 | Washington |  |
Scene 1.
—The Quay at Boston; enter at opposite points Deacon Eldad, and Nathan, with others.Nathan.
Is he come back? who knoweth? and what tidings?
Eldad.
One question at a time, friend: shrewd Ben Franklin
Came by this packet,—and the Morning Star
They say had full seven weeks of it, for storms,
And calms, and contrary winds,—but as to news
Nothing known yetawhile: he holds his tongue,
That wise old proverb-monger, for he thinks
“Least said is soonest mended;” which I doubt,
For if one would expound,—
Nathan.
But touching England?
What message is brought back from our hard mother?
Who knoweth? guesseth aught?
10
Patience awhile:
To-day the Congress meets; we shall soon hear
How Franklin sped before the King in Council,
(enter Arnold)
And with what favour or what bitter speech
Old England greets her ancient colonies,—
Nathan.
Pray heaven she speak us fair,—
Arnold.
By heaven, she'd better!
Or from the fists of her own freeborn sons
She shall be taught that tyrants cannot rule them:
What? shall our mother,—call her step-mother,—
Tax us against our wills, strangle our trade,
Force on us reams of her extortionate stamps,
Shut up our chapels and our printing presses,
Make laws to bind us (no leave asked or given),
Set judges over us, but we to pay,
Deny us jury-trial, that old free right,
Quarter an army here at our own cost,
To keep us down in case we dared to rise,—
By heaven! but England shall deal thus no longer!
Nathan.
Stranger, our King is just, ay generous,
Can do no wrong, nor will it: and his rights,
Taxing, protecting, governing, and binding,
May not be touched—as of the Lord's Anointed.
11
A suffering people, not their somewhile tyrant,
Such be the Lord's anointed!
Eldad.
Yet we, friend,
Be subjects still, and must obey the laws,—
For look you—
Arnold.
Hold!—obey them, if we make them;
Not else: if made against our wills, or worse
Without our freeborn voices in contempt,
They are no laws to us; subjects, not slaves,
His Majesty's right loyal colonists
(Be it as you will)—yet independent, free,
Safe to give all due honour, homage, custom,
But scorning to be mulcted in our right,—
Nathan.
And wouldst thou have us rebels for such right?
If right it be for men to rule themselves.
Arnold.
Predestined slave! a man is not a man
Who suffers any rule that thwarts his will.
Those who let others govern as they please,
Without the votes of freemen freely given,
Are but the meanest cowards: none such here.
Eldad.
This smells like treason, sir, for—
12
Treason be it!
If George of England steals the rights of man,
George of America shall win them back.
Ay, let the King, if he must mutter thunders,
Beware lest our Ben Franklin draw down lightning,
And such a storm be raised shall split the globe,
Riving it that the two halves stand apart.
Nathan.
Forefend that evil day.
Arnold.
No! let it come!
Our millions must be free; it is high time;
Too long has England drained us well nigh dry,
Her milch-kine colonists, and worse than so,
Sucking our lifeblood with her vampyre lips,—
Then welcome Revolution!
Nathan.
That were ruin,
Spoiling all gainful commerce every way;
What though some liberties be bound, what if
The candles of some consciences are dimmed?
We still may light the lamps of industry
And earn by merchandize all man can want;
I'm not for war,—nor freedom, meaning war,
Nor any strife, nor patriotism,—
Arnold.
Shame!
Shame on your miserable peacemongering!
13
Than those dull office lamps of industry;
Torches to blaze and burn, quenched but by blood,
If any dare to touch our liberties,—
(enter Mary Arnold)
How now, my sister?
Mary Arnold.
Benedict, I ran
To tell you the sad news, that Major André
—So soon to be your brother and my husband,—
Has heard, and all too truly; peace and war
Hung in the balances,—and peace is down.
Arnold.
Then André is my foe,—and must be yours!—
A feathered gallant in the tyrant's camp
Can claim no brotherhood with me—or you—
From this day you renounce him!
Mary Arnold.
Never, never!
Benedict, you were always my fierce brother
Even from the day since we were both left orphans;
Yet was I plighted with your given good leave
To mine own loved John André, months agone,
And none shall part us now! for life, for death,
Mary and John are wedded as one spirit!
Arnold.
Tut, girl! you must forget him.
14
Benedict,
My brother, be more merciful; thou knowest
I cannot, dare not stand against thy will,—
I always feel its power wrestling me down,
Yet, leave my heart its treasure!
Arnold.
Silly child,
I too can rave—more sternly—never, never!
If Major André fights on England's side,
He bursts the bond between us. Go, forget him,—
You shall not leave my house. Obey my will.
(Some run in)
(exit Mary.)
Ho! Citizens: is it all blurted out?
Is the sword drawn, to strike for liberty?
Hurrah for the good news! Come, let us haste
On to this Congress, our new league the States
Headed by Washington, to hear what Franklin
Brings us from hostile England as our envoy.
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