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_Enter an INDIAN._
INDIAN.
What means your Cry? Is any Mischief here?
PHILIP.
Behold this flowing Blood; a desperate Wound! [_Shewing his wound._ And there's a Deed that shakes the Root of Empires.
[_Pointing to the bodies._
2ND INDIAN.
Oh, fatal Sight! the Mohawk Prince is murder'd.
3RD INDIAN.
The Princess too is weltering in her Blood.
PHILIP.
Both, both are gone; 'tis well that I escap'd.
_Enter PONTEACH._
PONTEACH.
What means this Outcry, Noise, and Tumult here?
PHILIP.
Oh see, my Father! see the Blood of Princes, A Sight that might provoke the G.o.ds to weep, And drown the Country in a Flood of Tears.
Great was my Haste, but could not stop the Deed; I rush'd among their Numbers for Revenge, They frighted fled; there I receiv'd this Wound.
[_Shewing his wound to PONTEACH._
PONTEACH.
Who, what were they? or where did they escape?
PHILIP.
A Band of English Warriors, b.l.o.o.d.y Dogs!
This Way they ran from my vindictive Arm, [_Pointing, &c._ Which but for this base Wound would sure have stopp'd them.
PONTEACH.
Pursue, pursue, with utmost Speed pursue, [_To the WARRIORS present._ Outfly the Wind till you revenge this Blood; 'Tis royal Blood, we count it as our own. [_Exeunt WARRIORS in haste._ This Scene is dark, and doubtful the Event; Some great Decree of Fate depends upon it, And mighty Good or Ill awaits Mankind.
The Blood of Princes cannot flow in vain, The G.o.ds must be in Council to permit it: It is the Harbinger of their Designs, To change, new-mould, and alter Things on Earth: And much I fear, 'tis ominous of Ill, To me and mine; it happen'd in my Kingdom.
Their Father's Rage will swell into a Torrent-- They were my Guests--His Wrath will centre here; Our guilty Land hath drunk his Children's Blood.
PHILIP.
Had I not seen the flying Murderers, Myself been wounded to revenge their Crime, Had you not hasten'd to pursue the a.s.sa.s.sins, He might have thought us treacherous and false, Or wanting in our hospitable Care: But now it cannot but engage his Friends.h.i.+p, Rouse him to Arms, and with a Father's Rage He'll point his Vengeance where it ought to fall; And thus this Deed, though vile and dark as Night, In its Events will open Day upon us, And prove of great Advantage to our State.
PONTEACH.
Haste then; declare our Innocence and Grief; Tell the old King we mourn as for our own, And are determin'd to revenge his Wrongs; a.s.sure him that our Enemies are his, And rouse him like a Tyger to the Prey.
PHILIP.
I will with Speed; but first this bleeding Wound Demands my Care, lest you lament me too.
[_Exit, to have his wound dress'd._
PONTEACH [_solus_].
Pale, breathless Youths! Your Dignity still lives: [_Viewing the bodies._ Your Murderers were blind, or they'd have trembled, Nor dar'd to wound such Majesty and Worth; It would have tam'd the savage running Bear, And made the raging Tyger fondly fawn; But your more savage Murderers were Christians.
Oh, the distress'd good King! I feel for him, And wish to comfort his desponding Heart; But your last Rites require my present Care. [_Exit._
SCENE II. _The Senate-House._
_PONTEACH, TENESCO, and others._
PONTEACH.
Let all be worthy of the royal Dead; Spare no Expense to grace th' unhappy Scene, And aggrandize the solemn, gloomy Pomp With all our mournful, melancholy Rites.
TENESCO.
It shall be done; all Things are now preparing.
PONTEACH.
Never were Funeral Rites bestow'd more just; Who knew them living, must lament them dead; Who sees them dead, must wish to grace their Tombs With all the sad Respect of Grief and Tears.
TENESCO.
The Mourning is as general as the News; Grief sits on every Face, in every Eye, And gloomy Melancholy in Silence reigns: Nothing is heard but Sighs and sad Complaints, As if the First-born of the Realm were slain.
PONTEACH.
Thus would I have it; let no Eye be dry No Heart unmov'd, let every Bosom swell With Sighs and Groans. What Shouting do I hear?
[_A shouting without, repeated several times._
TENESCO.
It is the Shout of Warriors from the Battle; The Sound of Victory and great Success. [_He goes to listen to it._
PONTEACH.
