Where she so long stood target to your shafts,
She bade her furious knights to spare, and spake
Peace to the suppliant throng.”
“Sandys. Yet your fierce captains
Do ramp along the streets with bloody staves,
Hunting the white-faced citizens like rats;
Or at their own doors summarily hang them.”
“Underhill. Not fifty thus have died: a sorrowful sum
If measured by domestic pangs, yet small