He's gone to sound their Minds to Peace and War,And learn who'll join the Hazards in his Cause.The Fox, the Bear, the Eagle, Otter, Wolf,And other valiant Princes of the Empire,Have late resorted hither for some EndOf common Import. Time will soon revealTheir secret Counsels and their fix'd Decrees.Peace has its Charms for those who love their Ease,But active Souls like mine delight in Blood.
He's gone to sound their Minds to Peace and War,And learn who'll join the Hazards in his Cause.The Fox, the Bear, the Eagle, Otter, Wolf,And other valiant Princes of the Empire,Have late resorted hither for some EndOf common Import. Time will soon revealTheir secret Counsels and their fix'd Decrees.Peace has its Charms for those who love their Ease,But active Souls like mine delight in Blood.
Chekitan.
Should War be wag'd, what Discords may we fearAmong ourselves? The powerful Mohawk KingWill ne'er consent to fight against the English,Nay, more, will join them as firm Ally,And influence other Chiefs by his Example,To muster all their Strength against our Father.Fathers perhaps will fight against their Sons,And nearest Friends pursue each other's Lives;Blood, Murder, Death, and Horror will be rife,Where Peace and Love, and Friendship triumph now.
Should War be wag'd, what Discords may we fearAmong ourselves? The powerful Mohawk KingWill ne'er consent to fight against the English,Nay, more, will join them as firm Ally,And influence other Chiefs by his Example,To muster all their Strength against our Father.Fathers perhaps will fight against their Sons,And nearest Friends pursue each other's Lives;Blood, Murder, Death, and Horror will be rife,Where Peace and Love, and Friendship triumph now.
Philip.
Such stale Conjectures smell of Cowardice.Our Father's Temper shews us the reverse:All Danger he defies, and, once resolv'd,No Arguments will move him to relent,No Motives change his Purpose of Revenge,No Prayers prevail upon him to delayThe Execution of his fix'd Design:Like the starv'd Tyger in Pursuit of Prey,No Opposition will retard his Course;Like the wing'd Eagle that looks down on Clouds,All Hindrances are little in his Eye,And his great Mind knows not the Pain of Fear.
Such stale Conjectures smell of Cowardice.Our Father's Temper shews us the reverse:All Danger he defies, and, once resolv'd,No Arguments will move him to relent,No Motives change his Purpose of Revenge,No Prayers prevail upon him to delayThe Execution of his fix'd Design:Like the starv'd Tyger in Pursuit of Prey,No Opposition will retard his Course;Like the wing'd Eagle that looks down on Clouds,All Hindrances are little in his Eye,And his great Mind knows not the Pain of Fear.
Chekitan.
Such Hurricanes of Courage often leadTo Shame and Disappointment in the End,And tumble blindfold on their own Disgrace.True Valour's slow, deliberate, and cool,Considers well the End, the Way, the Means,And weighs each Circumstance attending them.Imaginary Dangers it detects,And guards itself against all real Evils.But here Tenesco comes with Speed important;His Looks and Face presage us something new.
Such Hurricanes of Courage often leadTo Shame and Disappointment in the End,And tumble blindfold on their own Disgrace.True Valour's slow, deliberate, and cool,Considers well the End, the Way, the Means,And weighs each Circumstance attending them.Imaginary Dangers it detects,And guards itself against all real Evils.But here Tenesco comes with Speed important;His Looks and Face presage us something new.
Tenesco.
Hail, noble Youth! The News of your ReturnAnd great Success has reach'd your Father's Ears.Great is his Joy; but something more importantSeems to rest heavy on his anxious Mind,And he commands your Presence at his Cabin.
Hail, noble Youth! The News of your ReturnAnd great Success has reach'd your Father's Ears.Great is his Joy; but something more importantSeems to rest heavy on his anxious Mind,And he commands your Presence at his Cabin.
Philip.
We will attend his Call with utmost Speed,Nor wait Refreshment after our Day's Toil.[Exeunt.
We will attend his Call with utmost Speed,Nor wait Refreshment after our Day's Toil.[Exeunt.
[Exeunt.
SceneII.Ponteach'sCabin.
Ponteach,Philip,Chekitan, andTenesco.
Ponteach.
My Sons, and trusty Counsellor Tenesco,As the sweet smelling Rose, when yet a Bud,Lies close conceal'd, till Time and the Sun's WarmthHath swell'd, matur'd, and brought it forth to View,So these my Purposes I now revealAre to be kept with You, on pain of Death,Till Time hath ripen'd my aspiring Plan,And Fortune's Sunshine shall disclose the Whole;Or should we fail, and Fortune prove perverse,Let it be never known how far we fail'd,Lest Fools shou'd triumph, or our Foes rejoice.
My Sons, and trusty Counsellor Tenesco,As the sweet smelling Rose, when yet a Bud,Lies close conceal'd, till Time and the Sun's WarmthHath swell'd, matur'd, and brought it forth to View,So these my Purposes I now revealAre to be kept with You, on pain of Death,Till Time hath ripen'd my aspiring Plan,And Fortune's Sunshine shall disclose the Whole;Or should we fail, and Fortune prove perverse,Let it be never known how far we fail'd,Lest Fools shou'd triumph, or our Foes rejoice.
Tenesco.
The Life of Great Designs is Secrecy,And in Affairs of State 'tis Honour's Guard;For Wisdom cannot form a Scheme so well,But Fools will laugh if it should prove abortive;And our Designs once known, our Honour's madeDependent on the Fickleness of Fortune.
The Life of Great Designs is Secrecy,And in Affairs of State 'tis Honour's Guard;For Wisdom cannot form a Scheme so well,But Fools will laugh if it should prove abortive;And our Designs once known, our Honour's madeDependent on the Fickleness of Fortune.
Philip.
What may your great and secret Purpose be,That thus requires Concealment in its Birth?
What may your great and secret Purpose be,That thus requires Concealment in its Birth?
Ponteach.
