This should have been new-drawn before they enter'd.
[Pulling out an inventory of the whole goods.
Gripe.
What matters that? They cannot read, you know,
And you can read to them in gen'ral Terms.
Enter Ponteach, with several of his Chieftains.
Sharp.
Welcome, my Brothers, we are glad to meet you,
And hope that you will not repent our coming.
Ponteach.
We're glad to see our Brothers here the English.
If honourable Peace be your Desire,
We'd always have the Hatchet buried deep,
While Sun and Moon, Rivers and Lakes endure,
And Trees and Herbs within our Country grow.
But then you must not cheat and wrong the Indians,
Or treat us with Reproach, Contempt, and Scorn;
Else we will raise the Hatchet to the Sky,
And let it never touch the Earth again,
Sharpen its Edge, and keep it bright as Silver,
Or stain it red with Murder and with Blood.
Mind what I say, I do not tell you Lies.
Sharp.