Our Empire now is large, our Forces strong, Our Chiefs are wise, our Warriors valiant Men; We all are furnish'd with the best of Arms, And all things requisite to curb a Foe; And now's our Time, if ever, to secure Our Country, Kindred, Empire, all that's dear, From these Invaders of our Rights, the English, And set their Bounds towards the rising Sun. Long have I seen with a suspicious Eye The Strength and growing Numbers of the French; Their Forts and Settlements I've view'd as Snakes Of mortal Bite, bound by the Winter Frost, Which in some future warm reviving Day Would stir and hiss, and spit their Poison forth, And spread Destruction through our happy Land. Where are we now? The French are all subdued, But who are in their Stead become our Lords? A proud, imperious, churlish, haughty Band. The French familiarized themselves with us, Studied our Tongue, and Manners, wore our Dress, Married our Daughters, and our Sons their Maids, Dealt honestly, and well supplied our Wants, Used no One ill, and treated with Respect Our Kings, our Captains, and our aged Men; Call'd us their Friends, nay, what is more, their Children, And seem'd like Fathers anxious for our Welfare. Whom see we now? their haughty Conquerors Possess'd of every Fort, and Lake, and Pass, Big with their Victories so often gain'd; On us they look with deep Contempt and Scorn, Are false, deceitful, knavish, insolent; Nay, think us conquered, and our Country theirs, Without a Purchase, or ev'n asking for it. With Pleasure I wou'd call their King my Friend, Yea, honour and obey him as my Father; I'd be content, would he keep his own Sea, And leave these distant Lakes and Streams to us; Nay, I would pay him Homage, if requested, And furnish Warriors to support his Cause. But thus to lose my Country and my Empire, To be a Vassal to his low Commanders, Treated with disrespect and public Scorn By Knaves, by Miscreants, Creatures of his Power; Can this become a King like Ponteach, Whose Empire's measured only by the Sun? No, I'll assert my Right, the Hatchet raise, And drive these Britons hence like frighted Deer, Destroy their Forts, and make them rue the Day That to our fertile Land they found the Way.

Ponteach Monologue from Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

Rehearse Ponteach's monologue