                                              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 thiscountry. 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 toarrive 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 but 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 shallnot 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!