ling-blocks, cannot be virtue.

BLAND.

Detested sophistry!--'T was Andre sav'd me!

M'DONALD.

He sav'd thy life, and thou art grateful for it.
How self intrudes, delusive, on man's thoughts!
He sav'd thy life, yet strove to damn thy country;
Doom'd millions to the haughty Briton's yoke;
The best, and foremost in the cause of virtue,
To death, by sword, by prison, or the halter:
His sacrifice now stands the only bar
Between the wanton cruelties of war,
And our much-suffering soldiers: yet, when weigh'd
With gratitude, for that he sav'd _thy_ life,
These things prove gossamer, and balance air:--
Perversion monstrous of man's moral sense!

BLAND.

Rather perversion monstrous of all good,
Is thy accurs'd, detestable opinion.
Cold-blooded reasoners, such as thee, would blast
All warm affection; asunder sever
Every social tie of humanized man.
Curst be thy sophisms! cunningly contriv'd
The callous coldness of thy heart to cover,
And screen thee from the brave man's detestation.

M'DONALD.

Boy, boy!

BLAND.

Thou knowest that Andre's not a spy.

M'DONALD.

I know him one. Thou hast acknowledg'd it.

BLAND.

Thou liest!

M'DONALD.

Shame on thy ruffian tongue! how passion
Mars thee! I pity thee! Thou canst not harm,
By words intemperate, a virtuous man.
I pity thee! for passion sometimes sways
My older frame, through former uncheck'd habit:
But when I see the havoc which it makes
In others, I can shun the snare accurst,
And nothing feel but pity.

BLAND [_indignantly_].

Pity me! [_Approaches him, and speaks in an under voice._
Thou canst be cool, yet, trust me, _passion_ sways thee.
_Fear_ does not _warm_ the blood, yet 't is a _passion_.
Hast thou no feeling? I have call'd thee liar!

M'DONALD.

If thou could'st make me one, I then might grieve.

BLAND.

Thy coolness goes to freezing: thou'rt a coward.

M'DONALD.

Thou knowest thou tell'st a falsehood.

BLAND.

Thou shalt know
None with impunity speaks thus of me.
That to rouse thy courage. [_Touches him gently, with his open hand,
in crossing him. M'DONALD looks at him unmoved._]
Dost thou not yet feel?

M'DONALD.

For _thee_ I feel. And tho' another's acts
Cast no dishonour on the worthy man,
I still feel for thy father. Yet, remember,
I may not, haply, ever be thus guarded;
I may not always the distinction make.
However just, between the blow intended
To p