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
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 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!