Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death

No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism¹, as well as abilities, of the very worthy² 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 forth³ 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 fulfill⁴ 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 offense⁵, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty⁶ of Heaven, which I revere⁷ 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 arduous⁸ 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 salvation⁹? For my part, whatever anguish¹⁰ 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 ministry¹¹ for the last ten years to justify¹² those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace¹³ themselves and the House. Is it that insidious¹⁴ smile with which our petition has been lately received?

Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare¹⁵ to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports¹⁶ with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation¹⁷? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling¹⁸ to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements¹⁹ of war and subjugation²⁰; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial²¹ array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission²²? Can gentlement assign any other possible motive²³ 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 bind²⁴ and rivet²⁵ 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 entreaty²⁶ and humble²⁷ supplication²⁸? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted²⁹? Let us not, I beseech³⁰ you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert³¹ the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated³²; we have supplicated³³; we have prostrated³⁴ ourselves before the throne, and have implored³⁵ its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances³⁶ have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned³⁷, 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 inviolate³⁸ 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 adversary³⁹. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed⁴⁰, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength but irresolution⁴¹ and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive⁴² phantom⁴³ 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 invincible⁴⁴ 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 vigilant⁴⁵, 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 extentuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace--but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale⁴⁶ that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding⁴⁷ 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, Almighty⁴⁸ God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!