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.