His sleeping vengeance on that ground was laid:
If so, for ever blurr'd with Envy's brand,
His honour gain'd by sea, was lost at land:
Nor could he an impending judgement shun,
Who did to this with so much fervour run,
When late himself, to quit that bloody stain,
250Was, 'midst his armed guards, from Pomfret slain.
But all in vain we here expostulate
What took them hence, private or public hate:
Knowledge of acted woes small comforts add,