To raise the Hatchet from its short Repose,Brighten its Edge, and stain it deep with Blood;To scourge my proud, insulting, haughty Foes,To enlarge my Empire, which will soon be yours:Your Interest, Glory, Grandeur, I consult,And therefore hope with Vigour you'll pursueAnd execute whatever I command.
To raise the Hatchet from its short Repose,Brighten its Edge, and stain it deep with Blood;To scourge my proud, insulting, haughty Foes,To enlarge my Empire, which will soon be yours:Your Interest, Glory, Grandeur, I consult,And therefore hope with Vigour you'll pursueAnd execute whatever I command.
Chekitan.
When we refuse Obedience to your Will,We are not worthy to be call'd your Sons.
When we refuse Obedience to your Will,We are not worthy to be call'd your Sons.
Philip.
If we inherit not our Father's Valour,We never can deserve to share his Empire.
If we inherit not our Father's Valour,We never can deserve to share his Empire.
Tenesco.
Spoke like yourselves, the Sons of Ponteach;Strength, Courage, and Obedience form the Soldier,And the firm Base of all true Greatness lay.
Spoke like yourselves, the Sons of Ponteach;Strength, Courage, and Obedience form the Soldier,And the firm Base of all true Greatness lay.
Ponteach.
Our Empire now is large, our Forces strong,Our Chiefs are wise, our Warriors valiant Men;We all are furnish'd with the best of Arms,And all things requisite to curb a Foe;And now's our Time, if ever, to secureOur Country, Kindred, Empire, all that's dear,From these Invaders of our Rights, the English,And set their Bounds towards the rising Sun.Long have I seen with a suspicious EyeThe Strength and growing Numbers of the French;Their Forts and Settlements I've view'd as SnakesOf mortal Bite, bound by the Winter Frost,Which in some future warm reviving DayWould stir and hiss, and spit their Poison forth,And spread Destruction through our happy Land.Where are we now? The French are all subdued,But who are in their Stead become our Lords?A proud, imperious, churlish, haughty Band.The French familiarized themselves with us,Studied our Tongue, and Manners, wore our Dress,Married our Daughters, and our Sons their Maids,Dealt honestly, and well supplied our Wants,Used no One ill, and treated with RespectOur Kings, our Captains, and our aged Men;Call'd us their Friends, nay, what is more, their Children,And seem'd like Fathers anxious for our Welfare.Whom see we now? their haughty ConquerorsPossess'd of every Fort, and Lake, and Pass,Big with their Victories so often gain'd;On us they look with deep Contempt and Scorn,Are false, deceitful, knavish, insolent;Nay, think us conquered, and our Country theirs,Without a Purchase, or ev'n asking for it.With Pleasure I wou'd call their King my Friend,Yea, honour and obey him as my Father;I'd be content, would he keep his own Sea,And leave these distant Lakes and Streams to us;Nay, I would pay him Homage, if requested,And furnish Warriors to support his Cause.But thus to lose my Country and my Empire,To be a Vassal to his low Commanders,Treated with disrespect and public ScornBy Knaves, by Miscreants, Creatures of his Power;Can this become a King like Ponteach,Whose Empire's measured only by the Sun?No, I'll assert my Right, the Hatchet raise,And drive these Britons hence like frighted Deer,Destroy their Forts, and make them rue the DayThat to our fertile Land they found the Way.
Our Empire now is large, our Forces strong,Our Chiefs are wise, our Warriors valiant Men;We all are furnish'd with the best of Arms,And all things requisite to curb a Foe;And now's our Time, if ever, to secureOur Country, Kindred, Empire, all that's dear,From these Invaders of our Rights, the English,And set their Bounds towards the rising Sun.Long have I seen with a suspicious EyeThe Strength and growing Numbers of the French;Their Forts and Settlements I've view'd as SnakesOf mortal Bite, bound by the Winter Frost,Which in some future warm reviving DayWould stir and hiss, and spit their Poison forth,And spread Destruction through our happy Land.Where are we now? The French are all subdued,But who are in their Stead become our Lords?A proud, imperious, churlish, haughty Band.The French familiarized themselves with us,Studied our Tongue, and Manners, wore our Dress,Married our Daughters, and our Sons their Maids,Dealt honestly, and well supplied our Wants,Used no One ill, and treated with RespectOur Kings, our Captains, and our aged Men;Call'd us their Friends, nay, what is more, their Children,And seem'd like Fathers anxious for our Welfare.Whom see we now? their haughty ConquerorsPossess'd of every Fort, and Lake, and Pass,Big with their Victories so often gain'd;On us they look with deep Contempt and Scorn,Are false, deceitful, knavish, insolent;Nay, think us conquered, and our Country theirs,Without a Purchase, or ev'n asking for it.With Pleasure I wou'd call their King my Friend,Yea, honour and obey him as my Father;I'd be content, would he keep his own Sea,And leave these distant Lakes and Streams to us;Nay, I would pay him Homage, if requested,And furnish Warriors to support his Cause.But thus to lose my Country and my Empire,To be a Vassal to his low Commanders,Treated with disrespect and public ScornBy Knaves, by Miscreants, Creatures of his Power;Can this become a King like Ponteach,Whose Empire's measured only by the Sun?No, I'll assert my Right, the Hatchet raise,And drive these Britons hence like frighted Deer,Destroy their Forts, and make them rue the DayThat to our fertile Land they found the Way.
Tenesco.
No Contradiction to your great Design;But will not such Proceeding injure us?Where is our Trade and Commerce to be carry'd?For they're possess'd of all the Country round,Or whence Supplies of Implements for War?
No Contradiction to your great Design;But will not such Proceeding injure us?Where is our Trade and Commerce to be carry'd?For they're possess'd of all the Country round,Or whence Supplies of Implements for War?
Ponteach.
