The poem opens with a question, and it never really gets answered. Something has shaken the city, and the speaker wants to know who is to blame. What follows is less a list of suspects than a scatter of images: poor people in drab clothes, "the two queens," wine "in many places," and then the vaguer idea of "the great fear." Nothing connects these neatly, which makes the city feel confused and hard to read, as if the speaker is pointing at anything that might explain the damage.
The last two lines turn darker. "Fanatics shine at night" suggests people lit up by their own certainty, and the plain statement "We found a neighbor with no arm" lands with a jolt. After so much abstraction, here is something physical and human. The mood is uneasy and anxious, with a flat, shocked tone. The speaker doesn't seem angry so much as stunned, left with questions and a wounded neighbor.