My long-held forfeit for foul injuries,
Who dared to fling on me, when I was weak,
The childish insults of a childish mind.”
That night he was within the British lines;
But his dear gold was gone; for at the gate
His waggon-bullocks and their driver slain,
And half his guard cut off, he had but saved
His life alone, and some few jewels, stored
Upon his person: once more, all his toil,
His guilt, was foiled; he was a beggar still.