Besides, their old King Ponteach grows damn'd saucy,

Talks of his Power, and threatens what he'll do.

Perdition to their faithless sooty Souls,

I'd let 'em know at once to keep their Distance.

Cockum.

Cockum.

Captain, You're right; their Insolence is such

As beats my Patience; cursed Miscreants!

They are encroaching; fain would be familiar:

I'll send their painted Heads to Hell with Thunder!

I swear I'll blow 'em hence with Cannon Ball,

And give the Devil an Hundred for his Supper.

Frisk.

Frisk.

They're coming here; you see they scent your Track,

And while you'll listen, they will ne'er be silent,

But every Day improve in Insolence.

Cockum.

Cockum.

I'll soon dispatch and storm them from my Presence.

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