To know, in fruitless brawl begun
For me, that mother wails her son;
For me, that widow’s mate expires;
For me, that orphans weep their sires;
That patriots mourn insulted laws,
And curse the Douglas for the cause.
Oh, let your patience ward[318] such ill,
And keep your right to love me still!”
XXIX.
The crowd’s wild fury sunk again