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?

Arnold. [He has now recovered his composure.]
  Where are the boys? If death be soon to come
  I'd gladly see them. Is it not most strange
  That one possessing nothing to bequeath
  Of all those things men covet for their sons,
  Should have so many? For what rank or name,
  Honor or fatherland, or worldly goods,
  All that men sweat for,—have I here to leave?
  Country I've none. My land was over there
  Where my first honors sprouted. And my boys
  Are foreigners,—young Englishmen—brought up
  Upon King George's bounty. When he bought
  My loyalty he took my children, too.
  Ben, he is dead, my eldest,—he was killed
  In the West Indies, fighting for the King.
  Sir Grenville Temple brought me back his sword.
  (God bless him for it!) Send and fetch down Ben's sword.

[Mrs. Arnold rings. Enter servant. She speaks to servant in dumb-show. Exit servant.]

  Richard and Henry, your two foster sons,
  Settled in Canada on royal grants.
  And our four sons,—your Edward, Robert, George
  And little William,—are all pensioners,
  Assisted servants of the English crown.
  Where are they? I must see them. It is strange
  That I, remembering them, can yet not think
  Quite plainly where they are.

Mrs. Arnold. My dearest Lord
  There's fever in your cheek. The day's distress
  Has worked some downfall to your shattered brain,
  You're very sick.—

Arnold. The boys, I asked about—
  Are they away, or here?

Mrs. Arnold. The elder three
  At school and college, and our little Will
  Just home from school.

Arnold. I pray you let him come;
  My blessings on them all must fall through him;
  Nor will they wait: the passage of an hour
  May find me gone.—Stay; there is yet one son.

Mrs. Arnold. No, Benedict, you have described them all.

Arnold. Ay, but there is one, born in Canada,
  My natural son, whose mother is no more;
  And yet my son,—and brother to the rest,
  And ever at my cost I've brought him up.
  I cannot leave him out. He is of age
  And elder than your boys.

Mrs. Arnold. A son of yours—

Arnold. A natural son of mine, whose bringing up
  Is at my charge. I cannot cut him off.
  Though of my name I scanted him the curse,
  I ever sent him help.

[Gives her a paper.]

Mrs. Arnold. You have done right
  To count him in; and I accept him,
  And will provide a portion like the rest
  Though at my children's cost.

Arnold. Send William here:
  The time grows short.

[Enter servant bringing the sword which Mrs. Arnold takes and gives to Arnold.]

Mrs. Arnold. [To servant.] Send Master William here.

[Exit servant. Enter William Arnold, a boy of eight.]

Arnold. William, you are a soldier:—
  This old sword
  Was once your brother Ben's,—my eldest boy.
  He served his God, his Country, and his King,
  And found a soldier's death. It is a record
  We may be proud of in the family.
  You and your brothers, Edward, George, and Robert,
  Are dedicated soldiers to the King.
  England, to all of you, is generous
  To overflowing: See ye pay her back
  In overflowing measure with your lives.
  You are a soldier, Sir, and understand
  The duties of a soldier; when you grow
  A little older you will read, perhaps,
  Something about your father; for his name
  Is written on a page of history;
  You cannot miss it. When you find it there,
  Remember only all the soldier part;
  The soldier part he leaves you: all the rest
  Was something suffered, that was meant for him
  But not for you. There, go my boy; good-bye.
  You must to all your brothers tell this news,
  And say I blessed them. They will understand,
  Each in his measure, on the appointed day,
  My message to them. See you bear it safe.
  It is a charge of honor and becomes you.