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_ ACT III - SCENE I.
A Forest.
CHEKITAN.
[Seeing TORAX and MONELIA, coming towards them.]
As the young Hunter, anxious in the Chace,
With beating Heart and quivering Hand espies
The wish'd for Game, and trembles for th' Event,
So I behold the bright Monelia's Steps,
Whom anxiously I've sought, approach this way--
What shall I say? or how shall I accost her?
It is a fatal Minute to mistake in.
The Joy or Grief of Life depends upon 't;
It is the important Crisis of my Fate.
I've thought a thousand things to say and do,
But know not which to say or do the first.
Shall I begin with my old Tale of Love?
Or shall I shock her with the News of War?
Must I put on the Face of Joy or Grief?
Seem unconcern'd or full of Doubts and Fears?
How unprepar'd I am for the Encounter!
I'd rather stand against an Host of Foes--
But she draws near, and Fate must guide me now,
[Enter TORAX and MONELIA.]
Where tend your Steps with such an Air of Joy?
TORAX.
To view the Beauties of th' extended Lake,
And on its mossy Bank recline at Ease,
While we behold the Sports of Fish and Fowl,
Which in this Calm no doubt will be diverting.
And these are new Amusements to Monelia,
She never saw the Sea or Lakes before.
CHEKITAN.
I'm glad our Country's aught to give such Pleasure
To one deservedly so welcome in it.
MONELIA.
That I am welcome you have oft assur'd me,
That I deserve it you may be mistaken,
The outside Shew, the Form, the Dress, the Air,
That please at first Acquaintance, oft deceive us,
And prove more Mimickers of true Desert,
Which always brightens by a further Trial,
Appears more lovely as we know it better,
At least can never suffer by Acquaintance.
Perhaps then you To-morrow will despise
What you esteem To-day, and call deserving.
CHEKITAN.
My Love to you, Monelia, cannot change.
Your Beauty, like the Sun, for ever pleases,
And like the Earth, my Love can never move.
MONELIA.
The Earth itself is sometimes known to shake,
And the bright Sun by Clouds is oft conceal'd,
And gloomy Night succeeds the Smiles of Day;
So Beauty oft by foulest Faults is veil'd,
And after one short Blaze admir'd no more,
Loses its Lustre, drops its sparkling Charms,
The Lover sickens, and his Passion dies.
Nay, worse, he hates what he so doted on.
Time only proves the Truth of Worth and Love,
The one may be a Cheat, the other change,
And Fears, and Jealousies, and mortal Hate,
Succeed the Sunshine of the warmest Passion.
CHEKITAN.
Have I not vow'd my Love to you, Monelia,
And open'd all the Weakness of my Heart?
You cannot think me false and insincere,
When I repeat my Vows to love you still;
Each time I see you move, or hear you speak,
It adds fresh Fuel to the growing Flame.
You're like the rising Sun, whose Beams increase
As he advances upward to our View;
We gaze with growing Wonder till we're blind,
And every Beauty fades and dies but his.
Thus shall I always view your growing Charm,
And every Day and Hour with fresh Delight.
Witness thou Sun and Moon, and Stars above,
Witness ye purling Streams and quivering Lakes,
Witness ye Groves and Hills, and Springs and Plains,
Witness ye Shades, and the cool Fountain, where
I first espied the Image of her Charms,
And starting saw her on th' adjacent Bank,
If I to my Monelia prove untrue.
MONELIA.
Hoh! now your Talk is so much like a Christian's,
That I must be excus'd if I distrust you,
And think your fair Pretences all designing.
I once was courted by a spruce young Blade,
A lac'd Coat Captain, warlike, active, gay,
Cockaded Hat and Medal on his Breast,
And every thing was clever but his Tongue;
He swore he lov'd, O! how he swore he lov'd,
Call'd on his God and Stars to witness for him,
Wish'd he might die, be blown to Hell and damn'd,
If ever he lov'd woman so before:
Call'd me his Princess, Charmer, Angel, Goddess,
Swore nothing else was ever half so pretty,
So dear, so sweet, so much to please his Taste,
He kiss'd, he squeez'd, and press'd me to his Bosom,
Vow'd nothing could abate his ardent Passion,
Swore he should die, should drown, or hang himself,
Could not exist if I denied his Suit,
And said a thousand Things I cannot Name:
My simple Heart, made soft by so much Heat,
Half gave Consent, meaning to be his Bride.
The Moment thus unguarded, he embrac'd,
And impudently ask'd to stain my Virtue.
With just Disdain I push'd him from my Arms,
And let him know he'd kindled my Resentment;
The Scene was chang'd from Sunshine to a Storm,
Oh! then he curs'd, and swore, and damn'd, and sunk,
Call'd me proud Bitch, pray'd Heav'n to blast my Soul,
Wish'd Furies, Hell, and Devils had my Body,
To say no more; bid me begone in Haste
Without the smallest Mark of his Affection.
This was an Englishman, a Christian Lover.
CHEKITAN.
Would you compare an Indian Prince to those
Whose Trade it is to cheat, deceive, and flatter?
Who rarely speak the Meaning of their Hearts?
