This Country's mine, and here I reign as King;

I value not your Threats, nor Forts, nor Guns;

I have got Warriors, Courage, Strength, and Skill.

Colonel, take care; the Wound is very deep,

Consider well, for it is hard to cure.

Indians

Frisk.

Frisk.

Vile Infidels! observe their Insolence;

Old Ponteach puts on a mighty Air.

Cockum.

Cockum.

They'll always be a Torment till destroy'd,

And sent all headlong to the Devil's Kitchen.

This curs'd old Thief, no doubt, will give us Trouble,

Provok'd and madded at his cool Reception.

Frisk.

Frisk.

Oh! Colonel, they are never worth our minding,

What can they do against our Bombs and Cannon?

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