The Life and Death of Famous Thomas Stukely, an
English Gallant, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, who ended his life in a Battel of
three Kings of Barbury.
The Tune is, King Henries going to Bullion.
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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 wonder he had 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 was he cald in Court:
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He servd 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 gaind the favour of a London Dame,
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Daughter to an Alderman,
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Curtis he was 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 regardlesse 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 Sukelies purse at their command,
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thus merrily the time away he past.
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Taverns and 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 Land and Living,
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By this Lawlesse giving,
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at last he sold the pavements of the Yard:
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With covered were with blocks of Tin
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Old Curtis left the same to him,
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which he consumed lately as you heard.
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WHereat his Wife sore grieved,
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Desired to be relieved,
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make much of me dear husband she did say,
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Ile make much more of thee, said he,
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Then any man shall verily,
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I[] le sell the Cloaths and so ile 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 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 battel in Barbury,
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and he would valiantly go see the same.
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Many a Noble gollant,
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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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Adventurously with courage bold,
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within this battel slew themselves 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 Stukely so,
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That he his secrets all did know,
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and bore his Royal Standard now & then.
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Upon this day of honour,
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Each King did shew his Banner,
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Morroco and the King of Barbury,
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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 On-set there most valiantly.
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The Cannons they resounded,
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Thundring Drums 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 drownd,
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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 took us off 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 six score thousand fighting men were slain,
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Three K[i]ngs within this battle dyd,
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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 bloodly 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 brave Ita[l]ians that did sell their Lands,
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With Sankely for to travel forth,
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And venture Life for little worth,
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upon him all did lay their murdring hands.
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Unto doath 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 Country dear,
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To be so vilely murdred here,
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even in this place whereas I am not known
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My Wife I have much 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 done 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 feel 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 livd and dyd in love of Kings,
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and so brave Stukely bids the world adue.
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Stukelie 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 there 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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