University of Virginia Library

Scene the Third

Zephario, Ulamar, Beaufort. 1 Emb. 2 Emb.
Ze.
Well Frenchmen, here you come to treat of Peace;
But first this Obvious question must be ask'd;
How comes it we have War?

Ul.
Because the Truce they Treacherously broke,
Tho' by themselves propos'd, and first begun.

Beau.
As they will this; for Peace is of no use
To them, but to be Broke.
Five Solemn Leagues in European Climes,
Ev'n in our own Remembrance have they Broke;
Tho' by themselves, those Treaties were begun;
And which with Damn'd Perfidiousness they Swore,
Ev'n by that Pow'r that saw their Faithless Hearts,
To keep eternally Inviolate.

Ul.
It seems then, when they find themselves too weak
To hurt their Foes by Honourable War,
They oblige us then to Swear not to hurt them.

Beau.
Nay more, they make us Swear to give them Time
And opportunity to urge our Fate;
That as false Friends, they may gain that by Treaty,
Which they could not by Enmity nor Force.

1 Emb.
The breaking Truce, was a rash private Act,
Which Frontenac our Governour disowns.

2. Emb.
And which he since severely has Chastiz'd.

1. Emb.
Know that the Mighty Monarch whom we serve,
Has sent strict Orders to Count Frontenac,
To make a solid and a lasting Peace,
With all the Warlike Five European Tribes;
A Peace so firm, that 'tis his Royal Will,
That you, and all his Subjects should be one.

Ul.
That is, that we should be alike his Slaves.

2. Emb.
Oh you mistake his bountiful design;
He sees and pities the Barbarity,
In which so Brave a Nation now lies plung'd;
And he would Civilize your Rugged ways;
Therefore his faithful Subjects he commands,
To have one Heart, one Soul, one dwelling with you,

Ul.
But that Proposal we reject with scorn.

Mel.
Consider we shall teach you our own manners,
Those pleasing manners, which the World admires,
And which the wisest Nations have Embrac'd.

Beau.
The wisest Nations! Yes, the Fools of all:
Oh Europe, Europe! How hast thou been dull
To thy undoing? How thy heedless Magistrates
Have suffer'd poor unthinking Sots, to unlearn,
Their native Customs, and their native Tongues,
To speak your Jargon, and assume your ways

Mele.
Which argues in us a Superiour Genious.

Beau.
I must confess it makes our Fools believe so;
Inclines their Grovling Souls to their worst Foes,
And makes them obvious to your shameful Arts;
Makes them admire you, makes them Imitate you,
Tho' aukwardly our Asses ape your Dogs.

Ul.
What have you taught the Nations after all?
What have you taught them but Inglorious arts:
To emascalate their minds? But cursed Luxury,
Which makes them needy, venal, base, perfidious
Black Traytors to their Country, Friends to you.

Beauf.
For you win Provinces, as Hell gains Souls;
'Tis by corrupting them you make them yours:
They might defie your malice were they faithful:
But first you enslave them to their own base Passions;
And afterwards to yours.