Whence? Take them from our conquered running Foes.Their Fortresses are Magazines of Death,Which we can quickly turn against themselves;And when they're driven to their destin'd Bounds,Their Love of Gain will soon renew their Trade.The heartless French, whene'er they see us conquer,Will join their little Force to help us on.Nay, many of their own brave trusty Soldiers,In Hope of Gain, will give us their Assistance;For Gain's their great Commander, and will lead themWhere their brave Generals cannot force their March:Some have engag'd, when they see hope of Plunder,In sly Disguise to kill their Countrymen.
Whence? Take them from our conquered running Foes.Their Fortresses are Magazines of Death,Which we can quickly turn against themselves;And when they're driven to their destin'd Bounds,Their Love of Gain will soon renew their Trade.The heartless French, whene'er they see us conquer,Will join their little Force to help us on.Nay, many of their own brave trusty Soldiers,In Hope of Gain, will give us their Assistance;For Gain's their great Commander, and will lead themWhere their brave Generals cannot force their March:Some have engag'd, when they see hope of Plunder,In sly Disguise to kill their Countrymen.
Chekitan.
These Things indeed are promising and fair,And seem a Prelude to our full Success.But will not many Indian Chiefs refuseTo join the Lists, and hold themselves oblig'dT' assist the Foe when hardly press'd by us?
These Things indeed are promising and fair,And seem a Prelude to our full Success.But will not many Indian Chiefs refuseTo join the Lists, and hold themselves oblig'dT' assist the Foe when hardly press'd by us?
Ponteach.
I've sounded all their Minds; there's but a fewThat are not warm and hearty in our Cause,And those faint Hearts we'll punish at our Leisure:For hither tends my Purpose; to subdueThe Tribes who now their annual Homage payTo the imperious haughty Mohawk Chief,Whose Pride and Insolence 'tis Time to curb.He ever boasts the Greatness of his Empire,The Swiftness, Skill and Valour of his Warriors,His former Conquests, and his fresh Exploits,The Terror of his Arms in distant Lands,And on a Footing puts himself with me,For Wisdom to contrive, and Power to do.Such a proud Rival must not breathe the Air;I'll die in fighting, or I'll reign aloneO'er every Indian Nation, Tribe, and Chief.But this in solemn Silence we conceal,Till they're drawn in to fight the common Foe,Then from my Face, the sly Disguise I'll cast,And shew them Ponteach to their Surprise.
I've sounded all their Minds; there's but a fewThat are not warm and hearty in our Cause,And those faint Hearts we'll punish at our Leisure:For hither tends my Purpose; to subdueThe Tribes who now their annual Homage payTo the imperious haughty Mohawk Chief,Whose Pride and Insolence 'tis Time to curb.He ever boasts the Greatness of his Empire,The Swiftness, Skill and Valour of his Warriors,His former Conquests, and his fresh Exploits,The Terror of his Arms in distant Lands,And on a Footing puts himself with me,For Wisdom to contrive, and Power to do.Such a proud Rival must not breathe the Air;I'll die in fighting, or I'll reign aloneO'er every Indian Nation, Tribe, and Chief.But this in solemn Silence we conceal,Till they're drawn in to fight the common Foe,Then from my Face, the sly Disguise I'll cast,And shew them Ponteach to their Surprise.
Tenesco.
Thy Plan is wise, and may Success attend it;May all the warlike numerous Tribes unite,Nor cease to conquer while thou hast a Foe!Then may they join and own thee for their Sovereign,Pay full Submission to thy scepter'd Arm,And universal Empire by thy own!
Thy Plan is wise, and may Success attend it;May all the warlike numerous Tribes unite,Nor cease to conquer while thou hast a Foe!Then may they join and own thee for their Sovereign,Pay full Submission to thy scepter'd Arm,And universal Empire by thy own!
Chekitan.
Would you the Mohawk Emperor displease,And wage a bloody War, by which you madeHim and his num'rous Tribes your certain Foes?
Would you the Mohawk Emperor displease,And wage a bloody War, by which you madeHim and his num'rous Tribes your certain Foes?
Ponteach.
Most of his Tribes will welcome the Proposal;For long their galled Necks have felt the Yoke,Long wish'd for Freedom from his partial Sway,In favour of the proud incroaching Britons.Nay, they have oft, in spite of his Displeasure,Rush'd forth like Wolves upon their naked Borders,And now, like Tygers broken from their Chains,they'll glut themselves, and revel in their Blood.
Most of his Tribes will welcome the Proposal;For long their galled Necks have felt the Yoke,Long wish'd for Freedom from his partial Sway,In favour of the proud incroaching Britons.Nay, they have oft, in spite of his Displeasure,Rush'd forth like Wolves upon their naked Borders,And now, like Tygers broken from their Chains,they'll glut themselves, and revel in their Blood.
Philip.
Myself will undertake to make even HendrickOur zealous Friend against the common Foe;His strong Attachment to them I'll dissolve,And make him rage, and thirst for Vengeance on them.
Myself will undertake to make even HendrickOur zealous Friend against the common Foe;His strong Attachment to them I'll dissolve,And make him rage, and thirst for Vengeance on them.
Ponteach.
This would be doing Honour to thyself,And make thee worthy of thy Father's Crown.The secret Means I will not now inquire,Nor doubt but thus engag'd you will perform.The Chiefs in part are knowing to my Purpose,And think of nought but War, and Blood, and Plunder,Till in full Council we declare our Pleasure.But first my last Night's Dream I will relate,Which much disturb'd my weary anxious Mind,And must portend some signal grand EventOf Good or Evil both to me or mine.On yonder Plain I saw the lordly ElkSnuffing the empty Air in seeming Sport,Tossing his Head aloft, as if in PrideOf his great Bulk and nervous active Limbs,And Scorn of every Beast that haunts the Wood.With mighty Stride he travelled to and fro,And as he mov'd his Size was still increas'd,Till his wide Branches reached above the Trees,And his extended Trunk across the Plain.The other Beasts beheld with wild Amaze,Stood trembling round, nor dare they to approachTill the fierce Tyger yell'd the loud Alarm,When Bears, Cats, Wolves, Panthers, and Porcupines,And other Beasts of Prey, with Force unitedAnd savage Rage, attack'd the common Foe.But as the busking Bull, when Summer Flies,With keenest Sting disturb the grazing Herd,Stands careless in some shady cool Retreat,And from his Sides sweeps the envenom'd Mites,Or shakes them with a Stamp into the Dust;So he unmov'd amidst their Clamours stood,Trampled and spurn'd them with his Hoofs and Horns,Till all dispers'd in wild Disorder fled,And left him Master of th' extended Plain.
