That shall I do. When doubtful, I consult
My country's friends; never her enemies.
In André's case there are no doubts; 't is clear:
Sir Henry Clinton knows it.
British Officer. Weigh consequences.
General. In strict regard to consequence I act;
And much should doubt to call that action right,
Howe'er specious, whose apparent end
Was misery to man. That brave officer
Whose death you threaten, for himself drew not
His sword—his country's wrongs arous'd his mind;
Her good alone his aim; and if his fall
Can further fire that country to resistance,
He will, with smiles, yield up his glorious life,
And count his death a gain; and tho' Columbians
Will lament his fall, they will lament in blood.
(General walks up the stage.)
M'Donald. Hear this, hear this, mankind!
British Officer. Thus am I answered?
(Enter a Sergeant with a letter.)
Sergeant. Express from Colonel Bland.
General. With your permission.
British Officer. Your pleasure, sir. It may my mission further.
M'Donald. O Bland, my countryman, surely I know thee!
General. 'T is short; I will put form aside, and read it.
(Reads.) "Excuse me, my Commander, for having a moment doubted your virtue; but you love me. If you waver, let this confirm you. My wife and children,to you and my country. Do your duty." Report this to your General.
British Officer. I shall, sir.
General. O Bland, my countryman!
M'Donald. Triumph of virtue!
Like him and thee, still be Americans.
Then, tho' all-powerful Europe league against us,
And pour in arms her legions on our shores;
Who is so dull would doubt their shameful flight?
Who doubt our safety, and our glorious triumph?
Scene, the Prison.
(Enter Bland.)
Bland. Lingering, I come to crush the bud of hope
My breath has, flattering, to existence warmed.
Hard is the task to friendship! hard to say
To the lov'd object, there remains no hope,
No consolation for thee; thou must die
The worst of deaths, no circumstance abated.
André. Is there that state on earth which friendship cannot cheer?
Bland. Little I bring to cheer thee, André.
André. I understand. 'T is well. 'T will soon be past.
Yet, 't was not much I asked. A soldier's death,
A trifling change of form.
Bland. Of that I spoke not.
By vehemence of passion hurried on,
I pleaded for thy precious life alone;
The which denied, my indignation barr'd
All further parley. But strong solicitation
Now is urg'd to gain the wish'd-for favor.
André. What is 't o'clock?
Bland. 'T is past the stroke of nine.
André. Why, then, 't is almost o'er. But to be hung—
Is there no way to escape that infamy?
What then is infamy?—no matter—no matter.
Bland. Our General hath received another flag.
André. Soliciting for me?
Bland. On thy behalf.
André. I have been ever favor'd.
Bland. Threat'nings, now;
No more solicitations. Harsh, indeed,
The import of the message; harsh, indeed.
André. I am sorry for it. Would that I were dead,
