whips aspersion foully slain  
The ruthful gazers standing in each lane;  
Yet all these strokes of their revengeful ire,  
Like steels upon this flint of faith struck fire;  
Which did his sacred zeal so much inflame  
To shed his blood for Jesus Christ his Name,  
That scarce that Unction poured on Saul his head,  
Which regified the person where it spread,  
Pleased him as pleased St. George the pouring down  
Of this red Unction of the Martyr's crown;  
But now St. George whipped to the prison door,  
The rigid Jailor executes his power,  
And in a tenebrous and squalid grate  
The Pearl of Christians doth incarcerate;  
Yet in that loathsome dormitory he  
Pernoctates with a great jucundity,  
And there like wakeful Philomela he sing;  
To Jesus Christ most sacred lauds and hymns;  
For he was music's genius, though till now  
My omissive Muse did not his talon show,  
And sung such dulcet strains as might consort  
With those sweet quires of the celestial Court,  
Or with that Song the blessed Virgin sung  
At th' incarnation of her glorious Son;  
And thus he sung till Titan's rising beams  
Strove to commerce with his celestial hymns;  
But spare thy light great Titan; he which gave  
That light to thee, infuseth in this cave  
A glory which as far surpasseth thee  
As thou a taper in resplendency;  
Salute the Tyrant, who expects thy glory  
To give the summons to his Consistory;  
For many hours ago he left his rest,  
Revolving how he might St. George infest,  
And now sets forward to his Council ward,  
Circumplicate with his gygantick Guard,  
Of which he did dismiss some Halberdiers  
To bring St. George before his Lords and Peers;  
But when this Saint the Council-house did enter,  
His presence bred amazement through that centre,  
And with a kind of ravishment their sight  
Was wholly fixed on this glorious Knight,  
And his bold beauteous presence they admire,  
After the suffering of such whips and fire;  
But Caesar looks upon his beauteous state  
Through spectacles of more indignant hate  
Then that fierce stepdame Juno did her son  
Great Hercules, after his labours done;  
And well in some respect that Grecians story  
Doth here configurate our Martyr's glory;  
For more they strive his person to confound,  
With health and beauty doth it more abound;  
Which Caesar noting changed his stormy guise,  
And like a serpent thus did subtilise,  
Cease George at last the Crucifi'd to follow,  
Become th' adorant of our great Apollo,  
And reassume thy place and former state,  
And all our quondam love redintigrate.  
Great Prince, said he, your love conditioned so,  
Though much I prise it, I must needs forgo,  
And much I muse such wonders shown your eyes,  
You monitate such gross insanities;  
What man can so infatuated be,  
Not to discern your vain idolatry,  
How that Apollo which you call Divine,  
Is but a Devil, doth in that stock enshrine?  
Rather yourself, great Caesar, him adore,  
Whose all comprising uncomprised power  
Doth bind those Devils which you call gods in chains,  
Tormenting them with great and dateless pains;  
Which words the bloody Tyrant's bosom gore,  
As Hunter's darts the vineyard spoiling Boar,  
That he was ready to forsake his Throne,  
Amongst his torturing Vassals to make one;  
But low a sower-faced Groom whose countenance grim,  
Showed all the Dog-stars had consteled in him,  
Born under Vrsa major, which base sign  
Did his base nature unto blood incline,  
Intrudes himself, and smote the Martyr's face,  
To bring himself so into Caesar's grace;  
But yet this slave the bassage of mankind,  
Nothing at all had Caesar's wrath declind;  
This poor revengement far too short did fall  
T' appease a rage so rank and radical;  
He made his flaves scourge him with leathern thongs,  
Till they delacerate the flesh from bones;  
So that th' excoriated Martyr stood  
Like one anatomised, imbrued with blood;  
Or, as if great St. Bartholomew new slain  
In his carnation hue appeared to them;  
Yet without all complaint or servile fear,  
St. George doth all those cruel torments bear;  
Nor once his eyes serenity doth cloud  
With any frown or supercilious ;  
But the fierce Tyrant looked grim and scowling,  
As Cerb'rus when he frights the Ghosts with howling;  
Whereat the silent gazers sit a space,  
Like Planetstruck at this stupendious case;  
But Caesar then for a Magician sent,  
Who promised the Tyrant to invent  
A drench which should conclude his life with groans,  
And deadly tortures both of flesh and bones;  
Which Potion quickly they to him did give,  
But in despite of it the Saint did live;  
Then the Magician said, that God above  
Sure gives thee great endearments of his love,  
Or how could thy frail flesh have undergon  
Such tortures as confound the lookers on?  
If Christ be God, as thou dost say indeed,  
Do some great wonder to gain general creed;  
Call from the earth some dead man up again,  
And give him life and form in Jesus Name,  
And we will all with unanimity  
Confess there is no other God but he;  
To whom the glorious Martyr said again,  
You bloody favourites of Caesar's train  
