But there's a divinity which shapes our ends. The
injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own
interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till independence
is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is
ours. Why, then, should we defer the declaration? Is any man so weak as
now to hope for reconciliation with England, which shall leave either
safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life and
his own honor? Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair, is not he, our
venerable colleague near you, are you not both already the proscribed
and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance? Cut off from all
hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power
of England remains, but outlaws? If we postpone independence, do we mean
to carry on, or to give up the war? Do we mean to submit to the measures
of parliament, Boston Port Bill and all? Do we mean to submit, and
consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and
its rights trodden down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit. We
never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation
ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred
honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of
war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to
adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives?
I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general
conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one
jot or title of that plighted faith fall to the ground.
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