Ponteach Monologue from Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

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

male · defiant · 1:23 min

'Tis coming on. Thus Wave succeeds to Wave, Till the Storm's spent, then all subsides again-- The Chiefs revolted:--My Design betray'd:-- May he that trusts a Christian meet the same; They have no Faith, no Honesty, no God, And cannot merit Confidence from Men. Were I alone the boist'rous Tempest's Sport, I'd quickly move my shatter'd, trembling Bark, And follow my departed Sons to Rest. But my brave Countrymen, my Friends, my Subjects, Demand my Care: I'll not desert the Helm, Nor leave a dang'rous Station in Distress; Yes, I will live, in spite of Fate I'll live; Was I not Ponteach, was I not a King, Such Giant Mischiefs would not gather round me. And since I'm Ponteach, since I am a King, I'll shew myself Superior to them all; I'll rise above this Hurricane of Fate, And shew my Courage to the Gods themselves. (Enter TENESCO, surprised and pausing.) I am prepar'd, be not afraid to tell; You cannot speak what Ponteach dare not hear.

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