A tory relative, for safety quartered in
The British camp, would prove his truckling loyalty
With kinsman’s blood, a word—a look—
A motion of the head, and he who’d dared
So much in freedom’s name was free no more.
Before Lord Howe the captive youth
Was led. “Base dog!” the haughty general said,
“Ignoble son of loyal sires! you’ve played the spy
Quite well I ween. The cunning skill wherewith
You wrought these plans and charts might well adorn