Whose Tongues are full of Promises and Vows?
Whose very Language is a downright Lie?
Who swear and call on Gods when they mean nothing?
Who call it complaisant, polite good Breeding,
To say Ten thousand things they don't intend,
And tell their nearest Friends the basest Falsehood?
I know you cannot think me so perverse,
Such Baseness dwells not in an Indian's Heart,
And I'll convince you that I am no Christian.
MONELIA.
Then do not swear, nor vow, nor promise much,
An honest Heart needs none of this Parade;
Its Sense steals softly to the list'ning Ear,
And Love, like a rich Jewel we most value,
When we ourselves by Chance espy its Blaze
And none proclaims where we may find the Prize.
Mistake me not, I don't impeach your Honour,
Nor think you undeserving my Esteem;
When our Hands join you may repeat your Love,
But save these Repetitions from the Tongue.
CHEKITAN.
Forgive me, if my Fondness is too pressing,
'Tis Fear, 'tis anxious Fear, that makes it so.
MONELIA.
What do you fear? have I not said enough?
Or would you have me swear some Christian Oath?
CHEKITAN.
No, but I fear our Love will be oppos'd,
Your Father will forbid our Hands to join.
MONELIA.
I cannot think it; you are Ponteach's Son,
Heir to an Empire large and rich as his.
CHEKITAN.
True; but your Father is a Friend to Britons,
And mine a Foe, and now is fix'd on War,
Immediate War: This Day the Chiefs assemble,
To raise the Hatchet, and to arm the Troops.
MONELIA.
Then I must leave your Realm, and bid Adieu,
In spite of your fond Passion, or my own;
For I can never disoblige my Father,
Though by it I were sure to gain an Empire.
CHEKITAN.
Then Chekitan's undone, undone for ever.
Unless your Father by kind Fate is mov'd
To be our Friend, and join the Lists with mine.
TORAX.
Nothing would please me better; I love War,
And think it time to curb the English Pride,
And give a check to their increasing Power.
The Land is ravag'd by their numerous Bands,
And every Day they're growing more our Lords.
CHEKITAN.
Are you sincere, or do you feign this Speech?
TORAX.
Indeed my Tongue does not bely my Heart;
And but my Father's wrong-turn'd Policy
Forbids, I'd instant join in War with you,
And help to set new Limits to their Power.
CHEKITAN.
'Tis plain, if they proceed, nor you nor I
Shall rule an Empire, or possess a Crown,
Our Countries all will soon become a Prey
To Strangers; we perhaps shall be their Slaves.
But will your Father be convinc'd of this?
TORAX.
I doubt he'll not. The good old Man esteems
And dotes upon them as most worthy Friends;
I've told him often that he cherish'd Serpents,
To bite his Children, and destroy his Friends.
But this he calls the Folly of my Youth,
Bids me be silent, show Respect to Age,
Nor sow Sedition in my Father's Empire.
CHEKITAN.
Stiff as he is, he yet may be subdued;
And I've a Power prepar'd that will attack him.
Should he refuse his Aid to our Design,
Retire himself, and bid his Troops to follow,
Yet Philip stands engag'd for his Return,
Ere twice the Sun has ris'n and blest the Earth.
Philip is eloquent, and so prepar'd,
He cannot fail to bend him to our Purpose.
You and Monelia have a Part to act;
To linger here, should he in Haste retreat
Till Philip follows and employs his Force.
Your Stay will add new Life to the Design,
And be of mighty Weight to gain Success.
MONELIA.
How shall we tarry midst the Noise of War,
In Danger of our Lives from Friends and Foes;
This will be deem'd a Madness by our Father,
And will deserve his most severe Rebuke.
CHEKITAN.
Myself will be a Sponsor for your Safety;
And should your Father baffle our Attempts,
Conduct you home from all the Noise of War,
Where may you long in Peace and Plenty smile,
While I return to mourn my hapless Fate.
But should Success attend on Philip's Purpose.
Your Father will not discommend your Stay,
But smiling give new Vigour to the War;
Which being ended, and our Foes subdu'd,
The happy Fruits of Peace succeed to all,
But we shall taste the greater Sweets of Love.
TORAX.
The Purport of our Stay is hid from me;
But Philip's subtle, crafty as the Fox.
We'll give full Scope to his enticing Art,
And help him what we can to take the Prey.
MONELIA.
In your Protection then I trust myself,
Nor will delay beyond th' appointed Term,
Lest anxious Fears possess our Father's Heart,
Or Mischiefs happen that incur his Anger.
TORAX.
It is agreed; we now pursue our Walk;
Mean time consult what else may be of Use,
You're pain'd with Love, and I'm in Pain for War.
[Exeunt.]
CHEKITAN
[solus].
The Game is sure--Her Brother's on my Side--
Her Brother and my own--My Force is strong--
But could her Father now be rous'd to War,
How should I triumph and defy even Fate?
But Fortune favours all advent'rous Souls:
I'll now to Philip; tell him my Success,
And rouse up every Spark of Vigour in him:
He will conceive fresh Hopes, and be more zealous. _
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