Ah, but it were a goodly boast—
A stranger murdered by his host!
Yet think not, dastards, England slow
To recompense so foul a blow,
If payment meet could deal the sword
To miscreants honoured by the cord.
Where to the skies their summits push
The giant Alps of Hindu Kush;
Where Cabul’s river hastes to hide
His shame beneath a mightier tide;