Rolfe. Ah! cruel leaf! Speaks it the truth? She loves not? (Looking at Pocahontas.
Nom. Who?
Rolfe. (To Pocahontas.) Thou lov'st not?
Nom. Let me see't!
Rolfe. (To Pocahontas.) Thou said'st so! Thou!
Nom. No, no; content thee: it was I who bid it
Say that. Rolfe, can a red man make it speak?
Rolfe. Any one can. You, or your sister.
Nom.Can I?
I'd give my bow, of yellow orange wood—
The best in all our settlement—to know
That medicine!
Poc.I think I understand it.
Nom. Well?