Lamentations 2: 11–12 ‘Mine eyes do faile with tears: my bowells are troubled: my liver is powred upon the earth, for the destruction of the daughter of my people, because the children and the sucklings swoon in the streets of the City.

They say to their mothers, where is corne and wine? when they swooned as the wounded in the streets of the City, when their soule was poured out into their mothers bosome.’

Gentlemen,

We are all of one nation and people; it is the sword only that differs. But how just a title that is over us, your own private thoughts surely are our determiners, however your actions import. For it is not imaginable – except amongst bears, wolves, and lions – that brethren of one cause, one nation and family, can without remorse and secret check of conscience impose such iron yokes of cruelty and oppression upon their fellows as by the awe and force of your sword rampant is imposed upon the people of this nation. You see it. We are at best but your hewers of wood and drawers of water. Our very persons, our lives and properties are all over-awed to the supportation only of the raging, lawless sword, drenched in the precious blood of the people.