A LIBERTY SONG

Come let us join the glorious Train,

Engag'd in Freedom's Cause!

Be loyal to Great-Britain's King，

And true to Nature's Laws.

Freedom! the noblest Gift, that Heav’n

Could give, or we receive;

Without it, Gold's insolvent — nay

'T would be a Curse to live!

The Subject tunes celestial Lyres,

On all th’ ethereal Plains

Where Tyrant-Slaves are banished — where

Immortal Freedom reigns.

Then let us prize the sacred Gift,

To worthless Mortals giv’n;

Whilst virtuous Freedom is our Choice,

'This Earth's akin to Heav’n.

Britain, (the Wonder of the World!)

We honor and revere;

Because fair Freedom's Banner stood

Long Time in Triumph there.

But, as she once from antient Rome,

Her hovering Pinions spread.

So now, with Britain, weary'd out,

Has o'er th’ Atlantic fled.

Hero, let us honor, cherish, love,

And hold the charming Guest;

Proclaim her Sov’reign of our Hearts,

And clasp her to our Breast.

Freedom! (fair Virtue's other Name)

Here sets her shining Feet:

A Fugitive from foreign Courts,

Makes this her last Retreat.

And should we, impious! drive her hence,

Nor mind the Warning giv’n;

Exile from the World she'll fly,

Up to her native Heav'n.

Then, farewell all the Joys of Life!

All social Bliss, adieu!

All soft connections, mingling Hearts,

There’s left no Room for you.

And can there be such monstrous Births,

In this prolific Clime

Who dare announce, that to defend

Our Freedom is a Crime?

Go, Nature’s fell Abortion! go,

And boast your loyal Breast;

Spill half your injur'd Country's Blood,

In Hopes to taint the Rest.

Go, cringing Fav’rites! grasp at Pow'r,

And bow the servile Knee;

Go, Pimps and Minions! lick their Dust...

We can and will be Free.

Your worthless Names, (though titled o’er)

To Ages yet unborn,

Will stand in Front of the dark List

Of universal Scorn.

Swarm out, ye venal Tribe of Slaves!

And Locust-like devour;

A blasting East Wind brought you here,

To our last peaceful Shore.

But soon we hope, the Western Gales

Will fan th’ infected Air.

Blow off those Vermin from our Coasts,

And leave our Country clear.

Unequal, tho’ the Conflict seems,

Tho’ Earth, and Hell combine,

Heav’n will look down with all its Eyes,

And smile on the Design.

October 13, 1774