The Lamentable Cries of at least 1,500 Christians (now Prisoners in Argiers under the Turkes)

Not many moones have from their silver bowes
Shot light through all the world, since those sworne foes
To God and all good men . . . that hell-borne crew
Of pirates (to whome there's no villanies new),
Those halfe-Turkes and halfe Christians, who now ride
Like sea-gods (on rough billows in their pride),
Those renegadoes, who (their Christ denying)
Are worse than Turkes, Turkes them in heart defying;
These, these are they, that have from Christians torne,
Of ships, sixescore but one, and the men borne
(To th' number of a thousand) to th' Turkes shore,
All they being slaves now tugging at the oare.
Count from what time the worthy Mansfield came
From that divels den (Argiers). . . . Just since that flame
Of warre went out at sea, in that short space
From thence till now these thieves have held in chase
All ships which pass'd the Straights of Gibraltar,
To rob or sinke them ; were they men of warre,
Merchants, or others ; and when worst they thrive
And nothing get, yet get they men alive.
O wretched state of Christian soules so taken !
To looke upon whose torments would awaken
Tyrants, to thrust their armes up, through their graves,
To gard from blowes these Christian galley-slaves.
They that could safely stand but on the shoare
To view a sea-fight, heare the cannons roare,
See Turkes boord English ships, whilest Englishmen
Like lyons fight, and fling them o're. . . . But when
Numbers of big-boan'd runnagates so swarme,
That not one man of ours dare lift an arme
At a Turkes head, the ship with blood imbrude,
And over-mastered with damn'd multitude,
Should any stand so, and get off unwounded,
They would, to see this, bee with griefe confounded:
But on these following lines fasten your eyes,
Your selves may draw foorth all their miseries.
Being boorded so, and rob'd, then are they tide
On chaines, and drag'd t' Argiers, to feede the pride
Of a Mahumetan dog (eight in a row)
(Each eighth man to the Argier king must goe),
And th' eighth part of what's tane is still his prize;
What men he leaves are any-ones who buyes
And bids most for them, for they then are led
To market, and like beasts sold by the head,
Their masters having liberty by law
To strike, kick, starve them, yet to make them draw
In yoakes, like oxen, and if dead they beate them,
Out are they throwne for beasts and ravens to eate them
He that's condemn'd to th' oare hath first his face,
Eyebrowes, and head close shaven (for more disgrace
Cannot betide a Christian). Then, 'being stript
To th' girdle (as when roagues are to be whipt),
Chain'd are they to the seates where they sit rowing,
Five in a row together; a Turke going
On a large plancke between them, and though their eyes
Are ready to start out with pulling, he cryes
'Worke, 'Yorke, you Christian curres,' and though none needs
One blow for loytering, yet his bare back bleeds,
And riseth up in bunches, which the Turke
With a bulls-pizzle gives him, crying still, 'Worke,
Worke, dog,' whilest some so faint, at th' oare th[e]y dye,
Being cast (like dogs) over-boord presently.
Their slavery done at Sea, then are they laid
In dungeons, worse than jayles, poorely arraid, .
Fed with course horse-bread, water for their drinke,
And such sometimes puddles cannot worser stinke.
Then if upon a Turkish roague they frowne,
Or give him a crosse word, held are they downe
Oth' ground upon their backs, whilst on the rim
Of their bare bellies they are forc'd from him
To beare four hundred blowes: their soles oth' feet
And shinnes like payment now and then doe meet.
Why are the Turkes thus cruell, but to draw
Christians from Christ to their Mahumetan law?
You, who at home in golden pleasures dance,
Wasting both noones and nights in dalliance, o when these groanes of Christians pierce [y]our eares

To free them, give your charity, and your teares,
Whilst you that are our Christian Princes stil'd
(All jarres amongst your selves being reconcil'd)
Into the field with one knit army come,
To kill this lyon that thus teares Christendome.