Hear me, free Britons—to my plaint give ear,

My tale in many a place would force a tear:

For whilst I tread the free-born British land,

And whilst before mine eyes white freemen stand,
Vain, vain, that glorious privilege to me,
I am a slave where all things else are free.

Yet I were born, as you are no man’s slave,

An heir to all that liberal nature gave;

My mind can reason, and my limbs can move
The same as yours; like yours my heart can love;
Alike my body food and sleep sustain,
And e’en, like yours, feels pleasure, want, and pain.

One sun rolls o’er us, common skies surround,

One globe supports us, and one grave must bound.
Why then am I devoid of all to live,

That manly comforts to a man can give?

To live — untaught religion’s soothing balm,

Or life’s choice art’s; — to live — unknown the calm

Of soft domestic ease; those sweets of life,
The duteous offspring, and th’ enduring wife.
To live — to property and rights unknown,
Not e’en the common benefits my own.
No arm to guide me from oppression’s rod,
My will subservient to a tyrant’s nod:

No gentle hand when life is in decay,

To sooth my pains, and charm my cares away;
But helpless, left to quit the horrid stage,
Harassed in youth and desolate in age.

But I was born on Afric’s tawney strand,

And you in fair Britannia’s fairer land.

Comes freedom then from colour? blush with shame!
And let strong nature’s crimson mark your blame.

I speak to Britons—Britons, then behold,

A man by Britons snar’d, and seiz’d, and sold.
O sons of freedom! Equalize your laws,

Be all consistent—plead the negroe’s cause;

That all the nations in your code may see
The British negroe, like the Briton, free.
But should he supplicate your laws in vain,
To break forever this disgraceful chain;
At least, let gentle usage so abet

The galling terrors of it’s passing state,


That he may share kind heaven’s all-social plan,
For tho’ no Briton, yet I am—a Man.