To cleave their painted Heads, and spill their Blood.

I abhor, detest, and hate them all,

And now cou'd eat an Indian's Heart with Pleasure.

Honnyman.

Honnyman.

I'd join you, and soop his savage Brains for Sauce;

I lose all Patience when I think of them,

And, if you will, we'll quickly have Amends

For our long Travel and successless Hunt,

And the sweet Pleasure of Revenge to boot.

Orsbourn.

Orsbourn.

What will you do? Present, and pop one down?

Honnyman.

Honnyman.

Yes, faith, the first we meet well fraught with Furs;

Or if there's Two, and we can make sure Work,

By Jove, we'll ease the Rascals of their Packs,

And send them empty home to their own Country.

But then observe, that what we do is secret,

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