_Mrs. G_. Words! Look there. That mother warned me yesterday. "_Words,
words! My own child's blood_,"--I _see_ it now.
(_A group of Soldiers enter_.)
_A. Soldier_. (_Whispering_.) Who would have thought to see tears on
_his_ face; look you, Jack Richards.
_Another Sol_. 'Twas his sister, hush!--
_Arnold_. Ay, ay, come hither. Look you there! Lay down your arms. Seek
the royal mercy;--here it is. Your wives, your sisters, and your
innocent children;--let them seek the royal shelter;--it is a safe one.
See.
_3d Sol_. It was just so in Jersey last winter;--made no difference
which side you were.
_Arnold_. Ask no reasons.--'Twas in sport may be. 'Tis but one, in many
such. Shameless tyranny we have borne long, and now, for resistance, to
red butchery we are given over. The sport of lawless soldiers, and
savages more cruel than the fiends in hell, are we, and the gentle
beings of our homes;--but, 'tis the Royal power. Lay down your arms.
_Soldiers_. (_Shouting_.) _No_.
_Arnold_. Nay, nay,--in its caprice some will be safe,--it may not light
on you. See, here's the proclamation.
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