To death, when captur'd, mocking their agonies.

BLAND.

Curse them! [_Checking himself._] Yet let not censure fall on Andre.
Oh, there are Englishmen as brave, as good,
As ever land on earth might call its own;
And gallant Andre is among the best!

GENERAL.

Since they have hurl'd war on us, we must shew
That by the laws of war we will abide;
And have the power to bring their acts for trial,
To that tribunal, eminent 'mongst men,
Erected by the policy of nations,
To stem the flood of ills, which else fell war
Would pour, uncheck'd, upon the sickening world,
Sweeping away all trace of civil life.

BLAND.

To pardon him would not encourage ill.
His case is singular: his station high;
His qualities admired; his virtues lov'd.

GENERAL.

No more, my good young friend: it is in vain.
The men entrusted with thy country's rights
Have weigh'd, attentive, every circumstance.
An individual's virtue is, by them,
As highly prized as it can be by thee.
I know the virtues of this man, and love them.
But the destiny of millions, millions
Yet unborn, depends upon the rigour
Of this moment. The haughty Briton laughs
To scorn our armies and our councils. Mercy,
Humanity, call loudly, that we make
Our now despised power be felt, vindictive.
Millions demand the death of this young man.
My injur'd country, he his forfeit life
Must yield, to shield thy lacerated breast
From torture. [_To BLAND._] Thy merits are not overlook'd.
Promotion shall immediately attend thee.

BLAND [_with contemptuous irony_].

Pardon me, sir, I never shall deserve it.
[_With increasing heat._] The country that forgets to reverence virtue;
That makes no difference 'twixt the sordid wretch,
Who, for reward, risks treason's penalty,
And him unfortunate, whose duteous service
Is, by mere accident, so chang'd in form,
As to assume guilt's semblance, I serve not:
Scorn to serve. I have a soldier's honour,
But 't is in union with a freeman's judgment,
And when I act, both prompt. Thus from my helm
I tear, what once I proudly thought, the badge
Of virtuous fellowship. [_Tears the cockade from his helmet._]
My sword I keep. [_Puts on his helmet._]
Would, Andre, thou hadst never put thine off!
Then hadst thou through opposers' hearts made way
To liberty, or bravely pierc'd thine own! [_Exit._

GENERAL.

Rash, headstrong, maddening boy!
Had not this action past without a witness,
Duty would ask that