But now, oh wretched, wretched place!
Thy Streets and Palaces are spread
With heaps of Carcasses, and Mountains of the Dead,
The bleeding Relicks of the  Race:
Each corner of the Town, no vacant space,
But is with breathless Bodies fill'd;
Some by the Sword, and some by Famine kill'd.
Natives and Strangers are together laid,
Death's Arrows all at random flew
Amongst the Crowd, and no distinction made
But both the Coward and the Valiant slew.
All in one dismal Ruin joyn'd,
(For Swords and Pestilence are blind;)
The fair, the good, the brave, no Mercy find;
Those that from far, with joyful haste,
Came to attend thy Festival,
Of the same bitter Potion taste,
And by the black destructive Poison fall,
For the avenging Sentence pass'd on all.
Oh! see how the delight of human Eyes
In horrid Desolation lies!
See how the burning Ruins flame,
Nothing now left, but a sad empty Name;
And the triumphant Victor cries,
This was the fam'd !