The rigours which my conquerors relent,
Their avarice with cruelties beset:
The crime was of the age, and not of Spain.
But when can I forget the evils sore
Which I must miserably yet sustain?
Among them one, come, see what I deplore,
If horror will not you deter. From you,
Your fatal ships first launch’d, the mortal pest,
The poison that now desolates me flew.
As in doom’d plains by ruthless foes oppress’d,