A wretched Sight indeed; [ (Going towards them.) Oh, my Monelia; has thy Spirit fled? Art thou no more? a bloody, breathless Corpse! Am I return'd full flush'd with Hopes of Joy, With all the Honours Victory can give, To see thee thus? Is this, is this my Welcome? Is this our Wedding? Wilt thou not return? Oh, charming Princess, art thou gone for ever? Is this the fatal Period of our Love? Oh! had I never seen thy Beauty bloom, I had not now been griev'd to see it pale: Had I not known such Excellence had liv'd, I should not now be curs'd to see it dead: Had not my Heart been melted by thy Charms, It would not now have bled to see them lost. Oh, wherefore, wherefore, wherefore do I live: Monelia is not--What's the World to me? All dark and gloomy, horrid, waste, and void: The Light of the Creation is put out!-- The Blessings of the Gods are all withdrawn! Nothing remains but Wretchedness and Woe; Monelia's gone; Monelia is no more. The Heavens are veil'd because she don't behold them: The Earth is curs'd, for it hath drunk her Blood; The Air is Poison, for she breathes no more: Why fell I not by the base Briton's Sword? Why press'd I not upon the fatal Point? Then had I never seen this worse than Death, But dying said, 'tis well--Monelia lives.

Chekitan Monologue from Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

Rehearse Chekitan's monologue