Ah cursed Caine the scourge of all thy race,

Now thou hast got a blacke and murdering face,

For God above (in justice) hath ordained,

Thy offspring all should to this day be stained,

Unto the griefe and terror of their soules,

For laying Habel in cold dusty moulds,

No other cause the world could ever tell,

To make them looke as if they came from Heil,

Amongst the devils at every step to start,

The fatal place where thou (vile wretch) now art. . .

Unto such men I would know and try,

If the Libian deserts be far more dry,

Whose people parch't, the very sun doth roast,

Yet are they white or tawny at the most,

The want of water with the Sun and sand,

May be the cause that they so much are tanned:

But yet in negro land the people have,

Of water store in every ditch and cave:

For Niger great, even from his very source,

Just through the midst hath ever kept his course,

And all the land on every side and round,

Even like to Niles overflowes the ground,

The drinesse of their reason we may wave,

Because tis known they water plenty have.

Those that ascribe it proper to the Earth,

And see us there even from our birth,

How we and they are born within one place,

And we are white, and they are black and base,

May sit them downe and well may take a pause,

To think with us that cannot be the cause. . .

Others there be above the clouds to fly,

To search the secrets of their destiny,

Whose wits and learning sure must wander farre,

To a constellation or some fixed starre,

I would the cause they would unto us teach,

And not to flye so farre above our reach,

Until which time I shall be well content,

To think it was Gods righteous punishment,

On Cursed Caine, and all his offspring lewd,

For doing that which I before have shew'd.