May Heaven protect us, from their rage, I say,
When but a boy, I dream'd of death in bed,
And ever since that time, I hated things
Which put him, like a pair of spectacles,
Before my eyes. The thought lies deep in fate,
Nor can a mortal see the bottom of it.
'Tis here—'Tis there—I could philosophize—
Eternity, is like a winding sheet—
The seven commandments like—I think there's seven—
I scratch my head—but yet in vain I scratch—
Oh Bute, and Dartmouth, knew ye what I feel,
You sure would pity an old drinking man,
That has more heart-ake, than philosophy.
[Exit.
Scene II. Howe with the British Army.
Howe.
The day at length, propitious shews itself,
And with full beams of majesty, the sun,
Hath bless'd its fair nativity; when Heaven,
Brave soldiers, and the cause of kings,
Calls on the spirit of your loyalty,
To chastise this rebellion, and tread down,
Such foul ingratitude—such monstrous shape,
Of horrid liberty, which spurns that love—
That fond maternal tenderness of soul,
Which on this dreary coast, first planted them:
Restrain'd the rage, of murdering savages,
Which, with fierce inroad, on their settlements,
Made frequent war—struck down the arm of France,
Just rais'd, to crush them, in their infancy:
And since that time, have bade their cities grow,
To marts of trade: call'd fair-ey'd commerce forth,
To share dominion, on the distant wave,
And visit every clime, and foreign shore.
Yet this, brave soldiers, is the proud return,
For the best blood of England, shed for them.
Behold yon hill, where fell rebellion rears
Her snake-stream'd ensign, and would seem to brave
With scarce seven hundred, this sea-bounded Camp,
Where may be counted, full ten thousand men,
That in the war with France so late, acquir'd
Loud fame, and shook the other continent.
Come on, brave soldiers, seize your gleaming arms,
And let this day, in after times be held,
As Minden famous, and each hostile field,
Where British valour shone victorious.
The time moves slow, which enviously detains,
Our just resentment from these traitors' heads.
Their richest farms, and cultur'd settlements,
By winding river, or extensive bay,
Shall be your first reward. Our noble king,
As things confiscate, holds their property,
And in rich measure, will bestow on you,
Who face the frowns, and labour of this day.
He that outlives this battle, shall ascend,
In titled honour, to the height of state,
Dukedoms, and baronies, midst these our foes,
In tributary vassalage, kept down,
Shall be your fair inheritance. Come on,
Beat up th' heroic sound of war. The word
Is, George our sov'reign, and Britannia's arms.
ACT V.
Scene I. Bunkers-Hill.
Warren with the American Army.
Warren.
To arms, brave countrymen, for see the foe
Comes forth to battle, and would seem to try,
Once more, their fortune in decisive war.
Three thousand, 'gainst seven hundred, rang'd this day,
Shall give the world, an ample specimen,
What strength, and noble confidence, the sound
Of Liberty inspires. That Liberty,
Which, not the thunder of Bellona's voice,
With fleets, and armies, from the British Shore,
Shall wrest from us. Our noble ancestors,
Out-brav'd the tempests, of the hoary deep,
And on these hills, uncultivate, and wild,
Sought an asylum, from despotic sway;
A short asylum, for that envious power,
With persecution dire, still follows us.
At first, they deem'd our charters forfeited,
Next, our just rights, in government, abridg'd.
Then, thrust in viceroys, and bashaws, to rule,
With lawless sovereignty. Now added force,
Of standing armies, to secure their sway.
Much have we suffer'd from the licens'd rage,
Of brutal soldiery, in each fair town.
Remember March, brave countrymen, that day
When Boston's streets ran blood. Think on that day,
And let the memory, to revenge, stir up,
The temper of your souls. There might we still,
On terms precarious, and disdainful liv'd,
With daughters ravished, and butcher'd sons,
But Heaven forbade the thought. These are the men,
Who in firm phalanx, threaten us with war,
And aim this day, to fix forever down,
The galling chains, which tyranny has forg'd for us,
These count our lands and settlements their own,
And in their intercepted letters, speak,
Of farms, and tenements, secured for friends,
Which, if they gain, brave soldiers, let with blood,
The purchase, be seal'd down. Let every arm,
This day be active, in fair freedom's cause,
And shower down, from the hill, like Heav'n in wrath,
Full store of lightning, and fierce iron hail,
To blast the adversary. Let this ground,
Like burning Ætna or Vesuvius top,
Be wrapt in flame—The word is, Liberty,
And Heaven smile on us, in so just a cause.