                        Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death
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 March 23, 1775
 By Patrick Henry                                                                
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          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 gentlement 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 extentuate 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!
