Peele, George · published 1594 · first performed or written 1589 [1588-1589] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown unassigned nearest T59 Spanish courts: war, honour and courtshi · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T59: andrea, spain, portugal, tribute, horatio, king, bellimperia, prince, lord, lorenzo.
Thus Stukeley slain with many a deadly stab, Dies in these desert fields of Africa. Hark friends, and with the story of my life Let me beguile the torment of my death. In England's London Lordings was I borne, On that brave Bridge, the bar that thwarts the Thames. My golden days, my younger careless years, Were when I touched the height of Fortune's wheel, And lived in affluence of wealth and ease. Thus in my Country carried long aloft, A discontented humour drove me thence To cross the Seas to Ireland, then to Spain, There had I welcome and right royal pay Of Philip, whom some call the Catholic King, There did Tom Stukeley glitter all in gold, Mounted upon his jennet white as snow, Shining as Phoebus in King Phillip's Court, There like a Lord, famous Don Stukeley lived, For so they called me in the Court of Spain Till for a blow I gave a bishop's man, A strife 'gan rise between his Lord and me, For which, we both were banished by the King. From thence, to Rome rides Stukeley all aflaunt Received with royal welcomes of the Pope. There was I graced by Gregory the great, That then created me Marquis of Ireland. Short be my tale, because my life is short, The coast of Italy and Rome I left. Then was I made lieutenant General Of those small Forces that for Ireland went, And with my companies embarked at Austria My Sails I spread, and with these men of war In fatal hour at Lisbon we arrived. From thence to this, to this hard exigent Was Stukeley driven to fight or else to die, Dared to the field, that never could endure To hear God Mars his drum, but he must march. Ah sweet Sebastian, hadst thou been well advised Thou mightst have managed arms successfully. But from our Cradles we were marked all And destinate to die in Afrique here. Stukeley, the story of thy life is told, Here breathe thy last and bid thy friends farewell. And if thy country's kindness be so much, Then let thy Country kindly ring thy knell. Now go, and in that bed of honour die Where brave Sebastian's breathless Course doth lie. Here endeth Fortune, rule, and bitter rage: Here ends Tom Stukeley pilgrimage. Retreat is sounded through our Camp, & now From battles fury cease our conquering Moores, Pay thanks to heaven with sacrificing fire, Alcazar and ye towns of Barbarie. Now hast thou sit as in a trance and seen, To thy soul's joy and honour of thy house, The trophies and the triumphs of thy men, Great Abdelmelec and the God of kings, Hath made thy war successful by thy right, His friends whom death and fates hath ta'en from thee, Lo this was he that was the people's pride, And cheerful Sunshine to his subjects all, Now have him hence, that royally he may Be buried and embalmed, as is meet. Zareo, have you through the camp proclaimed As erst we gave in charge?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thus Stukley slaine with many a deadly stab, Dyes in these desart feilds of Affrica. Harke freindes, and with the story of my life Let me beguile the torment of my death. In Englands London Lordings was I borne, On that braue Bridge, the barre that thwarts the Thames. My golden dayes, my yonger carelesse yeeres, Were when I toucht the height of Fortunes wheele, And liu'd in affluence of wealth and ease. Thus in my Countrie carried long aloft, A discontented humor draue me thence To crosse the Seas to Ireland, then to Spaine, There had I welcome and right royall pay Of Phillip, whome some call the Catholique King, There did Tom Stukley glitter all in golde, Mounted vpon his Iennet white as snowe, Shining as Phoebus in King Phillips Court, There like a Lord, famous Don Stukley liu'd, For so they calde me in the Court of Spaine Till for a blowe I gaue a Bishops man, A strife gan rise betweene his Lord and me, For which, we both were banisht by the King. From thence, to Rome rides Stukley all a flaunt Receiud with royall welcomes of the Pope. There was I grac'd by Gregorye the great, That then created me Marquis of Ireland. Short be my tale, because my life is short, The coast of Italy and Rome I left. Then was I made Leiftennant Generall Of those small Forces that for Ireland went, And with my companies embarkt at Austria My Sayles I spred, and with these men of warre In fatall houre at Lishborne we ariu'd. From thence to this, to this hard exigent Was Stukley driuen to fight or els to dye, Dar'd to the field, that neuer could endure To heare God Mars his drum, but he must martch. Ah sweet Sebastian, hadst thou beene well aduisde Thou mightst haue manag'd armes sucsesfully. But from our Cradles we were marked all And destinate to dye in Affric heere. Stukley, the story of thy life is tolde, Here breath thy last and bid thy freindes farwell. And if thy Countries kindnes be so much, Then let thy Countrie kindely ring thy knell. Now goe, and in that bed of honour dye Where braue Sebastians breathles Course doth lye. Heere endeth Fortune, rule, and bitter rage: Heere ends Tom Stukleys pilgrimage. Retreat is sounded through our Camp, & now From battells furie cease our conquering Moores, Paie thankes to heauen with sacrificing fire, Alcazar and ye townes of Barbarie. Now hast thou sit as in a trance and seene, To thy soules ioy and honor of thy house, The trophes and the triumphs of thy men, Great Abdilmelec and the God of kings, Hath made thy warre succesfull by thy right, His friends whom death and fates hath tane from thee, Lo this was he that was the peoples pride, And cheerfull Sun-shine to his subiects all, Now haue him hence, that roially he may Be buried and imbalmd, as is meete. Zareo, haue you thorough the campe proclaimd As earst we gaue in charge?