St. John's Church, Richmond, Virginia
March 23, 1775.
MR. PRESIDENT: 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 fulfil 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 offence, 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 these
war-like 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 free² if we mean to preserve inviolate
those inestimable privileges for which we
have been so long contending²if 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. Three 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!
