Ponteach monologue (Act 3) — Ponteach; Or, The Savages of America

Do what he will, 'tis this explains my Meaning; [_Taking up the hatchet._ You all are well appris'd of my Design, Which every passing Moment but confirms: Nay, my Heart's pain'd while I withhold my Hand From Blood and Vengeance on our hated Foes. Tho' I should stand alone, I'll try my Power To punish their Encroachments, Frauds, and Pride; Yet tho' I die, it is my Country's Cause, 'Tis better thus to die than be despis'd; Better to die than be a Slave to Cowards, Better to die than see my Friends abus'd; The Aged scorn'd, the Young despis'd and spurn'd. Better to die than see my Country ruin'd, Myself, my Sons, my Friends reduc'd to Famine, Expell'd from hence to barren Rocks and Mountains, To curse our wretched Fate and pine in Want; Our pleasant Lakes and Fertile Lands usurp'd By Strangers, Ravagers, rapacious Christians. Who is it don't prefer a Death in War To this impending Wretchedness and Shame? Who is it loves his Country, Friends, or Self, And does not feel Resentment in his Soul? Who is it sees their growing Strength and Power, And how we waste and fail by swift Degrees, That does not think it Time to rouse and arm, And kill the Serpent ere we feel it sting, And fall the Victims of its painful Poison? Oh! could our Fathers from their Country see Their ancient Rights encroach'd upon and ravag'd, And we their Children slow, supine, and careless To keep the Liberty and Land they left us, And tamely fall a Sacrifice to Knaves! How would their Bosoms glow with patriot Shame, To see their Offspring so unlike themselves? They dared all Dangers to defend their Rights, Nor tamely bore an Insult from a Foe. Their plain rough Souls were brave and full of Fire, Lovers of War, nor knew the Pain of Fear. Rouse, then, ye Sons of ancient Heroes, rouse, Put on your Arms, and let us act a Part Worthy the Sons of such renowned Chiefs. Nor urge I you to Dangers that I shun, Or mean to act my Part by Words alone; This Hand shall wield the Hatchet in the Cause, These Feet pursue the frighted running Foe, This Body rush into the hottest Battle; There should I fall, I shall secure my Honour, And, dying, urge my Countrymen to Vengeance With more Success than all the Force of Words. Should I survive, I'll shed the foremost Tear O'er my brave Countrymen that chance to fall; I'll be the foremost to revenge their Blood, And, while I live, honour both them and theirs, I add no more, but wait to hear your Minds.