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Ay, and wisely too :
If thy great spirit were as quick to spare
As it is prone to conquer, there's not one
Of all our mighty națions-not a Creek
Could boast a soul so terrible as thine.
For thou dread’st nothing.

One thing.

What can that be? Tel. The friendship of a Spaniard. Raym.

Dread it still: Commune not with them; they have spells to curse

ye: There is a treacherous sorcery in their bowl; However pledg'd, their drink shall make you mad.

Tel. They are come for gold. . An Indian (some years since) in the mountains found Some grains of that curs'd metal, which he sold To a wreck'd Spaniard. He, returning home, Brought here this swarm of spoilers. . Raym.

: You say true; That was the spell that charm'd them; they are come To make you slaves, to dig their glittring idol, And beasts to bear the burden to their coffers. But ye are men, not beasts: ye will not suffer These fierce hyenas of the wilderness To violate the graves of your forefathers,

And change the habitations of the dead
To charnel-houses for the living. No.
(But yon declining orb half meets his goal)
Chiefs, warriors, friends, my Creeks, my fellow men,
I must away - to chains - perhaps to death!
Then look upon me as a dying man,
Who has a parting fond request to make ;
And when 'tis granted, shuts his eyes in peace.

Indians. Speak; we will do it.

Raym. I heed not pain -- I start not at the grave: But when this perishable frame decays In dust and darkness, tell the Spaniards thus : ". Three moons we give you to depart in peace : Our forests shall repair your sea-worn ships : Whate'er our land produces, victual them :" Then, when the work of preparation's o’er ; When in their flapping sails the wind plays fair, And rattles in the cordage ---speed them on, And wish them happy in their native land; But if they should refuse- (They lift their hatchets.)

Ay, then strike home!
You have no choice. This land, that cannot be
A peaceful habitation to you both,
Must be a grave to one. Then sweep, at once,

These robbers from your country: leave no trace
Of aught that's Spaniard: let the memory

Even of their crimes be razed,
And perish to our children.

We will remember. Raym. Why then, farewell. Potowmak, Telico, Cherish my words. Farewell. Now to my fate.


Enter Zoa.
Zoa. My life, my soul, my husband.
Raym. Ha ! this I look'd not for. (Aside.)
Tel. (To PotowMAK.) She'll ruin all.
Pot. Fear not-her whole sex could not move him.
Tel. Mark them.
Zoa. You will not speak to me. Nay, now I see
The cause; your joy can find no words. Yet speak:
Come, you look weary. Neath our orange tree,
Upon the dry turf, you shall sleep, and I,
Will watch you; whilst the soft winds gently shake
The o'er-blown blossoms on your perfum'd rest.

Raym. I cannot bear it.

He relents. (Aside.)

My wife ! We must this moment part.

Pot. (To TELICO.) He'll keep his word.

Hear me, Zoa.
I must, ere sunset, (for my word is pass'd).
To prison.

Zoa. Be it so, there will I dwell.
Raym. Perhaps to death!

Then it shall be my tomb. But why to prison ?

Raym... : I have promis'd so;.
Shall I betray my faith?

No, not for worlds;
For when you took this hand, and kiss'd it first,
You pledg’d your faith that death alone should part us.
What is a prison, but a closer home?
Have I not on the sky-roof'd mountain slept,
Rock'd by the whirlwind; and when loud and dark
The midnight march of the careering storm
Howld o'er the uprooting pine ; when nature quak’d,
As with the mighty throb of dissolution,
Amidst the various tumult of my soul,
Have I not felt the sweetness of thy presence ?
What, though the walls be damp and desolate;
The house of famine, pestilence, and death,
Is it not thine — and shall you dwell alone?
'Tis such a place that cries aloud for comfort.
What charm can comfort bring to man like woman?
What woman like a wife? Let me go with you.

Raym. It cannot be.
Tel. She moves him e'en to tears. (Aside.)

Yet he is fix'd. Zoa. I will but watch thee with unwinking eyes And if a tear upon thy cheek should light, I'll kiss it gently off, and still forbear to wake thee.

Raym. I cannot bear it. Telico !- Potowmak! Tear us asunder. (They part them.) Will you basely

stand And see your chief dishonour'd by a woman? Farewell. My manhood never shrunk till now. (Aside. Be kind and gentle to her. Oh! farewell! [Exit. Zoa. (Breaking indignantly from the Creeks.) Zoa is

never wont to force her love Where 'tis not welcome. Yet, 'tis somewhat strange; I ask with him to share captivity, And he refuses me..

Pot. (To Telico.) It strikes her deeply: Withdraw the Creeks, and leave us. [They retire.

POTOWMAK and Zoa. Zoa. And why am I forbidden to partake His bread and water, and his scanty straw; And “ 'tis a place ill fitted to my sex;" As if I had a soul to be dismay'd With what these Spaniards can inflict. 'Tis strange, There must be something more. Pot.

He must return,

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