Nor yet the cruell murth’ring blade
Warme in the moistie bowells made
of people pell mell dieng
In some great Cittie put to sack
By sauage Tirant brought to wrack,
At his colde mercie lieng.
How abiect him, how base think I,
Who wanting courage can not dye
When need him therto calleth?
From whom the dagger drawne to kill