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_ ACT I - SCENE II.
A Desart.Enter ORSBOURN and HONNYMAN, two English Hunters.
ORSBOURN.
Long have we toil'd, and rang'd the Woods in vain,
No Game, nor Track, nor Sign of any Kind
Is to be seen; I swear I am discourag'd
And weary'd out with this long fruitless Hunt.
No Life on Earth besides is half so hard,
So full of Disappointments, as a Hunter's:
Each Morn he wakes he views the destin'd Prey,
And counts the Profits of th' ensuing Day;
Each Ev'ning at his curs'd ill Fortune pines,
And till next Day his Hope of Gain resigns.
By Jove, I'll from these Desarts hasten home,
And swear that never more I'll touch a Gun.
HONNYMAN.
These hateful Indians kidnap all the Game.
Curse their black Heads! they fright the Deer and Bear,
And ev'ry Animal that haunts the Wood,
Or by their Witchcraft conjure them away.
No Englishman can get a single Shot,
While they go loaded home with Skins and Furs.
'Twere to be wish'd not one of them survived,
Thus to infest the World, and plague Mankind.
Curs'd Heathen Infidels! mere savage Beasts!
They don't deserve to breathe in Christian Air,
And should be hunted down like other Brutes.
ORSBOURN.
I only wish the Laws permitted us
To hunt the savage Herd where e'er they're found;
I'd never leave the Trade of Hunting then,
While one remain'd to tread and range the Wood.
HONNYMAN.
Curse on the Law, I say, that makes it Death
To kill an Indian, more than to kill a Snake.
What if 'tis Peace? these Dogs deserve no Mercy;
Cursed revengeful, cruel, faithless Devils!
They kill'd my Father and my eldest Brother.
Since which I hate their very Looks and Name.
ORSBOURN.
And I, since they betray'd and kill'd my Uncle;
Hell seize their cruel, unrelenting Souls!
Tho' these are not the same, 'twould ease my Heart
To cleave their painted Heads, and spill their Blood.
I abhor, detest, and hate them all,
And now cou'd eat an Indian's Heart with Pleasure.
HONNYMAN.
I'd join you, and soop his savage Brains for Sauce;
I lose all Patience when I think of them,
And, if you will, we'll quickly have Amends
For our long Travel and successless Hunt,
And the sweet Pleasure of Revenge to boot.
ORSBOURN.
What will you do? Present, and pop one down?
HONNYMAN.
Yes, faith, the first we meet well fraught with Furs;
Or if there's Two, and we can make sure Work,
By Jove, we'll ease the Rascals of their Packs,
And send them empty home to their own Country.
But then observe, that what we do is secret,
Or the Hangman will come in for Snacks.
ORSBOURN.
Trust me for that; I'll join with all my Heart;
Nor with a nicer Aim, or steadier Hand,
Would shoot a Tyger than I would an Indian.
There is a Couple stalking now this Way
With lusty Packs; Heav'n favour our Design.
HONNYMAN.
Silence; conceal yourself, and mind your Eye.
ORSBOURN.
Are you well charg'd?
HONNYMAN.
I am. Take you the nearest,
And mind to fire exactly when I do.
ORSBOURN.
A charming Chance!
HONNYMAN.
Hush, let them still come nearer.
[They shoot, and run to rifle the INDIANS.]
They're down, old Boy, a Brace of noble Bucks!
ORSBOURN.
Well tallow'd, faith, and noble Hides upon 'em.
[Taking up a pack.]
We might have hunted all the Season thro'
For Half this Game, and thought ourselves well paid.
HONNYMAN.
By Jove, we might, and been at great Expence
For Lead and Powder, here's a single Shot.
ORSBOURN.
I swear I've got as much as I can carry.
HONNYMAN.
And faith I'm not behind; this Pack is heavy.
But stop; we must conceal the tawny Dogs,
Or their blood-thirsty Countrymen will find them,
And then we're bit. There'll be the Devil to pay,
They'll murder us, and cheat the Hangman too.
ORSBOURN.
Right. We'll prevent all Mischief of this Kind.
Where shall we hide their savage Carcases?
HONNYMAN.
There they will lie conceal'd and snug enough--
[They cover them.]
But stay--perhaps ere long there'll be a War,
And then their Scalps will sell for ready Cash
Two Hundred Crowns at least, and that's worth saving.
ORSBOURN.
Well! that is true, no sooner said than done--
[Drawing his knife.]
I'll strip this Fellow's painted greasy Skull.
[Strips off the scalp.]
HONNYMAN.
A damn'd tough Hide, or my Knife's devilish dull--
[Takes the other scalp.]
Now let them sleep to-night without their Caps,
And pleasant Dreams attend their long Repose.
ORSBOURN.
Their Guns and Hatchets now are lawful Prize,
For they'll not need them on their present Journey.
HONNYMAN.
The Devil hates Arms, and dreads the Smell of Powder;
He'll not allow such Instruments about him,
They're free from training now, they're in his Clutches.
ORSBOURN.
But, Honnyman, d'ye think this is not Murder?
I vow I'm shock'd a little to see them scalp'd,
And fear their Ghosts will haunt us in the Dark.
HONNYMAN.
It's no more Murder than to crack a Louse,
That is, if you've the Wit to keep it private.
And as to Haunting, Indians have no Ghosts,
But as they live like Beasts, like Beasts they die.
I've kill'd a Dozen in this self-same Way,
And never yet was troubled with their Spirits.
ORSBOURN.
Then I'm content; my Scruples are remov'd.
And what I've done, my Conscience justifies.
But we must have these Guns and Hatchets alter'd,
Or they'll detect th' Affair, and hang us both.
HONNYMAN.
That's quickly done--Let us with Speed return,
And think no more of being hang'd or haunted;
But turn our Fur to Gold, our Gold to Wine,
Thus gaily spend what we've so slily won,
And bless the first Inventor of a Gun.
[Exeunt.] _
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