The Life and Death of the Famous THOMAS STUKELY:
An English Gallant in time of Queen Elizabeth, who ended his Life in a Battel of three
Kings of Barbary.
Tune is, King Henrys going to Bulloign, etc.
|
IN the West of England,
|
Born their was, I understand
|
a famous Gallant was he in his Days,
|
By Birth a wealthy Clothier's Son,
|
Deeds of Wonders he hath done,
|
to purchase him a long and lasting praise.
|
If I would tell his Story,
|
Pride was all his Glory,
|
and Lusty Stukely, he was call'd in Court,
|
He serv'd a Bishop in the West,
|
And did accompany the best,
|
maintaining of himself to gallant sort.
|
Being thus esteemed
|
And everywhere well deemed,
|
he gain'd the Favour of a London Dame,
|
Daughter to an Alderman,
|
Curtis she was called then,
|
to whom a Suitor gallantly he came.
|
When she his person spyed,
|
He could not be deny'd,
|
so brave a Gentleman he was to see;
|
She was quickly made his Wife,
|
In Weal or Woe to lead her Life;
|
her Father willing; thereto did agree.
|
Thus in State and Pleasure,
|
Full many Days they Measure,
|
till cruel Death with his regardless spight,
|
Bore old Curtis to the Grave,
|
A thing that Stukely wisht to have,
|
that he might revel all in gold so bright.
|
He was no sooner Tombed,
|
But Stukely he presumed,
|
to spend a hundred pound a Day in waste;
|
The greatest Gallants in the Land
|
Had Stukely's Purse at their command,
|
thus merrily the time away he past.
|
Taverns and Ordinaries,
|
Were his chief Braveries,
|
Golden Angels there flew up and down;
|
Ryots were his best Delight,
|
With Stately feasting Day and Night,
|
in Court and City thus he won renown.
|
Thus wasting Lands and Living,
|
By this lawless giving,
|
at length he sold the Pavements of the yard,
|
Which cover'd were with Blocks of Tin,
|
Old Curtis left the same to him,
|
which he consumed lately as you have heard.
|
Whereat his Wife sore grieved,
|
Desiring to be relieved,
|
Make much of me dear Husband, she did say,
|
I'll make much more of thee (said he)
|
Than anyone shall verily,
|
i'll sell thy Cloaths, and so i'll go may way.
|
Cruelly this hard hearted
|
Away from her parted,
|
and travell'd into Italy with speed;
|
There he flourisht many a day,
|
In his silks and rich array,
|
and did the pleasures of a Lady feed.
|
It was the Lady's pleasure,
|
To give him goods and treasure,
|
for to maintain him in great pomp and fame;
|
At last came news assuredly,
|
Of a fought battel in Barbary,
|
and he would valiantly go see the same.
|
Many a noble Gallant,
|
Sold both Land and Talent
|
to follow Stukely in his famous fight;
|
Whereas three Kings in Person would
|
Adventurously with Courage bold,
|
within this Battel shew themselves in Fight.
|
Stukely and his Followers all
|
Of the King of Portugal,
|
had entertainment like to Gentlemen:
|
The King affected Stukely so,
|
That he his Secrets all did know,
|
and bore his Royal Standard now and then.
|
Upon this Day of Honour,
|
Each Man did shew his Banner,
|
Morocco, and the King of Barbary:
|
Portugal, and all his Train,
|
Bravely glittering on the Plain,
|
and gave the Onset there most valiantly.
|
The Cannons they rebounded,
|
Thundring Guns redounded,
|
Kill kill then was all the Soldiers cry;
|
Mangled Men lay on the Ground,
|
And with Blood the Earth was drown'd,
|
the Sun likewise was darkned in the Sky.
|
Heaven was so displeased,
|
And would not be appeased,
|
but Tokens of God's Wrath did show,
|
That he was Angry at this War,
|
He sent a fearful Blazing-Star,
|
whereby the Kings might these Misfortunes know.
|
Bloody was the Slaughter,
|
Or rather wilful Murder,
|
where sixscore thousand fighting men were slain:
|
Three Kings within this Battle dy'd,
|
With forty Dukes and Earls beside,
|
the like will never more be sought again.
|
With woful Arms infolding,
|
Stukely stood beholding
|
this Bloody Sacrifice of Souls that Day:
|
He singing said, I woful Wight,
|
Against my Conscience here do Fight,
|
and brought my Followers all unto Decay.
|
Being thus Molested
|
And with Grief Oppressed,
|
those brave Italians that did Sell their Lands,
|
With Stukely for to Travel forth,
|
And venture Life for little worth,
|
upon him all did lay their Murdering Hands.
|
Unto Death thus wounded
|
His Heart with Sorrow swoonded:
|
and to them thus he made his heavy Moan;
|
Thus have I left my Country dear,
|
To be so vilely Murthered here.
|
e'en in this Place whereas I am not known.
|
My Wife I have much wronged
|
Of what to her belonged,
|
I vainly spent in idle Course of Life;
|
What I have had is past I see,
|
And bringeth nought but Grief to me.
|
therefore grant me pardon gentle Wife.
|
Life I see con[s]umeth,
|
And Death I see presumeth,
|
to change this Life of mine into a new:
|
Yet this my greatest Comfort brings,
|
I liv'd and dy'd in love of Kings;
|
and so brave Stukely bids the World adieu.
|
Stukely's Life thus ended,
|
Was after Death befriended,
|
and like a Soldier buried gallantly:
|
Where now there stands upon the Grave,
|
A stately Temple builded brave,
|
with Golden Turrets piercing to the Sky.
|
|
|
|
|
|