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Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death
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John Henry
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Oct 31, 2004 23:14 PST
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GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH
Patrick Henry
March 23, 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 questing 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 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 number 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 by
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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