Which have Tragedians been so many times,  
Conscelerated in his sanguine crimes,  
Would not believe, although the dusty dead  
Should give you warning of your deep misdeed;  
The various wonders God hath shown your eyes,  
Had turned Pharaoh to repentant cries,  
Yet hoping some who conscious in th' offence  
Of ignorance, and not malevolence,  
May by the deads' resuscitation see  
That Christ alone is the true Deity;  
I hope I shall that favour impetrate  
T' invest the dusty dead with vital shape:  
Which said, he humbly prostrates on the ground,  
Praying to Christ with piety profound,  
Till trembling Tellus did begin to gape,  
As if she would herself deviscerate,  
Whilst from her jaws St. George a man did call,  
Whose lively form did personate King Saul;  
At which prodigious sight the Roman crowds  
Extolled the power of Jesus to the clouds,  
And with opprobrious words did signify  
Their great contempt of all idolatry;  
But hear my Muse engage thy faculties  
The Tyrant's fury to ,  
That black Lord of th'infernal sulphurous flames,  
When Hercules knocked out his Porter's brains,  
Was but his type, nor greater rage did throw  
Upon God's Saints, than did this Tyrant do;  
Their mutual malice and inveterate hate,  
Caesar and Satan both concatenate;  
Such friends as Pilate and false Herod were  
Against the Lord of life when he lived here;  
So that in deeds and tortures it is clear,  
Caesar and Satan both confatal were,  
And both alike did brook those joyful cries  
As showed by rageful rabulosities,  
Which were so obsonant to every ear,  
That never Christian like to them did hear;  
Blasphemous Julian and that Philistine  
Which was corrected by King David's fling,  
And those great bvilders of old Babel's Tower,  
Which breathed defiance against th'Almighties power,  
Might plead their blasphemies but venial sin,  
Had they compaied with Dioelesian been;  
But when his tongues fellifluence had spent  
What Satan his Dictator could invent,  
Loathing St. George his presence, he commands  
His Grooms to whip him with impetuous hands,  
Unto a Dungeon which grim Pluto might  
For depth and horror challenge for his right,  
Or else the Closet which he did assign  
Unto his Dam the snaky Proserpina;  
But lo th' effect of David's Prophecy,  
That earth's Abisms should Jesus glorify;  
For hither crowds of Convertites resort,  
Drawn by his famous miracles report,  
Which by St. George his preaching unto them  
By multitudes converted souls became,  
'Mongst whom was one Glicerius dull and rude,  
But complete in the gift of fortitude;  
Whilst this Georgick Groom pursued his toil,  
His Ox fell dead in ploughing of the soil,  
Which loss did much depauperate the Swain,  
Because his tillage did his House maintain;  
Wherefore in haste he to the Martyr went  
With earnest suit, but little compliment,  
And prayed him of his charity redress,  
His grievous chance and indigent distress;  
St. George the loss commiserating much,  
Which did this rural swain so nearly touch,  
And well discerning the great confidence  
Which he reposed in Christ's Omnipotence,  
Said, Glicery, believe in Jesus Name,  
And be assured thy Ox shall live again;  
The man returned and finding him alive,  
Continual thanks did unto Jesus give,  
Who useth much his servants to convert  
By miracles consorting to their Art;  
The draught of fish Christ bid St. Peter draw,  
Confirmed that Fisherman in Christian Law;  
When prison doors unlocked themselves to Paul,  
Converted Jailers at his feet did fall;  
And now this Ox raised by Christ's power again,  
Made the bold Ploughman to confess Christ's Name,  
For which through Caesar's cruelties he tried  
A world of tortures, and with honour died;  
Lo not the Herald's book, Heaven's Registers  
Should guide the Writers of men's characters;  
For here you see this Groom with life's expense  
Nobly maintained the Church's eminence,  
Whilst there stood by him many a Lord and Peer,  
Who durst not Christ confess through slavish fear:  
But now I leave this blessed Convertite,  
And of St. George his great Converter write,  
Who fast enclosed in his dark Conditory,  
Was sought out by the King of endless glory,  
Who with his presence made that den of night  
Competitor with heaven itself for light;  
O wondrous thing that mortal man can move  
The great Almighty thus to Court his love,  
And like Pygmalion, but with sacred flame,  
To fall in love with what his hands did frame!  
Surely the Angels, were they not Divine,  
Might at these graces to St. George repine,  
That none of them might this embassage bring,  
Or internunciate 'twixt their Lord and him,  
But that himself must thus come visit men,  
Both in the Highways and in dirty den,  
As witness both St. Paul, this Martyr here,  
And many more to whom he did appear;  
But Jesus now to make his love more known,  
Set on St. George his head a glorious Crown,  
And thus pours out his most immense affection,  
Be constant George I will be thy protection;  
Lose not the glorious place prepared for thee,  
With tortures, terror or timidity.   

