Boast not proud English, of thy birth & blood,
Thy brother Indian is by birth as Good.
Of one blood God made Him, and Thee & All,
As wise, as faire, as strong, as personall.
By nature wrath's his portiõ, thine no more
Till Grace his soule and thine in Christ restore,
Make sure thy second birth, else thou shalt see,
Heaven ope to Indians wild, but shut to thee.
—
Adulteries, Murthers, Robberies, Thefts,
Wild Indians punish these!
And hold the Scales of Justice so,
That no man farthing leese.
When Indians heare the horrid filths,
of Irish, English Men,
The horrid Oaths and Murthers late,
Thus say these Indians then.
We weare no Cloaths, have many Gods,
And yet our sinnes are lesse:
You are Barbarians, Pagans wild,
Your Land's the Wildernesse.
