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Give
Me Liberty or Give Me Death
1775
No
man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well
as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just
addressed the house. But different men often see the same
subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will
not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if,
entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite
to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and
without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question
before the house is one of awful moment to this country. For
my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question
of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of
the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is
only in this way that we can hope to arrive at the truth,
and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God
and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a
time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider
myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an
act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I
revere above all earthly kings.
Mr.
President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions
of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful
truth, and listen to the song of that siren till she
transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men,
engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we
disposed to be of the numbers of those who, having eyes, see
not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly
concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever
anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the
whole truth, to know the worst, and to provide for it.
I
have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is
the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the
future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to
know what there has been in the conduct of the British
ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with
which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and
the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our
petition has been lately received?
Trust
it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not
yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how
this gracious reception of our petition comports with those
warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our
land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and
reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be
reconciled that force must be called in to win back our
love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the
implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to
which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this
martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to
submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive
for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the
world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and
armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they
can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and
rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry have
been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them?
Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the
last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the
subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light
of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall
we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms
shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us
not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have
done everything that could be done to avert the storm which
is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated;
we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the
throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the
tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our
petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have
produced additional violence and insult; our supplications
have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with
contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these
things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and
reconciliation.
There
is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free--if we
mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for
which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely
to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long
engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to
abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be
obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An
appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left
us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with
so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger?
Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when
we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be
stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength but
irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of
effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and
hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies
shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if
we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature
hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in
the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that
which we possess, are invincible by any force which our
enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight
our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the
destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight
our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong
alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave.
Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to
desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest.
There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our
chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains
of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat
it, sir, let it come.
It
is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry,
Peace, Peace--but there is no peace. The war is actually
begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring
to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are
already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it
that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear,
or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains
and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course
others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me
death!
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