To whom the prostrate Martyr thus replies,  
My soul abhorreth such Apostasies;  
I am resolved t' obtain the Martyr's crown,  
Were it to suffer till the day of Doom;  
But Lord, my frailty is well known to thee,  
Support sweet Jesus my proclivity;  
Thus Christ his Saint left in that nightful place,  
But all illuminate with heavenly grace.   

But Caesar's grief sticks to him more and more,  
Like to the burning shirt Alcides wore,  
Vexing to see the Saint his malice scorns,  
As Hunters Actaeon's long revengeless horns,  
And still his griefs do stick unto his heart,  
Until he can the glorious Saint pervert,  
Which to effect he now puts confidence  
In gracious usage and blandiloquence;  
No hour doth pass, but Caesar to him sends  
Great visitants to tender his commends;  
No more do his contracted brows look grim,  
But gracious countenance reflect on him;  
Now he commends unto the Jailor's care,  
To serve the Saint with all delicious fare,  
And to omit no diligence therein,  
To notify his change of love to him;  
All which being done, Caesar in Council-Hall,  
Enthroned amongst his Lords and Princes all,  
Sent for St. George, and gracing him far more  
With all respects of honour then before,  
Bespoke him thus; George, thy undaunted spirit  
Hath gained so great opinion of thy merit,  
That if thou wouldst a little condescend,  
Thou shouldst be Caesar's chief and only friend,  
And all those honours thou possessed of late,  
Our bounteous love to thee shall triplicate;  
Be prudent then, it rests now at thy pleasure  
To be an abject or a second Caesar:  
But hereby well the Martyr understands  
This Sirens song did bode some wrackful sands,  
Which to prevent, in blandant manner thus  
He keeps a project still subnubilous;  
Come gracious Monarch, let us go to see  
That sumptuous Temple of your Deity;  
Which plausive motion so did Caesar win,  
That with embraces he embosom'd him,  
And made it by his Bellmen to be cried,  
Apollo, conqueror of the crucified;  
And gave command that all his noble train  
Should to Apollo's Temple wait on them,  
So that there came a greater multitude,  
Then all that spacious Temple could include;  
Th' officious Priests made punctual preparation  
For all things did belong to their Oblation,  
And nothing wanted now they could desire,  
Except St. George to give th'Oblation fire,  
And his approach their wishes obviates,  
For lo he entered the great Temple gates,  
Attended with more eyes which came to see,  
Then witnessed great Sampsons' Tragedy;  
And silence called, thus Heaven's Commissioner  
Interrogates the instatued Lucifer.   

