[Struggling with the Priest, and trying to disengage herself.]
No, I would sooner die than be dishonour'd—
Cut my own Throat, or drown me in the Lake.
Priest.
Do you love Indians better than us white Men?
Monelia.
Nay, should an Indian make the foul Attempt,
I'd murder him, or kill my wretched Self.
Priest.
I must I can, and will enjoy you now.
Monelia.
You must! You sha'n't, you cruel, barbarous Christian.