Ramayana 4.169b

Go seek him sunk in bliss and sloth, Forgetful of his royal oath, And as mine envoy thus upbraid The monarch for his help delayed: "Vile is the wretch who will not pay The favour of an earlier day, Hope in the supplicant's breast awakes, And then his plighted promise breaks. Noblest, mid all of women born, Who keeps the words his lips have sworn, Yea, if those words be good or ill, Maintains his faith unbroken still. The thankless who forget to aid The friend who helped them when they prayed, Dishonoured in their death shall lie, And dogs shall pass their corpses by. Sure thou wouldst see my strained arm hold My bow of battle backed with gold, Wouldst gaze upon its awful form Like lightning flashing through the storm, And hear the clanging bowstring loud As thunder from a labouring cloud."