le nature in the earth!

_Arnold_. Off! And the nearest way!

[Smith _changes_ Andre's _coat._]

Success is virtue; and we mean to win.

[_Exit_ Andre _and _Smith.]

[_Aside._] If we should fail, good youth, for history's eye,
They'd write us up,--the traitor and the spy.
Would God some power to telescope the hours
Were lent me now! With Andre in New York
I am revenged, rich, powerful, respected, everything
My enemies begrudge. It cannot fail.
O for a battle now to dry this sweat
Of simple waiting! Sure, he cannot miss!
My passes run the river up and down;
And every day some messenger of mine
Reaches New York; then why not he?
If they should take him? But they _will_ not take him.
All these long months of waiting,--
And not a soul to speak to; I could roar,--
Sound it against the mountains,--that these peaks
Should bandy my intentions back and forth;
Or tell it to the talking cataracts
To ease my need of speech. An hour's patience,
Which seems as long as the preceding year,
And I shall know. [_He sits down and
falls into a contemplation; then into a doze. As he falls asleep,
enter quietly_ Treason.]

_Arnold_. [_Speaking as if out of his sleep._]
Leave me alone. Thou thing of little might!
Thou painted bogey! I am conscience-proof,
And care no more what names I may be called.
If thou cans't make this hour glide more swift,
With idle chat of owls and haunted men,
I'll take thee for a gossip. Sit you there
And hide the hour-glass. There was a time
In early boyhood, when a thing like thee
Seemed horrible, but now my mouth is dry
With other terror. Thou art a cap and bells:
Play me a ditty on a tambourine.
[_Starting up._] Who goes there?
[_Rushes to_ Smith, _who enters._]
Tell me that he is safe!

Joshua Smith. Within the lines,--
Almost within the lines,--I left the youth.
He's safe in British hands; and by his time,
Is telling his adventures to Sir Henry.

_Arnold_. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Is it not a joke, Joshua?
Ha, ha, ha!
This is a joke that shall run crackling through
America, like Samson's burning foxes.
Ha, ha, ha!--Andre is in New York!
A spasm of joy; and yet it pains my leg.
Your hand, my friend. The laughter comes again--
Ha, ha, ha! Now let them vote! Brigadier Generals
May rain on this accursed land of pain
As fast as Congress spawns them! Now, ye rats!
Who shall