Chapter 18

“As hungry wolves, with raging appetite, Scour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night; Their whelps at home expect the promis’d food, And long to temper their dry chaps in blood: So rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die, Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try. We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare Th’ unequal combat in the public square: Night was our friend; our leader was despair. What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night? What …