What shall my answer be? (PROPHET: Why, like my own--There is no answer save that we shall go.) (To BARRON.) I fear that our complaint lies all too deep For your Chief's curing. The Great Spirit gave The red men this wide continent as theirs, And in the east another to the white; But, not content at home, these crossed the sea, And drove our fathers from their ancient seats. Their sons in turn are driven to the Lakes, And cannot further go unless they drown. Yet now you take upon yourselves to say This tract is Kickapoo, this Delaware, And this Miami; but your Chief should know That all our lands are common to our race! How can one nation sell the rights of all Without consent of all? No! For my part I am a Red Man, not a Shawanoe, And here I mean to stay. Go to your chief, And tell him I shall meet him at Vincennes. (Exeunt all but TECUMSEH.) What is there in my nature so supine That I must ever quarrel with revenge? From vales and rivers which were once our own The pale hounds who uproot our ancient graves Come whining for our lands, with fawning tongues, And schemes and subterfuge and subtleties. O for a Pontiac to drive them back And whoop them to their shuddering villages! O for an age of valour like to his, When freedom clothed herself with solitude, And one in heart the scattered nations stood, And one in hand. It comes! and mine shall be The lofty task to teach them to be free-- To knit the nations, bind them into one, And end the task great Pontiac begun!

Tecumseh Monologue from Tecumseh : a Drama

Rehearse Tecumseh's monologue