Hoh! now your Talk is so much like a Christian's, That I must be excus'd if I distrust you, And think your fair Pretences all designing. I once was courted by a spruce young Blade, A lac'd Coat Captain, warlike, active, gay, Cockaded Hat and Medal on his Breast, And every thing was clever but his Tongue; He swore he lov'd, O! how he swore he lov'd, Call'd on his God and Stars to witness for him, Wish'd he might die, be blown to Hell and damn'd, If ever he lov'd woman so before: Call'd me his Princess, Charmer, Angel, Goddess, Swore nothing else was ever half so pretty, So dear, so sweet, so much to please his Taste, He kiss'd, he squeez'd, and press'd me to his Bosom, Vow'd nothing could abate his ardent Passion, Swore he should die, should drown, or hang himself, Could not exist if I denied his Suit, And said a thousand Things I cannot Name: My simple Heart, made soft by so much Heat, Half gave Consent, meaning to be his Bride. The Moment thus unguarded, he embrac'd, And impudently ask'd to stain my Virtue. With just Disdain I push'd him from my Arms, And let him know he'd kindled my Resentment; The Scene was chang'd from Sunshine to a Storm, Oh! then he curs'd, and swore, and damn'd, and sunk, Call'd me proud Bitch, pray'd Heav'n to blast my Soul, Wish'd Furies, Hell, and Devils had my Body, To say no more; bid me begone in Haste Without the smallest Mark of his Affection. This was an Englishman, a Christian Lover.

Monelia Monologue from Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

Rehearse Monelia's monologue