BROTHER

Scarecrow? thy brother, His blood clear as thine own, but that it smokes not, With perfumed fierce as thine does. Vengeance From the just thunderer to throw Lucifer down; How high so ever thou rearest thy Babell-browes, To thy confusion I this language speak: I am thy father's son. The awed Venetian on St. Marks proud-day, Never went forth to marry the rich-sea, With casting in her lap a ring of gold; In greater bravery then my self did freight, A fleet of gallant youthful Florentines, All vowed to rescue Rhodes, from Turkish-slavery: We went and waded up in our own bloods, Till most of us were drowned. Where such a Peacock durst not spread his plumes; We fought and those that fell left Monuments Of unmatched valour to the whole raze of man, They that were taken, (amongst whom my self was chief) Were three years chained up to the tugging over, See here the relicts of that misery, Chains, If thou wu'd'st know more, read it on my back, Printed with the Bulls-peezele. It's thy brother tells thee so, note me. The first unhappy breath I drew, moved here, And here I'll spend my last, ever braved from hence, Here I'll have meat and clothes. I am starved, Thirsty, and pinde to Bare bones, here; I'll eat at thine Own scornful board, on thine own meat, or tear it from Thy throat as it's chewing down. Now view my face, and though perhaps you shamed To own so poor a brother, let not my heartstrings, In sunder crack, if we now being lone, You still disdain me. Slave, thou shalt know me then; I'll beat thy brains out with my Galley-chain. Pride does it self confound, What with both hands the Devil strove to have bound, Heaven with one little finger hath untied, This proves that thou mayest fallen, because one blast Shakes thee already, fear not, I'll not take The whip out of your hand and though thou breakest Laws of humanity, and brotherhood; I'll not do so, but as a beggar should (Not as a brother) knock I at the gate Of thy hard heart for pity to come forth, And look upon my wretchedness, A shot Toore to the keel that galley where I rowed; Sunk her, the men slain, I by dyving escaped, And sat three leagues upon a broken-mast, Washed with the salt tears of the Sea, which wept, In pity, to behold my misery. And when heavens blest-hand hal'de me to a shore To dry my wet-limbes, was I forced to fire, A dead-mans straw-bed thrown into the street. O remember this! He that does good deeds, here waits at a Table, Where Angels are his fellow servitors. Thou art turned devil, This then which I'll carve up On thy base bosom, see thou Tryviall fool, Thou art a Tyrant (over me) of short reign, This cock out crow's thee, and thy petty kings, Th'art a proud-bird, but fliest with rotten wings; To show how little for thy scorn I care, See my revenge turn's all to idle-aire, It upward flies and will from thence I fear Shoot darts of lightning to confound thee here. Farewell thou huge Leviathan, when th'ast drunk dry, That Sea thou rowl'st in, on some base shore die. Your pity on a wretch late wracked at sea, Beaten a shore by penury, 3 years a Turkish Galleyslave. Such Sir, As I dare write my self a gentlema, In Florence stood my cradle, my house great, In money, not in mercy; I am poor, And dare not with the beggar pass their door. Who dares? Take from that sumpter-horses back of thine, Some of those gaudy trappings to cloth mine, And keep it from the keen air, fetch me food, You fawning spaniels A sorry man, a very sorry man. Come home and take thine Arms.