Hud. It ends to-day. [Looks at watch]
'Tis just the hour.
Now Vardas is proclaimed the president
Of a liberated people.
Cha. What of that?
Hud. He's bowing now. "I thank you, gracious friends,
Most loyal citizens——"
Cha. What's that to do
With freedom's war?
Hud. It merely ends it.
Cha. What?
You think we fought for that? A change of caps
Upon two brigands' heads?
Hud. Tut, you've won more.
You with some justice warred on Cordiaz,
But Vardas is of heart so liberal
His people shall be rich in privileges
As many and as fair as in Assaria.
Myself will vouch it.
Cha. I will vouch it too.
As many pits fed with the souls of men,
As many images of God deformed
In lawless fray to hold the peaks of greed
And at the top sit on their goblin gold
Content with bestial purr, who might have touched
The heavens with song.
Hud. Is that for me, my boy?
Cha. As many lives tramped out in hunger's scramble,
As many factories where driven wives
Forget the altar dream of babes and home.
As many sweating traps where flames may feed
On flesh of maidens, leaving still, charred bones
Whose only fortune is to ache no more.
As many brazen mills that noise their thrift
Above the ceaseless shuttle of small feet,
While you, the great arch-master, think none hears
That drownèd pattering. As many marts
Where, in law's shadow, girl-eyed slaves are sold
To blows and lust. As many cripples thrown
Upon the dump-heap of a soulless Peace,
Each season piled to moaning wreck more high
Than ever War made in its darkest year.
As many holes where life must lie with death
For privilege of sleep. Oh, I could give
Black instances till yonder sun be set
Nor end your loathsome list!