Even Albion, girt with less malignant skies, 530
Albion the poison of the Gods has drunk,
And felt the sting of monsters all her own.
Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent
Their ancient rage, at Bosworth’s purple field;
While, for which tyrant England should receive, 535
Her legions in incestuous murders mix’d,
And daily horrors; till the Fates were drunk
With kindred blood by kindred hands profus’d:
Another plague of more gygantic arm