This would be doing Honour to thyself,And make thee worthy of thy Father's Crown.The secret Means I will not now inquire,Nor doubt but thus engag'd you will perform.The Chiefs in part are knowing to my Purpose,And think of nought but War, and Blood, and Plunder,Till in full Council we declare our Pleasure.But first my last Night's Dream I will relate,Which much disturb'd my weary anxious Mind,And must portend some signal grand EventOf Good or Evil both to me or mine.On yonder Plain I saw the lordly ElkSnuffing the empty Air in seeming Sport,Tossing his Head aloft, as if in PrideOf his great Bulk and nervous active Limbs,And Scorn of every Beast that haunts the Wood.With mighty Stride he travelled to and fro,And as he mov'd his Size was still increas'd,Till his wide Branches reached above the Trees,And his extended Trunk across the Plain.The other Beasts beheld with wild Amaze,Stood trembling round, nor dare they to approachTill the fierce Tyger yell'd the loud Alarm,When Bears, Cats, Wolves, Panthers, and Porcupines,And other Beasts of Prey, with Force unitedAnd savage Rage, attack'd the common Foe.But as the busking Bull, when Summer Flies,With keenest Sting disturb the grazing Herd,Stands careless in some shady cool Retreat,And from his Sides sweeps the envenom'd Mites,Or shakes them with a Stamp into the Dust;So he unmov'd amidst their Clamours stood,Trampled and spurn'd them with his Hoofs and Horns,Till all dispers'd in wild Disorder fled,And left him Master of th' extended Plain.
Tenesco.
This Dream no doubt is full of some great Meaning,And in it bears the Fate of your Design,But whether good or ill, to me 's a Secret.
This Dream no doubt is full of some great Meaning,And in it bears the Fate of your Design,But whether good or ill, to me 's a Secret.
Philip.
It ne'er was counted ill to dream of Elks,But always thought portentous of Success,Of happy Life, and Victories in War,Or fortune good when we attempt the Chace.
It ne'er was counted ill to dream of Elks,But always thought portentous of Success,Of happy Life, and Victories in War,Or fortune good when we attempt the Chace.
Chekitan.
Such is the common Say; but here the SizeAnd all the Circumstances are uncommon,And therefore can contain no common Meaning:I fear these Things portend no Good to us,That Mischiefs lurk like Serpents in the Grass,Whose pois'nous deadly Bite precedes all Warning.That this Design will end in mighty RuinTo us and ours, Discord among our Friends,And Triumph to our Foes.
Such is the common Say; but here the SizeAnd all the Circumstances are uncommon,And therefore can contain no common Meaning:I fear these Things portend no Good to us,That Mischiefs lurk like Serpents in the Grass,Whose pois'nous deadly Bite precedes all Warning.That this Design will end in mighty RuinTo us and ours, Discord among our Friends,And Triumph to our Foes.
Philip.
A valiant Hero!Thou always wast a Coward, and hated War,And lov'st to loll on the soft Lap of Peace.Thou art a very Woman in thy Heart,And talk'st of Snakes and Bugbears in the Dark,Till all is Horror and Amaze about thee,And even thy own Shadow makes thee tremble.
A valiant Hero!Thou always wast a Coward, and hated War,And lov'st to loll on the soft Lap of Peace.Thou art a very Woman in thy Heart,And talk'st of Snakes and Bugbears in the Dark,Till all is Horror and Amaze about thee,And even thy own Shadow makes thee tremble.
Chekitan.
Is there no Courage in delib'rate Wisdom?Is all rank Cowardice but Fire and Fury?Is it all womanish to re-considerAnd weigh the Consequences of our Actions,Before we desperately rush upon them?Let me then be the Coward, a mere Woman,Mine be the Praise of Coolness, yours of Rage.
Is there no Courage in delib'rate Wisdom?Is all rank Cowardice but Fire and Fury?Is it all womanish to re-considerAnd weigh the Consequences of our Actions,Before we desperately rush upon them?Let me then be the Coward, a mere Woman,Mine be the Praise of Coolness, yours of Rage.
Ponteach.
Peace, Peace, my Sons, nor let this casual Strifedivide your Hearts; both mean the common Good;Go Hand in Hand to conquer and promote it.I'll to our worthy Doctor and the Priest,Who for our Souls' Salvation come from France;They sure can solve the Mysteries of Fate,And all the Secrets of a Dream explain;Mean while, Tenesco, warn the other ChiefsThat they attend my Call within an Hour.[ExeuntPonteachandTenesco.
Peace, Peace, my Sons, nor let this casual Strifedivide your Hearts; both mean the common Good;Go Hand in Hand to conquer and promote it.I'll to our worthy Doctor and the Priest,Who for our Souls' Salvation come from France;They sure can solve the Mysteries of Fate,And all the Secrets of a Dream explain;Mean while, Tenesco, warn the other ChiefsThat they attend my Call within an Hour.[ExeuntPonteachandTenesco.
[ExeuntPonteachandTenesco.
Philip.
My Warmth perhaps has carried me too far,But it's not in me to be cool and backwardTo act or speak when Kingdoms are the Prize.My Blood runs high at the sweet Sound of Empire,Such as our Father's Plan ensures to us,And I'm impatient of the least Delay.