Apollo, I command thee let us know  
If thou be that great God to whom we own  
Honour Divine and daily Sacrifice;  
Be brief and speak, delude us not with lies.   

I must confess, the conscious Fiend replied,  
There doth no power Divine in me abide;  
I am of those damned Legions which were driven  
By great St. Michael, from the gates of Heaven,  
And we since then strive through inveterate pride  
Amongst the simple to be Deified;  
To whom the Martyr thus replied again,  
I charge thee Satanist here to explain,  
Who is that mighty God whose dreadful power  
We justly ought to honour and adore;  
Christ Jesus is true God, the Fiend replied,  
And their's no other God indeed beside;  
St. George said then, how Rebel to my God  
Durst thou near me his servant make abode?  
Which powerful words did with more terror sound  
Then Josua's trumpets did, which threw to ground  
The Walls of Jericho; for lo the Temple  
From the foundation 'gan to shake and tremble,  
Wherewith the Idol in small parcels fell,  
And with strange noise the Fiend departs to Hell;  
Th' amazed Romans at this accident  
Were suddenly involved with wonderment,  
And then with cloud delacerating cries,  
Blessed Jesus Christ which opened their blind eyes;  
But who can pen those plenary delights  
Which did possess those Roman Convertites!  
Come Muse thou must thy faculties advance,  
And figurate them with all exuberance;  
On that blessed Friday, when Jehovahs' Son  
Performed the work of our Redemption!  
He did descend and opened Limbus gate,  
And those imprisoned souls discarcerate;  
What joy did that great Goal-delivery bring,  
When Christ had canceled our bond of sin!   

But to declare the great and fluctuous strife  
Of Caesar's breast, no Muse can pen to life;  
He was more pinched and frighted with those cries,  
Then Actaeon with his hounds and horned guise;  
His words were all with sparks of fire ,  
Hotter than Vulcan from his forges beat;  
His obliqne eyes did blaze with flaming fire,  
And blistered where they looked with rageful ire;  
Such was the Tyrant's grief, such joy abounded  
With Romans, when Apollo was confounded.   

But in this Jubilee the barbarous Guard  
Commits the Martyr to his former Ward,  
Where all Apollo's Priests and rascal slaves  
Discharge on him their hate with whips and staves;  
But Caesar after all these wonders still  
Stood individually compact with Hell,  
And shared both in sorrow and confusion  
With this Avernist in his just exclusion,  
And for his absence fiercely rageth still,  
Like furens Hercules on Aetna's Hill;  
But at the last Apollo's deep disgrace  
Made the confounded Tyrant leave that place,  
And overwhelmed with sad discontent,  
Unto the Palace from the Temple went,  
Where his obsequious Lords their chief surround,  
But could not balsomate his gangrend wound;  
For as the wounded Whale forsakes the brine,  
And to the fatal shore doth draw a line,  
That English Fishers do find out his gate,  
And with their Guns his wounds multiplicate;  
So Caesar fared; but why give I that name  
To him that was but Satan's counter-pane?  
Their comfort he declines, resolved to follow  
No counsel but of his old damned Apollo;  
Who both confounded stand with grief and shame,  
Like Bajazet led in his iron chain,  
To have his shoulders made a footstool on  
For Tamberlane to mount his horse upon;  
And both sufflate with malice there did stand,  
For to behold Jehovahs' gracious hand  
Work such great wonders for the Martyr's sake,  
In all the sufferings he did undertake;  
What rage and malice did those Vassals smother,  
And with what obliqne eyes viewed they each other!  
O that some curious Limner of our age  
Can purtrait them in this same very page,  
To please the English Reader of this story,  
With Caesar's shame and their great Patron's glory!  
But some which knew the nature of his sore  
Was like to theirs Achilles Lance did gore,  
To cure the same and please the Tyrant's mood,  
Present the Martyr all begoared with blood;  
But to excruciate that profane delight  
This sanguinary Wolf took in this sight,  
Behold the Empress Alexandra came,  
And boldly did confess Christ Jesus Name,  
Entreating of St. George his prayers that she  
Might in the Christian faith perseverant be,  
And with her tears his bloody feet did bathe,  
Kissing the wounds he suffered for his Faith;  
Which did the hateful Tyrant so incense,  
He made Orlando's rage tame patience,  
And such flagitious blasphemies did spew,  
As sainted that foul Monster David slew,  
And even with Lucifer might justly vie  
Facinorous guilt for Hell's supremacy.   

