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 there 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 puchase him a long and lasting praise.
|
If I should 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 in gallant sort.
|
Being thus esteemed,
|
And every-where 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 denyed,
|
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 Stukelys purse at their command,
|
thus merrily the time away he past.
|
Taverns and ordinaries,
|
Were his chiefest braveries,
|
golden angels there flew up and down;
|
Ryots were his best delight,
|
With stately feasting day and nigh,
|
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've heard.
|
Whereat his wife sore grieved,
|
Desiring to be relieved,
|
much of me dear Husband, she did say.
|
'I'll make much more of thee (said he)
|
'Than anyone shall verily,
|
sell thy cloaths and so I'll go my way.
|
Cruelly thus hard hearted,
|
Away from her he 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 resounded,
|
Kill kill, then was all the souldiers 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 heavy wrath did show,
|
That he was angry at this war,
|
He sent a fearful blazing-star,
|
whereby the Kings might their misfortunes know.
|
Bloody was the slaughter,
|
Or rather wilful murder,
|
where six score thousand fighting men were slain;
|
Three Kings within this battle dy'd,
|
With forty Dukes and Earls beside,
|
the like will never more be fought again.
|
With woful arms infolding,
|
Stukely stood beholding
|
this bloody sacrifice of souls that day;
|
He sighing said, 'I woful wight,
|
'Against my conscience here do fight,
|
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 swounded,
|
and to them thus he made his heavy moan:
|
'Thus have I left my country dear,
|
'To be so vilely murthered here,
|
in this place whereas I am not known.
|
'My wife I have much wronged
|
'Of what to her belonged,
|
vainly spent in idle course of life;
|
'What I have had is past I see,
|
'And bringeth nought but grief to me,
|
grant me pardon gentle wife.
|
'Life I see consumeth,
|
'And death I see presumeth
|
change this life of mine into a new:
|
'Yet this my greatest comfort brings,
|
'I liv'd and dy'd in love of Kings;
|
so brave Stukely bids the world adieu.
|
Stukelys life thus ended,
|
Was after death befriended,
|
and like a souldier buryed gallantly;
|
Where now there stands upon the grave,
|
A stately temple builded brave,
|
with golden turrets piersing to the sky.
|
|
|
|
|
|