From some proud priests and laymen too.
What! bend forsooth to southern rule?
What! cringe and crawl to souther’s clay,
And be the base, the supple tool,
Of hell-begotten slavery?
No! Never, while the free air plays
O’er our rough hills and sunny fountains,
Shall proud New England’s sons be free,
And clank their fetters round her mountains.
Go if ye will and grind in dust,