_Arnold_. They must pet me then, To show that loyal treason reaps reward. 'Twas policy, not liking for my face, That made King George so sweet. What in this world of savage Englishmen, Strange monsters that they are, have you and I Found of a country? Friends, good hearts and true; But alien as the mountains of the moon, More unrelated than the Polander, Are Englishmen to us. They are a race, A selfish, brawling family of hounds, Holding a secret contract on each fang, 'For us,' 'for us,' 'for us.' They'll fawn about; But when the prey's divided;--Keep away! I have some beef about me and bear up Against an insolence as basely set As mine own infamy; yet I have been Edged to the outer cliff. I have been weak, And played too much the lackey. What am I In this waste, empty, cruel, land of England, Save an old castaway,--a buccaneer,-- The hull of derelict Ambition,-- Without a mast or spar, the rudder gone, A danger to mankind! [_He sits down upon the couch._ Mrs. Arnold _throws herself on his knees and sobs convulsively._] _Both Choruses_. Who shall praise a woman, save He that made her, save God that understandeth all things? I will sing a song of woman, and magnify the wife of a man's soul. His goodness she has discerned when no man else can find it: his crimes are known to her, yet is he not in them: she seeketh his soul among many. She divineth salvation out of hell; and bringeth water from the desert. Who shall praise a woman save He that made her; save God who understandeth all things? _Father Hudson_. Sorrow is erecting a tomb for this man in my heart. Whence comes the peculiar pang, my children? Whence comes this pity that will not be denied, but bedews your faces? _Leader of Men_. From the greatness of the man, comes it Father; and from his ignorance of himself. _Father Hudson_. Is it true that he was a hero? _Leader of Men_. Such a hero as antiquity can show, towering, magnificent, made of cloud and thunder, made of lightning and glory, a god among fighting men, a Hector or Mars appearing from the bosom of the sky on the day of battle, bringing victory. No one had seen his like before; nor since him has one like him come. To his country he gave the column of his strength. In her need he sustained her. He planted her high. His name became bulwark: many times gave he his strength. Yea, his life also grudged he not. _Father Hudson_. Would he had died in his glory, would he had been struck down and died long ago! So had he been spared this humiliation. On my shores he belongs: the memory of his infamy and of his fame covers me: Saratoga knew him, and West Point acknowledges him. No tomb shall he have; yet shall the hills remember him. His glory is eaten up in shame; and yet shall mercy say her word. See, he begins again. What new anguish will he reveal?