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.