send their painted Heads to Hell with Thunder!
I swear I'll blow 'em hence with Cannon Ball,
And give the Devil an Hundred for his Supper.

FRISK.

They're coming here; you see they scent your Track,
And while you'll listen, they will ne'er be silent,
But every Day improve in Insolence.

COCKUM.

I'll soon dispatch and storm them from my Presence.

_Enter PONTEACH, and other Indian CHIEFS._

PONTEACH.

Well, Mr. Colonel Cockum, what d' they call you?
You give no Answer yet to my Complaint;
Your Men give my Men always too much Rum,
Then trade and cheat 'em. What! d' ye think this right?

COCKUM.

Tush! Silence! hold your noisy cursed Nonsense;
I've heard enough of it; what is it to me?

PONTEACH.

What! you a Colonel, and not command your Men?
Let ev'ry one be a Rogue that has a Mind to 't.

COCKUM.

Why, curse your Men, I suppose they wanted Rum;
They'll rarely be content, I know, without it.

PONTEACH.

What then? If Indians are such Fools, I think
White Men like you should stop and teach them better.

COCKUM.

I'm not a Pedagogue to your curs'd Indians. [_Aside._

PONTEACH.

Colonel, I hope that you'll consider this.

FRISK.

Why, don't you see the Colonel will not hear you?
You'd better go and watch your Men yourself,
Nor plague us with your cursed endless Noise;
We've something else to do of more Importance.

PONTEACH.

Hah! Captain Frisk, what! you a great man too?
My Bus'ness here is only with your Colonel;
And I'll be heard, or know the Reason why.

1ST CHIEF.

I thought the English had been better Men.

2ND CHIEF.

Frenchmen would always hear an Indian speak,
And answer fair, and make good Promises.

COCKUM.

You may be d----d, and all your Frenchmen too.

PONTEACH.

Be d----d! what's that? I do not understand.

COCKUM.

The Devil teach you; he'll do it without a Fee.

PONTEACH.

The Devil teach! I think you one great Fool.
Did your King tell you thus to treat the Indians?
Had he been such a Dunce he ne'er had conquer'd,
And made the running French for Quarter cry.
I always mind that such proud Fools are Cowards,
And never do aught that is great or good.

COCKUM.

Forbear your Impudence, you curs'd old Thief;
This Moment leave my Fort, and to your Country.
Let me hear no more of your hellish Clamour,
Or to D----n I will blow you all,
And feast the Devil with one hearty Meal.

PONTEACH.

So ho! Know you whose Country you are in?