Ponteach Monologue from Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

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

male · dark · 1:01 min

Pursue, pursue, with utmost Speed pursue, [ (To the WARRIORS present.) Outfly the Wind till you revenge this Blood; 'Tis royal Blood, we count it as our own. [ (Exeunt WARRIORS in haste.) This Scene is dark, and doubtful the Event; Some great Decree of Fate depends upon it, And mighty Good or Ill awaits Mankind. The Blood of Princes cannot flow in vain, The Gods must be in Council to permit it: It is the Harbinger of their Designs, To change, new-mould, and alter Things on Earth: And much I fear, 'tis ominous of Ill, To me and mine; it happen'd in my Kingdom. Their Father's Rage will swell into a Torrent-- They were my Guests--His Wrath will centre here; Our guilty Land hath drunk his Children's Blood.

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