Why, you miserable renegado! if you weren't a wounded man I'd serve you the same.

An officer and a gentleman! Why, you're a disgrace to your brave countrymen." "Whisht! whisht!" cried our prisoner contemptuously.
"Whisht! whisht! I'd like to whisht you with a Boer's sjambok," cried the Sergeant.

"Here he finds you wounded and where you'd have lain and died, and the carrion-birds would have come to the carrion; and when the brave lad's helped you, given you water, bound up your wound, and put you on his own beast, like that man did in Scripture, you turn round in the nastiness of your nature and try to sting him.

Bah! I'd be ashamed of myself.

You're not Irish.