The Life and Death of the Famous Thomas Stukely,
An English Gallant in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who ended this life in a Battel of
three Kings of Barbary. Tune is King Henries going to Bulloign.
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IN the West of England,
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Born there was I understand,
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a famous gallant was he in his days;
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By birth a wealthy Clothiers Son,
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Deeds of wonders he hath done,
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to purchase him a long and lasting praise.
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If I should tell his story,
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Pride was all his Glory,
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and lusty Stukely he was call'd in court
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He serv'd a Bishop in the West,
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And did accompany the best,
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maintaining of himself in gallant sort.
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Being thus esteemed,
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And every where well deemed,
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he gain'd the favour of a London Dame;
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Daughter to an Alderman,
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Curtie was he called then,
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to whom a Suitor gallantly he came.
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When he her person spyed,
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He could not be denyed,
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so brave a Gentleman he was to see;
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She was quickly made his wife,
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In weal or woe to lead her life,
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her father willing thereto did agree.
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Thus in state and pleasure,
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Full many days they measure,
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till cruel death with his regardless spight
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Bore old Curtis to the Grave,
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A thing that Stukely wisht to have,
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that he might revel all in Gold so bright.
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He was no sooner Tombed,
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But Stukely he presumed
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to spend a hundred pound a day in waste;
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The greatest Gallants in the Land,
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Had Stukely's Purse at their command,
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thus merrily the time away he past.
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Taverns nad Ordinaries,
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Were his chiefest braveries,
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golden Angels there flew up and down,
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Ryots were his best delight,
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With stately feasting day and night,
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in Court and City thus he won renown.
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Thus wasting Lands and living,
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By this lawless giving,
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at last he sold the pavements of the yard,
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Which cover'd were with blocks of Tin,
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Old Curtis left the same to him,
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which he consum'd as you have lately heard.
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WHereat his Wife sore grieved,
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Desiring to be relieved,
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make much of me, dear husband she did say,
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I'le make much more of thee, said he,
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Then any one shall doe verily,
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i'le sell thy cloaths and so i'le go away.
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Cruelly thus hard hearted,
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Away from her he parted,
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and travel'd into Italy with speed,
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There he flourisht full many a day,
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In his silks and rich array,
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and did the pleasures of a Lady feed.
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It was the ladies pleasure,
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To give him Goods and treasure,
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to maintain him in great pomp and fame,
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At last came News assuredly,
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Of a fought battle in Barbary,
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and he would valiantly go see the same.
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Many a noble gallant,
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Sold both land and Tallent,
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to follow Stukely in this famous fight,
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Whereas three Kings in person would,
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Adventrously with courage bold,
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within this battel slew them selves in fight.
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Stukely and his followers all,
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Of the King of Portugal,
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had entertainment like to Gentlemen:
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The King affected Stukly so,
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That he his secrets all did know,
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and bore his Royal standard now and then.
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Upon this day of honour,
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Each man did shew his banner,
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Morocco and the King of Barbary:
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Portugal and all his Train,
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Bravely Glistering on the Plain,
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and gave the Onset there most valiantly.
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The Cannons they resounded,
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Thundring Guns rebounded,
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kill, kill, then was all the Souldiers cry,
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Mangled Men lay on the ground,
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And with blood the earth was drown'd,
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the Sun likewise was darkned in the Sky.
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Heaven was so displeased,
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And would not be appeased;
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but tokens of Gods heavy wrath did show,
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That he was angry at this War,
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He sent a fearful Blazing Star,
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whereby the Kings might their misfortunes know.
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Bloody was the slaughter,
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Or rather wilful Murder,
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where sixscore thousand fighting men were slain:
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Three Kings within this battle dy'd,
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With forty Dukes and Earls beside,
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the like will never more be fought again.
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With woful arms infolding,
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Stukely stood beholding,
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this bloody sacrifice of Souls that day;
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He sighing said, I woful wight,
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Against my Conscience here do fight,
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and brought my followers all unto decay.
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Being thus molested,
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And with grief oppressed,
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those Italians that did sell their Lands,
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With Stukely for to travel forth,
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And venture life for little worth,
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upon him all did lay their murdering hands.
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Unto death thus wounded,
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His heart with sorrow swounded,
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and to them he made his heavy moan,
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Thus have I left my dear,
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To be so vilely murthered here,
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e'n in this place whereas I am not known.
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My Wife I much have wronged,
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Of what to her belonged,
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I vainly spent in idle course of life,
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What I have had is past I see,
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And bringeth nought but grief to me,
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therefore grant me pardon gentle wife.
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Life I see consumeth,
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And death I see presumeth,
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to change this life of mine into a new,
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Yet this my greatest comfort brings,
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I liv'd and dy'd in love of Kings,
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and so brave stukely bids the world adieu.
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Stukelys life thus ended,
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Was after death befriended,
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and like a Souldier buried gallantly,
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Where now their stands upon the Grave,
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A stately Temple builded brave,
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with Golden Turrets piercing to the Sky.
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