Honnyman monologue (Act 4) — Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

You may depend upon 't, we all must die, I've made such Havoc, they'll have no Compassion; They only wait to study out new Torments: All that can be inflicted or endur'd, We may expect from their relentless Hands. Their brutal Eyes ne'er shed a pitying Tear; Their savage Hearts ne'er had a Thought of Mercy; Their Bosoms swell with Rancour and Revenge, And, Devil-like, delight in others' Plagues, Love Torments, Torture, Anguish, Fire, and Pain, The deep-fetch'd Groan, the melancholy Sigh, And all the Terrors and Distress of Death, These are their Music, and enhance their Joy. In Silence then submit yourself to Fate: Make no Complaint, nor ask for their Compassion; This will confound and half destroy their Mirth; Nay, this may put a stop to many Tortures, To which our Prayers and Tears and Plaints would move them.