Ponteach.

Ponteach.

The Devil teach! I think you one great Fool.

Did your King tell you thus to treat the Indians?

Had he been such a Dunce he ne'er had conquer'd,

And made the running French for Quarter cry.

I always mind that such proud Fools are Cowards,

And never do aught that is great or good.

Cockum.

Cockum.

Forbear your Impudence, you curs'd old Thief;

This Moment leave my Fort, and to your Country.

Let me hear no more of your hellish Clamour,

Or to D——n I will blow you all,

And feast the Devil with one hearty Meal.

Ponteach.

Ponteach.

So ho! Know you whose Country you are in?

Think you, because you have subdu'd the French,

That Indians too are now become your Slaves?

 Prev. P 32/204 next