What may your great and secret Purpose be,
That thus requires Concealment in its Birth?
Ponteach.
To raise the Hatchet from its short Repose,
Brighten its Edge, and stain it deep with Blood;
To scourge my proud, insulting, haughty Foes,
To enlarge my Empire, which will soon be yours:
Your Interest, Glory, Grandeur, I consult,
And therefore hope with Vigour you'll pursue
And execute whatever I command.
Chekitan.
When we refuse Obedience to your Will,
We are not worthy to be call'd your Sons.
Philip.
If we inherit not our Father's Valour,
We never can deserve to share his Empire.
Tenesco.
Spoke like yourselves, the Sons of Ponteach;
Strength, Courage, and Obedience form the Soldier,
And the firm Base of all true Greatness lay.
Ponteach.