And as for me--no matter Who sold them, gave them to me, loaned them to me. Behold the good right hand, behold the skull Of _Thomas Paine_, theo-philanthropist, Of Quaker parents, born in England! Look, That is the hand that wrote the Crisis, wrote The Age of Reason, Common Sense, and rallied Americans against the mother country, With just that English gift of pamphleteering. You see I'd have to bring George Washington, And James Monroe and Thomas Jefferson Upon the stage, and put into their mouths The eulogies they spoke on Thomas Paine, To get before the audience that they thought He did as much as any man to win Your independence; that your Declaration Was founded on his writings, even inspired A clause against your negro slavery--how-- Look at this hand!--he was the first to write _United States of America_--there's the hand That was the first to write those words. Good Lord This drama would out-last a Chinese drama If I put all the story in. But tell me What to omit, and what to stress? And still I'd have the greatest drama in the world If I could prove he was dishonored, hunted, Neglected, libeled, buried like a beast, His bones dug up, thrown in and out of Chancery. And show these horrors overtook Tom Paine Because he was too great, and by this showing Instruct the world to honor its torch bearers For time to come. No? Well, that can't be done-- I know that; but it puzzles me to think That Hamilton--we'll say, is so revered, So lauded, toasted, all his papers studied On tariffs and on banks, evoking ahs! Great genius! and so forth--and there's the Crisis And Common Sense which only little Shelleys Haunting the dusty book shops read at all. It wasn't that he liked his rum and drank Too much at times, or chased a pretty skirt-- For Hamilton did that. Paine never mixed In money matters to another's wrong For his sake or a system's. Yes, I know The world cares more for chastity and temperance Than for a faultless life in money matters. No use to dramatize that vital contrast, The world to-day is what it always was. But you don't call this Hamilton an artist And Paine a mere logician and a wrangler? Your artist soul gets limed in this mad world As much as any. There is Leonardo-- The point's not here.