It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace. The war has 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 the 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!_ EMANCIPATION FROM BRITISH DEPENDENCE BY PHILIP FRENEAU (_The following note in explanation of proper names, etc., in this poem is copied from Duyckinck’s edition of Freneau._) Note.—Sir James Wallace, Admiral Graves, and Captain Montague, were British naval officers, employed on our coast. The _Viper_ and _Rose_ were vessels in the service. Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor of Virginia, had recently in April, 1775, removed the public stores from Williamsburg, and, in conjunction with a party of adherents, supported by the naval force on the station, was making war on the province. William Tryon, the last Royal governor of New York, informed of a resolution of the Continental Congress: “That it be recommended to the several provincial assemblies in conventions and councils, or committees of safety, to arrest and secure every person in their respective colonies whose going at large may, in their opinion, endanger the safety of the colony or the liberties of America,” discerning the signs of the times, took refuge on board the Halifax packet in the harbor, and left the city in the middle of October, 1775. _Libera nos, Domine_—Deliver us, O Lord, Not only from British dependence, but also, From a junto that labor for absolute power, Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour; From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom Who still follow on where delusion shall lead ’em. From groups at St. James’s who slight our Petitions, And fools that are waiting for further submissions; From a nation whose manners are rough and abrupt, From scoundrels and rascals whom gold can corrupt. From pirates sent out by command of the king To murder and plunder, but never to swing; From Wallace, and Graves, and _Vipers_ and _Roses_, Whom, if Heaven pleases, we’ll give bloody noses. From the valiant Dunmore, with his crew of banditti Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city, From hot-headed Montague, mighty to swear, The little fat man with his pretty white hair. From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown, From slaves that would die for a smile from the throne, From assemblies that vote against Congress’ proceedings, (Who now see the fruit of their stupid misleadings).