The LIFE and DEATH of the Famo[us]
THOMAS STUKE[L]Y,
An English Gallant in the Time of Queen Elizabeth, who ended his Life in a Bat-
tle of three Kings of Barbary.
Tune of, King Henrys going to Bulogne.
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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 long and lasting Praise.
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If I should tell this Story,
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Pride was all his Glory,
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And Lusty Stukely, he was calld 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 she was called then,
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To whom a Suitor gallantly he came.
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When she his Person spied,
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He could not be denied,
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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 wishd 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 Stukley he presumed
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To spend one hundred Pound a Day in waste:
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The greatest Gallants in the Land,
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Had Stukelys 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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Riots 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 length he sold the Pavements of the Yard,
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Which coverd 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 youve 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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Ill make much more of thee, said he,
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Than any one shall verily,
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Ill sell thy Cloaths, and so Ill go my way.
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Cruelly thus hard hearted,
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Away from her he parted,
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And travelled into Italy with speed:
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There he flourishd 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 Ladys Pleasure,
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To give him Goods and Treasure,
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For 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 Talent
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To follow Stukely in his 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 Battle shew 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 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 glittering on the Plain,
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And gave the Onset there most valiantly.
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The Cannons they rebounded,
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Thundering Guns resounded,
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Kill, kill, then was all the Soldiers 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 darkend 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 kno[w]
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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 slai[n]
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Three Kings 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 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 brave 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 surrounded,
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And to them thus he made his heavy Moan:
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Thus have I left my Country dear,
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To be so vilely murderd h[e]re;
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Een in this Place where 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 had is p[a]st 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 livd and dyd 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 Soldier 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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