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Speeches
"Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death"
By Patrick Henry
Mar 17, 2006, 9:48pm
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This famous speech, which helped launch the Revolutionary War with the words "Give me liberty or give me death," was given by Patrick Henry on March 23, 1775, in St. John's Church in Richmond, Virginia.
Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death
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 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 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!
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