And Trees and Herbs within our Country grow.

But then you must not cheat and wrong the Indians,

Or treat us with Reproach, Contempt, and Scorn;

Else we will raise the Hatchet to the Sky,

And let it never touch the Earth again,

Sharpen its Edge, and keep it bright as Silver,

Or stain it red with Murder and with Blood.

Mind what I say, I do not tell you Lies.

Sharp.

Sharp.

We hope you have no Reason to complain

That Englishmen conduct to you amiss;

We're griev'd if they have given you Offence,

And fain would heal the Wound while it is fresh,

Lest it should spread, grow painful, and severe.

Ponteach.

Ponteach.

Your Men make Indians drunk, and then they cheat 'em.

Your Officers, your Colonels, and your Captains

Are proud, morose, ill-natur'd, churlish Men,

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