My Warmth perhaps has carried me too far,But it's not in me to be cool and backwardTo act or speak when Kingdoms are the Prize.My Blood runs high at the sweet Sound of Empire,Such as our Father's Plan ensures to us,And I'm impatient of the least Delay.
Chekitan.
Thy Fire thou hast a Right to style a Virtue;Heat is our Friend when kept within due Bounds,But if unbridled and allowed to rage,It burns and blisters, torments and consumes,And, Torrent-like, sweeps every Comfort by.Think if our Father's Plan should prove abortive,Our Troops repuls'd, or in th' Encounter slain,Where are our conquer'd Kingdoms then to share,Where are our Vict'ries, Trophies, Triumphs, Crowns,That dazzle in thy Eye, and swell thy Heart;That nerve thy Arm, and wing thy Feet to WarWith this impetuous Violence and Speed?Crest-fallen then, our native Empire lost,In captive Chains we drag a wretched Life,Or fly inglorious from the conquering FoeTo barren Mountains from this fertile Land,There to repent our Folly when too late,In Anguish mourn, and curse our wretched Fate.
Thy Fire thou hast a Right to style a Virtue;Heat is our Friend when kept within due Bounds,But if unbridled and allowed to rage,It burns and blisters, torments and consumes,And, Torrent-like, sweeps every Comfort by.Think if our Father's Plan should prove abortive,Our Troops repuls'd, or in th' Encounter slain,Where are our conquer'd Kingdoms then to share,Where are our Vict'ries, Trophies, Triumphs, Crowns,That dazzle in thy Eye, and swell thy Heart;That nerve thy Arm, and wing thy Feet to WarWith this impetuous Violence and Speed?Crest-fallen then, our native Empire lost,In captive Chains we drag a wretched Life,Or fly inglorious from the conquering FoeTo barren Mountains from this fertile Land,There to repent our Folly when too late,In Anguish mourn, and curse our wretched Fate.
Philip.
But why so much of Mischiefs that may happen?These are mere Possibilities at most;Creatures of Thought, which ne'er can be Objections,In valiant Minds, to any great Attempt;They're empty Echoes of a tim'rous Soul,Like Bubbles driv'n by the tempestuous Storm,The Breath of Resolution sweeps them off.Nor dost thou judge them solid from thy Heart,I know the secret Motive in thy Breast,Thus to oppose our Father's great Design,And from an Undertaking to dissuade,In which thou'lt share the Profit and the Glory.Hendrick, the King of Mohawks, hath a Daughter,With whom I saw you dallying in the Shade,And thought you then a Captive to her Charms.The bright Monelia hangs upon thy Heart,And softens all the Passions of thy Soul;Her thou think'st lost should we proclaim a War,In which the King her Father will not join.
But why so much of Mischiefs that may happen?These are mere Possibilities at most;Creatures of Thought, which ne'er can be Objections,In valiant Minds, to any great Attempt;They're empty Echoes of a tim'rous Soul,Like Bubbles driv'n by the tempestuous Storm,The Breath of Resolution sweeps them off.Nor dost thou judge them solid from thy Heart,I know the secret Motive in thy Breast,Thus to oppose our Father's great Design,And from an Undertaking to dissuade,In which thou'lt share the Profit and the Glory.Hendrick, the King of Mohawks, hath a Daughter,With whom I saw you dallying in the Shade,And thought you then a Captive to her Charms.The bright Monelia hangs upon thy Heart,And softens all the Passions of thy Soul;Her thou think'st lost should we proclaim a War,In which the King her Father will not join.
Chekitan.
What if I have a Value for Monelia,Is it a Crime? Does she not merit LoveFrom all who see her move, or hear her speak?
What if I have a Value for Monelia,Is it a Crime? Does she not merit LoveFrom all who see her move, or hear her speak?
Philip.
True, she is engaging, has a charming Air;And if thy Love is fix'd, I will assist it,And put thee in Possession of the JoyThat thou desirest more than Crowns and Empire.
True, she is engaging, has a charming Air;And if thy Love is fix'd, I will assist it,And put thee in Possession of the JoyThat thou desirest more than Crowns and Empire.
Chekitan.
As how, dear Philip? Should we wage a War,Which Hendrick disapproves, the Prize is lost.Not Empires then could make Monelia mine;All Hopes are dash'd upon that fatal Rock;Nor Gold, nor Prayers, nor Tears, nor Promises,Nor all the Engin'ry of Love at Work,Could save a single Moment of my Joy.
As how, dear Philip? Should we wage a War,Which Hendrick disapproves, the Prize is lost.Not Empires then could make Monelia mine;All Hopes are dash'd upon that fatal Rock;Nor Gold, nor Prayers, nor Tears, nor Promises,Nor all the Engin'ry of Love at Work,Could save a single Moment of my Joy.
Philip.
Yes, I will save it all and make her thine,Act but thy Part, and do as I prescribe,In Peace or War thou shalt possess the Prize.
Yes, I will save it all and make her thine,Act but thy Part, and do as I prescribe,In Peace or War thou shalt possess the Prize.
Chekitan.
Thy Words revive my half-despairing Heart.What must I act? or which Way must I turn?I'll brave all Dangers, every Ill defy,Risk Life itself, to call Monelia mine.Help me, my Philip, and I'll be thy Slave,Resign my Share of Empire to thy Hand,And lay a Claim to nothing but Monelia.
Thy Words revive my half-despairing Heart.What must I act? or which Way must I turn?I'll brave all Dangers, every Ill defy,Risk Life itself, to call Monelia mine.Help me, my Philip, and I'll be thy Slave,Resign my Share of Empire to thy Hand,And lay a Claim to nothing but Monelia.
Philip.
Rewards I do not ask; I am thy Brother,And hold my Kindness to thee as a Debt.Thou know'st I have engag'd to bring King HendrickTo join the Lists, and fight against our Foes,To rouse him to Revenge, and Rage, and War,And make him zealous in the common Cause.Nay, with uncommon Fury he shall rave,And urge his Warriors on to Blood and Murder.When this is done, Monelia may be thine,Hendrick will court Alliance to our Tribe,And joy to call great Ponteach's Son his own.
