Straw. Now for revenge! Full long we’ve fed on wrong:
Give us revenge!
Aylmere. For you and for myself!
England from all her hills, cries out for vengeance!
The serf, who tills her soil, but tastes not of
Her fruit, the slave that in her dungeon groans,
The yeoman plundered, and the maiden wronged,
Echo the call in shrieks! The angry waves
Report the sound in thunder; and the heavens,
From their blue vaults, roll back a people’s cry