But when this earth's great Lucifer at last  
Had his defiance against Jesus cast,  
Thus he the remnant of his Hellish hate  
Against the Empress doth evaporate;  
Why do not tardy Devils this strumpet bear  
To th' under Bridewell, which disturbs us here,  
And in our presence in despite of us,  
Doth here become so meretricious,  
That with her tears and kisses she doth crouch  
To this Enchanter, whom we hate so much?  
O vultuous impudence, spectators say,  
Is she a Woman, or some Succuba?  
But she no responsory word at all  
Deigned those invectives Diabolical,  
But prostrate still implores the aid Divine,  
That she may never from her faith decline;  
But this great zeal which did her soul inspire,  
With vilependence of the Tyrant's ire,  
Put his bloodthirsty heart unto more pain,  
Then if some greedy Vulture grasped the same.   

But as some glutton which through surfeit sore  
Abhors those delicates he liked before,  
Caesar through those affronts he had of late,  
The Martyr's presence did most deadly hate,  
And gladly now would free himself of them,  
That so oblivion might decrease his pain;  
Wherefore in haste his bloody Grooms he calls,  
And bids them lead the Saints without the Walls,  
And cutting off their heads, their bodies throw  
Into the ditches, food for Kite and Crow;  
In which employment every Vassal tries  
Who should exceed in their immanities',  
Cutting with corded gives their tender veins,  
That bloods effusion might augment their pains;  
And as they led them to th' appointed place,  
Those hateful Vassals plied their whips apace,  
Until the bloody showers their bodies ran  
The dusty ways with sanguine tincture stain;  
Which dear expense of blood and tedious gate,  
This Royal Empress did debilitate,  
And her own weight her bloodless limbs oppressed;  
Enforcing her upon her knees to rest,  
And as a Rose o'erswayed with showers of rain,  
Does hang its sweet top to the grassy Plain,  
This languid Lady doth her face Divine  
Surcharged with bleeding to the ground decline,  
And with her prostrate prayers her soul expires,  
Received by Angels to celestial quires;  
By whose departure now remained free  
St. George from all his great anxiety,  
Her souls security by loss of breath,  
Doth now so much facilitate his death,  
That pardoned wretches from the Jailor's room  
Went with less joy than he to Marty rdom,  
Where his beheading stroke at last was given,  
Whilst Angels Plaudits in the Court of Heaven  
Conducted his great spirit unto rest,  
Under Heaven's glorious Altar ever blest,  
'Mongst those great Conquerors in the Martyr's Wars,  
Whose crowns are Sun beams, and their footstool Stars.   
FINIS.   

Books sold by William Crook, at the three Bibles on Ludgate-Hill, near Fleet-bridge.  
THe Pillar of Gratitude, by Dr. Gauden.  
Two Sermons preached at the Temple, by Dr. Gauden.  
Plain Mathematician, being an Explanation of the hardest Problems in Geometry, making easy Geometrical Arithmetic, Meususuration; dialing, etc. and other difficulties of Geometry, by Th. G.  
Sin Dismantled, showing the loathsomeness thereof, in laying it open by Confession, with the remedy for it by Repentance and Conversion; wherein is set forth the manner how we ought to confess our sins to God and Man, with the Consiliary Decrees from the Authority thereof, and for the showing the necessity of Priestly Absolution, removing the disesteem the vulgar have of Absolution, setting forth the power of Ministers, etc.