Rewards I do not ask; I am thy Brother,And hold my Kindness to thee as a Debt.Thou know'st I have engag'd to bring King HendrickTo join the Lists, and fight against our Foes,To rouse him to Revenge, and Rage, and War,And make him zealous in the common Cause.Nay, with uncommon Fury he shall rave,And urge his Warriors on to Blood and Murder.When this is done, Monelia may be thine,Hendrick will court Alliance to our Tribe,And joy to call great Ponteach's Son his own.
Chekitan.
But should you fail in these Attempts, and heProve obstinately fix'd against the War,Where's then Monelia? where is Chekitan?My Hopes are blasted, all my Joys are fled,Like the vain Phantoms of a Midnight Dream,Are scattered like the Dust before a Whirlwind,And all my Soul is left a Void for Pain,Vexation, Madness, Frenzy, and Despair,And all the Pains of disappointed Love.Better I ne'er had flattered my fond Heart,Nor sooth'd my Mind with Prospects of my Joy,Than thus to perish on the Point of Hope.
But should you fail in these Attempts, and heProve obstinately fix'd against the War,Where's then Monelia? where is Chekitan?My Hopes are blasted, all my Joys are fled,Like the vain Phantoms of a Midnight Dream,Are scattered like the Dust before a Whirlwind,And all my Soul is left a Void for Pain,Vexation, Madness, Frenzy, and Despair,And all the Pains of disappointed Love.Better I ne'er had flattered my fond Heart,Nor sooth'd my Mind with Prospects of my Joy,Than thus to perish on the Point of Hope.
Philip.
Leave all to me; I've so concerted Matters,That I defy ev'n Fate to disappoint me.Exert thyself, and to Monelia go,Before th' assembled Chiefs in Council meet;Urge it to her, and to her Brother Torax,That should their Father prove refractory,Withdraw himself, and order his DomesticsTo hasten home at News of our Design;Urge it, I say, to them; Torax loves War;To linger here in Hopes of his Return,Which tell them I'll effect ere twice the SunHas run the Circuit of his daily Race.Here they may loiter careless, range the Woods,As tho' the Noise of War had not been heard.This will give full Success to both our Wishes:Thou'lt gain the Prize of Love, and I of Wrath,In favour to our Family and State.Thou'lt tame the Turtle, I shall rouse the Tyger;The one will soothe thy Soul to soft Repose,The other prove a Terror to our Foes.
Leave all to me; I've so concerted Matters,That I defy ev'n Fate to disappoint me.Exert thyself, and to Monelia go,Before th' assembled Chiefs in Council meet;Urge it to her, and to her Brother Torax,That should their Father prove refractory,Withdraw himself, and order his DomesticsTo hasten home at News of our Design;Urge it, I say, to them; Torax loves War;To linger here in Hopes of his Return,Which tell them I'll effect ere twice the SunHas run the Circuit of his daily Race.Here they may loiter careless, range the Woods,As tho' the Noise of War had not been heard.This will give full Success to both our Wishes:Thou'lt gain the Prize of Love, and I of Wrath,In favour to our Family and State.Thou'lt tame the Turtle, I shall rouse the Tyger;The one will soothe thy Soul to soft Repose,The other prove a Terror to our Foes.
Chekitan.
I see the subtle Argument thou'lt use,And how thou'lt work upon the old King's Weakness,Thou'lt set his strong Affection for his ChildrenAt War against his Kindness for our Foes,By urging their Attachment to our Cause,That they'll endure ev'n Banishment and Death,Rather than cease to be our steadfast Friends.
I see the subtle Argument thou'lt use,And how thou'lt work upon the old King's Weakness,Thou'lt set his strong Affection for his ChildrenAt War against his Kindness for our Foes,By urging their Attachment to our Cause,That they'll endure ev'n Banishment and Death,Rather than cease to be our steadfast Friends.
Philip.
All this I'll urge, nay, more, I will convince him,These Foes to us can be no Friends to him;I'll thunder in his Ears their growing Power,Their Villainies and Cheats upon his Subjects:That their fair Shew of Love is foul Disguise;That in their Hearts they hate the Name of Indians,And court his Friendship only for their Profit;That when no longer he subserves their Ends,He may go whistle up some other Friends.
All this I'll urge, nay, more, I will convince him,These Foes to us can be no Friends to him;I'll thunder in his Ears their growing Power,Their Villainies and Cheats upon his Subjects:That their fair Shew of Love is foul Disguise;That in their Hearts they hate the Name of Indians,And court his Friendship only for their Profit;That when no longer he subserves their Ends,He may go whistle up some other Friends.
Chekitan.
This must alarm and bring him to our Mind.I'll hasten to my Charge with utmost Speed,Strain every Nerve, and every Power exert;Plead, promise, swear like any Christian Trader;But I'll detain them till our Ends are answer'd,And you have won their Father to our Purpose.[Exit.
This must alarm and bring him to our Mind.I'll hasten to my Charge with utmost Speed,Strain every Nerve, and every Power exert;Plead, promise, swear like any Christian Trader;But I'll detain them till our Ends are answer'd,And you have won their Father to our Purpose.[Exit.
[Exit.
Philip[solus].
