University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Burr and Macpherson.
Macpherson.
What says my friend, to the heroic thought,
Of storming this fair capital to day?

Burr.
'Tis full of peril, but it gives me joy,
And, wakes the bosom, with ideas warm'd,
Of high invention, and bold thought in war.
First in the van, let me bespeak a place,
Close by the General, for he loves to lead,
His gallant troops, and not to send them on,
With, go my lads, and scale that lofty wall.
But come, brave soldiers, of fair worth approv'd,
And follow me, this bright illustrious day,
Through yielding dues, to triumph and to fame.
You say, this day, we shall attack Quebec?
O, I have long impatient, waited it;
And indignation, brac'd up every nerve,
When I have thought, of this fell British foe;
Who still insatiate, with full revenue,
Drawn from our commerce to their shores confin'd,
Must needs enslave us, and mark all their own.
Whether we land possess, or property,
Of freer nature; still at their command,
We must resign it, and content ourselves,
With some peculium, slave-like article,
Which these our matters, may vouchsafe to give.
Yes, as the culprit Gibeonite, the Jew,
Did serve ingloriously, so we
Must draw them water, and hew for them wood,
That these our task masters, may then forbear,
To cut our throats. O wond'rous lenity!
'Tis passing gracious of these generous men;
And better far than the Egyptian King,
Who sentenced the Israelites to toil,
And slew the children, on the mother's breast.
Not yet the Englishmen, have come to this.
Perhaps, let me indulge the thought, perhaps,
Not, till increasing numbers, give alarm,
Will they denounce, in proclamation dire,
Unpitying slaughter to the softest age.

Macpherson.
With equal hare, I scorn their purposes;
And on my mind, my father's parting words,
Make deep impression, for he knew them well.
My son, said he, take this, your father's sword,
For I have grasp'd, and often wielded it.
Yes, I have fought, in the severest war;
And in Britannia's very cause I sought,
Who now would stab me, and drink from my veins,
The poor remainder of the blood I spilt.
Come here my son, look on this wounded joint—
This injured joint—remainder of that arm,
Which I have lost for baneful Englishmen.
O Britain, Britain, I will hold this up,
To the wide world, as witness of the love,
Which once, I bore you, and did testify.
I say, my son, look on this injured joint—
And let the idea, to revenge, wake up,
The hottest passion of a warriors soul.
Where you shall meet an Englishman, tell this,
And in his ear, exclaim—ingratitude.
Exclaim—and with a filial piety,
Give, for your father, one life-severing blow,
Making his head start from his shoulders. God!
Will they devour me, who have fought for them?
Let not soft mercy, turn your weapon's edge.
Fight valiantly—in every charge be first:
Nor with the name of cowardice, disgrace
Your father's reputation. Go my son,
And Heav'n protect you in its cause and mine.
These words, sweet Burr, yet harrow up my soul,
And urge me forth, impetuous, to the field.
Come on, and with our General place ourselves,
We must attend him, where he leads to war.