_Lucinda._ But could not some person be deputized for this purpose whose life is not of such value to Britain as yours? You are a proud soul to Sir Henry Clinton. He enterprises nothing without first having your advice and direction. If you should be intercepted in your way by the Americans, would it not endanger your life, my dear Andre, to be found without some mission or any plausible excuse for being within an enemy's lines? _Maj. Andre._ You are too timorous, Lucinda. I shall go and come by water in an armed ship. I may perhaps just venture on shore in a ----[34] of time, but shall take care not to expose myself to any danger. I well know how far to venture, but if the worst come to the worst, I can tell them I have deserted from the British. Then I shall be caressed among them till such times as I can find an opportunity to escape and join my countrymen. _Lucinda._ You venture all this, you say, at the request of Sir Henry? _Maj. Andre._ Yes; but chiefly to serve my country. Had I a thousand lives, I would lay them all down for Britain and my king. But I must go. You deject my spirits, my girl. A woman is destructive to the spirit of enterprise in a man. Poh! I am growing melancholy too. You must cheer my drooping soul, Lucinda. I heard you humming a little song the other day. Do let's have it. I think it begins thus: "My native shades delight no more." _Lucinda._ Although I am in no humour for music, you shall hear it, my love. I suppose it was made by some British officer on his setting out for America, who was as great an idolater to his king and country as most English gentlemen. [_Sings_ My native shades delight no more,[35] I haste to meet the ocean's roar, I seek a wild inclement shore Beyond the Atlantic main: 'Tis virtue calls!--I must away!-- Nor care nor pleasure tempts my stay, Nor all that love himself can say, A moment shall detain. To meet those hosts who dare disown Allegiance to Britannia's throne, I draw the sword that pities none, I draw their rebel blood; Amazement shall their troops confound, When hackt and prostrate on the ground; My blade shall drink from every wound A life-restoring flood! The swarthy Indian, yet unbroke, Shall bind his neck to Britain's yoke, Or flee from her avenging stroke To deserts all unknown; The southern isles shall own her sway, Peru and Mexico obey, And those who yet to Satan pray Beyond the southern zone. For George the Third I dare to fall, Since he to me is all in all; May he subdue this earthly ball And nations tribute bring. Yon western states shall wear his chain, Where traitors now with tyrants reign, And subject shall be all the main To George, our potent king.