Oh! what a wretched Thing is a Man in Love!All Fear—all Hope—all Diffidence—all Faith—Distrusts the greatest Strength, depends on Straws—Soften'd, unprovident, disarm'd, unman'd,Led blindfold; every Power denies its Aid,And every Passion's but a Slave to this;Honour, Revenge, Ambition, Interest, allUpon its Altar bleed—Kingdoms and CrownsAre slighted and condemn'd, and all the TiesOf Nature are dissolv'd by this poor Passion:Once have I felt its Poison in my Heart,When this same Chekitan a Captive ledThe fair Donanta from the Illinois;I saw, admir'd, and lov'd the charming Maid,And as a Favour ask'd her from his Hands,But he refus'd and sold her for a Slave.My Love is dead, but my Resentment lives,And now's my Time to let the Flame break forth,For while I pay this ancient Debt of Vengeance,I'll serve my Country, and advance myself.He loves Monelia—Hendrick must be won—Monelia and her Brother both must bleed—This is my Vengeance on her Lover's Head—Then I'll affirm, 'twas done by Englishmen—And to gain Credit both with Friends and Foes,I'll wound myself, and say that I receiv'd itBy striving to assist them in the Combat.This will rouse Hendrick's Wrath, and arm his TroopsTo Blood and Vengeance on the common Foe.And further still my Profit may extend;My Brother's Rage will lead him into Danger,And, he cut off, the Empire's all my own.Thus am I fix'd; my Scheme of Goodness laid,And I'll effect it, tho' thro' Blood I wade,To desperate Wounds apply a desperate Cure,And to tall Structures lay Foundations sure;To Fame and Empire hence my Course I bend,And every Step I take shall thither tend.
Oh! what a wretched Thing is a Man in Love!All Fear—all Hope—all Diffidence—all Faith—Distrusts the greatest Strength, depends on Straws—Soften'd, unprovident, disarm'd, unman'd,Led blindfold; every Power denies its Aid,And every Passion's but a Slave to this;Honour, Revenge, Ambition, Interest, allUpon its Altar bleed—Kingdoms and CrownsAre slighted and condemn'd, and all the TiesOf Nature are dissolv'd by this poor Passion:Once have I felt its Poison in my Heart,When this same Chekitan a Captive ledThe fair Donanta from the Illinois;I saw, admir'd, and lov'd the charming Maid,And as a Favour ask'd her from his Hands,But he refus'd and sold her for a Slave.My Love is dead, but my Resentment lives,And now's my Time to let the Flame break forth,For while I pay this ancient Debt of Vengeance,I'll serve my Country, and advance myself.He loves Monelia—Hendrick must be won—Monelia and her Brother both must bleed—This is my Vengeance on her Lover's Head—Then I'll affirm, 'twas done by Englishmen—And to gain Credit both with Friends and Foes,I'll wound myself, and say that I receiv'd itBy striving to assist them in the Combat.This will rouse Hendrick's Wrath, and arm his TroopsTo Blood and Vengeance on the common Foe.And further still my Profit may extend;My Brother's Rage will lead him into Danger,And, he cut off, the Empire's all my own.Thus am I fix'd; my Scheme of Goodness laid,And I'll effect it, tho' thro' Blood I wade,To desperate Wounds apply a desperate Cure,And to tall Structures lay Foundations sure;To Fame and Empire hence my Course I bend,And every Step I take shall thither tend.
End of the Second Act.
Scene I.A Forest.
Chekitan.
[SeeingToraxandMonelia, coming towards them.]
As the young Hunter, anxious in the Chace,With beating Heart and quivering Hand espiesThe wish'd for Game, and trembles for th' Event,So I behold the bright Monelia's Steps,Whom anxiously I've sought, approach this way—What shall I say? or how shall I accost her?It is a fatal Minute to mistake in.The Joy or Grief of Life depends upon 't;It is the important Crisis of my Fate.I've thought a thousand things to say and do,But know not which to say or do the first.Shall I begin with my old Tale of Love?Or shall I shock her with the News of War?Must I put on the Face of Joy or Grief?Seem unconcern'd or full of Doubts and Fears?How unprepar'd I am for the Encounter!I'd rather stand against an Host of Foes—But she draws near, and Fate must guide me now,[EnterToraxandMonelia.Where tend your Steps with such an Air of Joy?
As the young Hunter, anxious in the Chace,With beating Heart and quivering Hand espiesThe wish'd for Game, and trembles for th' Event,So I behold the bright Monelia's Steps,Whom anxiously I've sought, approach this way—What shall I say? or how shall I accost her?It is a fatal Minute to mistake in.The Joy or Grief of Life depends upon 't;It is the important Crisis of my Fate.I've thought a thousand things to say and do,But know not which to say or do the first.Shall I begin with my old Tale of Love?Or shall I shock her with the News of War?Must I put on the Face of Joy or Grief?Seem unconcern'd or full of Doubts and Fears?How unprepar'd I am for the Encounter!I'd rather stand against an Host of Foes—But she draws near, and Fate must guide me now,[EnterToraxandMonelia.Where tend your Steps with such an Air of Joy?
[EnterToraxandMonelia.
Torax.
To view the Beauties of th' extended Lake,And on its mossy Bank recline at Ease,While we behold the Sports of Fish and Fowl,Which in this Calm no doubt will be diverting.And these are new Amusements to Monelia,She never saw the Sea or Lakes before.
To view the Beauties of th' extended Lake,And on its mossy Bank recline at Ease,While we behold the Sports of Fish and Fowl,Which in this Calm no doubt will be diverting.And these are new Amusements to Monelia,She never saw the Sea or Lakes before.
Chekitan.
I'm glad our Country's aught to give such PleasureTo one deservedly so welcome in it.
I'm glad our Country's aught to give such PleasureTo one deservedly so welcome in it.
Monelia.
That I am welcome you have oft assur'd me,That I deserve it you may be mistaken,The outside Shew, the Form, the Dress, the Air,That please at first Acquaintance, oft deceive us,And prove more Mimickers of true Desert,Which always brightens by a further Trial,Appears more lovely as we know it better,At least can never suffer by Acquaintance.Perhaps then you To-morrow will despiseWhat you esteem To-day, and call deserving.
That I am welcome you have oft assur'd me,That I deserve it you may be mistaken,The outside Shew, the Form, the Dress, the Air,That please at first Acquaintance, oft deceive us,And prove more Mimickers of true Desert,Which always brightens by a further Trial,Appears more lovely as we know it better,At least can never suffer by Acquaintance.Perhaps then you To-morrow will despiseWhat you esteem To-day, and call deserving.
