His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,-- (464)
Rude ram, to batter such an ivory wall!-- (465)
May feel her heart--poor citizen!--distress'd, (466)
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall, (467)
Beating her bulk, that his hand shakes withal.
This moves in him more rage and lesser pity, (469)
To make the breach and enter this sweet city.