This mighty paradox, will soon dissolve.
Hear first, Burgoyne, the valour of these men,
Fir'd with the zeal, of fiercest liberty,
No fear of death, so terrible to all,
Can stop their rage. Grey-headed clergymen,
With holy bible, and continual prayer,
Bear up their fortitude—and talk of heav'n,
And tell them, that sweet soul, who dies in battle,
Shall walk, with spirits of the just. These words
Add wings to native rage, and hurry them
Impetuous to war. Nor yet in arms
Unpractised. The day of Lexington
A sad conviction gave our soldiery,
That these Americans, were not that herd,
And rout ungovern'd, which we painted them.
Howe.
Not strange to your maturer thought, Burgoyne,
This matter will appear. A people brave,
Who never yet, of luxury, or soft
Delights, effeminate, and false, have tasted.
But, through hate of chains, and slav'ry, suppos'd,
Forsake their mountain tops, and rush to arms.
Oft have I heard their valour published:
Their perseverance, and untamable,
Fierce mind, when late they fought with us, and drove,
The French encroaching on their settlements,
Back to their frozen lakes. Or when with us
On Cape Breton, they stormed Louisburg.
With us in Canada, they took Quebec;
And at the Havannah, these New-England Men,
Led on by Putnam, acted gallantly.
I had a brother once, who in that war,
With fame commanded them, and when he fell,
Not unlamented; for these warriors,
So brave themselves, and sensible of merit,
Erected him a costly monument;
And much it grieves me that I draw my sword,
For this late insurrection and revolt,
To chastise them. Would to Almighty God,
The task unnatural, had been assign'd,
Elsewhere. But since by Heaven, determined,
Let's on, and wipe the day of Lexington,
Thus soil'd, quite from our soldiers' memories.
This reinforcement, which with us have fail'd,
In many a transport, from Britannia's shores,
Will give new vigour to the Royal Arms,
And crush rebellion, in its infancy.
Let's on, and from this siege, calamitous,
Assert our liberty; nay, rather die,
Transfix'd in battle, by their bayonets,
Than thus remain, the scoff and ridicule
Of gibing wits, and paltry gazetteers,
On this, their madding continent, who cry,
Where is the British valour: that renown
Which spoke in thunder, to the Gallic shores?
That spirit is evaporate, that fire;
Which erst distinguish'd them, that flame;
And gen'rous energy of soul, which fill'd
Their Henrys, Edwards, thunder-bolts of war;
Their Hampdens, Marlboroughs, and the immortal Wolfe,
On the Abraham heights, victorious.
Britannia's genius, is unfortunate,
And flags, say they, when Royal tyranny
Directs her arms. This let us then disprove,
In combat speedily, and take from them,
The wantonness of this fell pride, and boasting.
Gage.
Tho' much I dread the issue of the attempt,
So full of hazard, and advent'rous spirit;
Yet since your judgment, and high skill in arms,
From full experience, boldly prompts you on,
I give my voice, and when one day hath pass'd,
In whose swift hours, may be wrought, highly up,
The resolution, of the soldiery,
With soothing words, and ample promises,
Of rich rewards, in lands and settlements,
From the confiscate property throughout,
These rebel colonies, at length subdu'd;
Then march we forth, beat up their drowsy camp,
And with the sun, to this safe capital,
Return, rich, with the triumphs of the war.
And be our plan, that which brave Haldiman,
Ere yet recall'd, advis'd to us. Let first,
Brave Howe, and Clinton, on that western point,
Land with the transports, and mean time Burgoyne,
With the artillery, pour sharp cannonade,
Along the neck, and sweep, the beachy plain,
Which lies to Roxborough, where yon western stream,
Flowing from Cambridge, mixes with the Bay.
Thus, these Americans, shall learn to dread,
The force of discipline, and skill in arms.
ACT III.
Scene I. Bunkers-Hill.
Enter Gardiner, with seven hundred men.
Gardiner.
This is the hill, brave countrymen, whose brow
We mean to fortify. A strong redoubt,
With saliant angles, and embrasures deep,
Be speedily thrown up. Let each himself,
Not undeserving, of our choice approve,
For out of thousands, I have challeng'd you,
To this bold enterprise, as men of might,
And valour eminent, and such this day,
I trust, will honour you. Let each his spade,
And pick-axe, vig'rously, in this hard soil,
Where I have laid, the curved line, exert.
For now the morning star, bright Lucifer,
Peers on the firmament, and soon the day,
Flush'd with the golden sun, shall visit us.
Then gallant countrymen, should faithless Gage,
Pour forth his lean, and half-starv'd myrmidons;
We'll make them taste our cartridges, and know,
What rugged steel, our bayonets are made of;
Or if o'er charg'd, with numbers, bravely fall,
Like those three hundred at Thermopylæ,
And give our Country, credit in our deaths.