Chekitan.
My Love to you, Monelia, cannot change.Your Beauty, like the Sun, for ever pleases,And like the Earth, my Love can never move.
My Love to you, Monelia, cannot change.Your Beauty, like the Sun, for ever pleases,And like the Earth, my Love can never move.
Monelia.
The Earth itself is sometimes known to shake,And the bright Sun by Clouds is oft conceal'd,And gloomy Night succeeds the Smiles of Day;So Beauty oft by foulest Faults is veil'd,And after one short Blaze admir'd no more,Loses its Lustre, drops its sparkling Charms,The Lover sickens, and his Passion dies.Nay, worse, he hates what he so doted on.Time only proves the Truth of Worth and Love,The one may be a Cheat, the other change,And Fears, and Jealousies, and mortal Hate,Succeed the Sunshine of the warmest Passion.
The Earth itself is sometimes known to shake,And the bright Sun by Clouds is oft conceal'd,And gloomy Night succeeds the Smiles of Day;So Beauty oft by foulest Faults is veil'd,And after one short Blaze admir'd no more,Loses its Lustre, drops its sparkling Charms,The Lover sickens, and his Passion dies.Nay, worse, he hates what he so doted on.Time only proves the Truth of Worth and Love,The one may be a Cheat, the other change,And Fears, and Jealousies, and mortal Hate,Succeed the Sunshine of the warmest Passion.
Chekitan.
Have I not vow'd my Love to you, Monelia,And open'd all the Weakness of my Heart?You cannot think me false and insincere,When I repeat my Vows to love you still;Each time I see you move, or hear you speak,It adds fresh Fuel to the growing Flame.You're like the rising Sun, whose Beams increaseAs he advances upward to our View;We gaze with growing Wonder till we're blind,And every Beauty fades and dies but his.Thus shall I always view your growing Charm,And every Day and Hour with fresh Delight.Witness thou Sun and Moon, and Stars above,Witness ye purling Streams and quivering Lakes,Witness ye Groves and Hills, and Springs and Plains,Witness ye Shades, and the cool Fountain, whereI first espied the Image of her Charms,And starting saw her on th' adjacent Bank,If I to my Monelia prove untrue.
Have I not vow'd my Love to you, Monelia,And open'd all the Weakness of my Heart?You cannot think me false and insincere,When I repeat my Vows to love you still;Each time I see you move, or hear you speak,It adds fresh Fuel to the growing Flame.You're like the rising Sun, whose Beams increaseAs he advances upward to our View;We gaze with growing Wonder till we're blind,And every Beauty fades and dies but his.Thus shall I always view your growing Charm,And every Day and Hour with fresh Delight.Witness thou Sun and Moon, and Stars above,Witness ye purling Streams and quivering Lakes,Witness ye Groves and Hills, and Springs and Plains,Witness ye Shades, and the cool Fountain, whereI first espied the Image of her Charms,And starting saw her on th' adjacent Bank,If I to my Monelia prove untrue.
Monelia.
Hoh! now your Talk is so much like a Christian's,That I must be excus'd if I distrust you,And think your fair Pretences all designing.I once was courted by a spruce young Blade,A lac'd Coat Captain, warlike, active, gay,Cockaded Hat and Medal on his Breast,And every thing was clever but his Tongue;He swore he lov'd, O! how he swore he lov'd,Call'd on his God and Stars to witness for him,Wish'd he might die, be blown to Hell and damn'd,If ever he lov'd woman so before:Call'd me his Princess, Charmer, Angel, Goddess,Swore nothing else was ever half so pretty,So dear, so sweet, so much to please his Taste,He kiss'd, he squeez'd, and press'd me to his Bosom,Vow'd nothing could abate his ardent Passion,Swore he should die, should drown, or hang himself,Could not exist if I denied his Suit,And said a thousand Things I cannot Name:My simple Heart, made soft by so much Heat,Half gave Consent, meaning to be his Bride.The Moment thus unguarded, he embrac'd,And impudently ask'd to stain my Virtue.With just Disdain I push'd him from my Arms,And let him know he'd kindled my Resentment;The Scene was chang'd from Sunshine to a Storm,Oh! then he curs'd, and swore, and damn'd, and sunk,Call'd me proud Bitch, pray'd Heav'n to blast my Soul,Wish'd Furies, Hell, and Devils had my Body,To say no more; bid me begone in HasteWithout the smallest Mark of his Affection.This was an Englishman, a Christian Lover.
Hoh! now your Talk is so much like a Christian's,That I must be excus'd if I distrust you,And think your fair Pretences all designing.I once was courted by a spruce young Blade,A lac'd Coat Captain, warlike, active, gay,Cockaded Hat and Medal on his Breast,And every thing was clever but his Tongue;He swore he lov'd, O! how he swore he lov'd,Call'd on his God and Stars to witness for him,Wish'd he might die, be blown to Hell and damn'd,If ever he lov'd woman so before:Call'd me his Princess, Charmer, Angel, Goddess,Swore nothing else was ever half so pretty,So dear, so sweet, so much to please his Taste,He kiss'd, he squeez'd, and press'd me to his Bosom,Vow'd nothing could abate his ardent Passion,Swore he should die, should drown, or hang himself,Could not exist if I denied his Suit,And said a thousand Things I cannot Name:My simple Heart, made soft by so much Heat,Half gave Consent, meaning to be his Bride.The Moment thus unguarded, he embrac'd,And impudently ask'd to stain my Virtue.With just Disdain I push'd him from my Arms,And let him know he'd kindled my Resentment;The Scene was chang'd from Sunshine to a Storm,Oh! then he curs'd, and swore, and damn'd, and sunk,Call'd me proud Bitch, pray'd Heav'n to blast my Soul,Wish'd Furies, Hell, and Devils had my Body,To say no more; bid me begone in HasteWithout the smallest Mark of his Affection.This was an Englishman, a Christian Lover.
Chekitan.