Honnyman Monologue from Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

From Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America by Robert Rogers

male · anguished · 1:12 min

You may depend upon 't, we all must die, I've made such Havoc, they'll have no Compassion; They only wait to study out new Torments: All that can be inflicted or endur'd, We may expect from their relentless Hands. Their brutal Eyes ne'er shed a pitying Tear; Their savage Hearts ne'er had a Thought of Mercy; Their Bosoms swell with Rancour and Revenge, And, Devil-like, delight in others' Plagues, Love Torments, Torture, Anguish, Fire, and Pain, The deep-fetch'd Groan, the melancholy Sigh, And all the Terrors and Distress of Death, These are their Music, and enhance their Joy. In Silence then submit yourself to Fate: Make no Complaint, nor ask for their Compassion; This will confound and half destroy their Mirth; Nay, this may put a stop to many Tortures, To which our Prayers and Tears and Plaints would move them.

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