While happy in my native Land,
I boast my Country’s Charter;
I’ll never basely lend my Hand,
Her Liberties to barter.
The noble Mind is not at all
By Poverty degraded;
’Tis Guilt alone can make us fall,
And well I am persuaded.
Each free-born Briton’s Song should be,
“Or give me Death or Liberty.”

Tho’ small the Pow’r which Fortune grants,
And few the Gifts she sends us;
The lordly Hireling often wants
That Freedom that defends us.
By Law secured from lawless Strife,
Our House is our Castellum.
Thus bless’d with all that’s dear in Life,
For Lucre, shall we sell ’em?
No—ev’ry Briton’s Song should be,
“Or give me Death or Liberty.”