And better ’twould be by far to grab
Those who settle disputes by a mortal stab:
By Heaven, ’tis sufficient to make us blush
For those who are seeking fair play to crush,
To extinguish courage, and skill, and game,
And in letters of blood stamp England’s shame.
Keen is the morning, the glittering snow
Mantles the hills and the vales below,
The landscape around is bleak and bare,
Chill’d by the nipping and frosty air;