JOHN

Glad of so fair a sister, I salute you. Oh ruthful spectacle. What Papers this, the sad contents does tell me, My Brother writ, he hath broke his faith to her, And she replies, for him she hath killed her self. Oh Brother, you are come to make your eye Sad mourner at a fatal Tragedy. Peruse this Letter first, and then this Corpse. Beside, we have brought our sister to this Town, That she her self having her own from him, Might bring her self in Court to be preferred, Under some Noble personage, or else that he Whose friends are great in Court, by his late match, As he is in nature bound, provide for her. Yet let us doot in mild and gentle terms, Fair words perhaps may sooner draw our own, Then ruffer courses by which his mischief grown. How long hath he continued here since he came hither. With us our sister joins in our request, Whom we have brought along with us to London, To have her portion, wherewith to provide, And honoured service, or and honest bride. We come compelled by want to crave our own. We do but crave our own. Which here you spend. Ways worse then ill. Oh, to my grief I speak it, you shall find, Theres no more difference in a Tavern-haunter Then is between a Spittle and a Beggar. And he the worthy Traffic that does sink. Livest Like a Dog, by vomit, Excuse him not, he is more degenerate, Then greedy Vipers that devour their mother, They eat on her but to preserve themselves, And he consumes himself, and Beggars us. A Tavern is his Inn, where amongst Slaves, He kills his substance, making pots the graves To bury that which our forefathers gave. I asked him for our portions, told him that you Were brought to London, and we were in want, Humbly we craved our own, when his Reply Was, he knew none we had, beg, starve, or worser e. But he that is given over unto sin, Leprosed therewith without, and so within, Oh Butler, we were issue to one father? Whose Hope's were better then the sun he left, Should set so soon, unto his houses shame. He lives in Taverns, spending of his wealth, And here his Brother's and distressed Sister, Not having any means to help us with. And not content to riot out his own, But he detains our portions: suffers us In this strange Air, open to every wrack, While he in riot swims to be in lack. She is left rich in Money, Plate, and Jewels. I take her state to be about a thousand pound a year, She is virtuous, and she is fair. Come, weel go visit her, but with this care, That to no spendthrift we do marry her. Stay let not your wraths meet. Say who are you, or you, are you not one, That scarce can make a fit distinction Betwixt each other. Are you not Brother's? Who stirs, which of you both hath strength within his arm To wound his own breast, whose so desperate, To dam himself by killing of himself, Are you not both one flesh? I yield to that, but near consent to this, I shall then die as mine own, sin affords, Fallen by the law, not by my Brother's swords. Prithee do. Thus have I shown the nature of a Brother, Though you have proved unnatural to me. He's gone in heat to publish out the theft, Which want and your unkindness forest us to, If now I die that death and public shame, Is a Corrosive to your soul, blot to your name. From Oxford am I drawn, from serious studies Expecting that my brother still had soiournd With you his best of choice, and this good Knight. Oh good old man, made wretched by this deed, The more thy age, were to be pitied. Brother, you see the extremity of want Enforceth us to question for our own, The rather that we see, not Like a Brother Our Brother keeps from us to spend on other. Indebt to no man, then must our natural care be, As she is wealthy to see her married well. Oh but Brother. I'll follow and prevent, what in this heat may happen, His want makes sharp his sword, to greats the ill, If that one brother should another kill. Oh do, for Gods sake do? 'Tis happy death, if I may die and you Not murder one another. Oh do but harken, When dus the Sun and Moon born in one frame Contend, but they breed Earthquakes in men's hearts: When any star prodigiously appears, Tells it not fallen of kings or fatal years. And then if Brother's fight, what may men think, Sin grows so high, 'tis time the world should sink. I must not go without you. And that way sorrows hurtfuller then this, My Brother having brought unto a graven, That murdered body whom he called his wife, And spent so many tears upon her Hearse, As would have made a Tyrant to relent, Then kneeling at her Coffin, thus he vowed, From thence he never would embrace your bed. Never from hence acknowledge you his wife, When others strive to enrich their father's name, It should be his only aim, to beggar his, To spend their means, and in his only pride, Which with a sighs confirmed, he's rid to London, Vowing a course, that by his life so foul Men never should join the hands, without the soul. Weel bring you on your way in hope thats strong Time may at length make strait. what yet is wrong. This fool speaks wiser then he is aware, young heirs left in this town where sins so rank, And prodigals gape to grow fat by them, Are Like young whelps thrown in the Lyons den, Who play with them awhile, at length devour them. Not yet good Butler, only my brother Thomas In spleen to me that would not suffer him To kill our elder brother, had undone us Is riding now to sir John Harcop straight, to disclose it. Now taking horse to ride to Yorkshire. Time ill consumed to ruinate our house, But what are they that keep him company? Yes. Your Brother's, who are glad to see you well. 'Tis not your riot, that we hear you use, (With such as wast their goods, as Time the world With a continual spending, nor that you keep The company of a most Leprous rout, Consumes your bodies wealth, infects your name With such Plague-sores, that had you reasons eye, Twould make you sick, to see you visit them) Hath drawn us, but our wants to crave the Due Our father gave, and yet remains with you. In any thing good honest Butler. Honest Butler. What shall I term this creature not a man. He's not of mortals temper but he's one, Made all of goodness, though of flesh and bone, Oh Brother, brother, but for that honest man, As near to misery had been our breath, As where the thundering pellet strikes is death. Well tell of him, Like bells whose music rings One Coronation day for joy of Kings, That hath preserved their steeples not Like towles, That summons living tears for the dead souls, Oh Butler. Help strait, or on the tree of shame We both shall perish for the robbery.