To our modern usage words he—well, 't was friendly license—flung
At me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue.
"You—a soldier? You—at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nick
Instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick,
—At his mercy, at his malice,—has you, through some stupid inch
Undefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open,—not to flinch
—That needs courage, you 'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose the man.
Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span
Distant from my temple,—curse him!—quietly had bade me, 'There!
Keep your life, calumniator!—worthless life I freely spare: