virtue fire us to the martial deed;
We fight to conquer and we dare to bleed:
Witness ye fathers! whose protracted time,
Fruitful of story, chronicles the clime.
These howling deserts, hospitably tame,
Erst snatch'd you martyrs, from the hungry flame;
'Twas Heav'n's own cause, beneath whose shelt'ring power,
Ye grew the wonder of this present hour--
The task--be ours with unremitted toil, }
To guard the rights of this dear-purchas'd soil,}
From Royal plund'rers, greedy of our spoil, }
Who come resolv'd to murder and enslave,
To shackle FREEMEN and to rob the brave.
The loud mouth'd cannon threaten from afar,
Be this our comfort in the storm of war--
Who fights, to take our liberty away,
Dead-hearted fights, and falls an easy prey.
Then, on my brethren to the embattl'd plain,
Who shrinks with fear, anticipates a chain.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

WARREN }
PUTNAM } _American Officers._
GARDINER }

GAGE }
HOWE }
BURGOYNE } _British Officers._
CLINTON }
LORD PIGOT }

SHERWIN, _Aide-de-camp to General Howe._

Soldiers, &c.

THE

BATTLE

OF

BUNKERS-HILL

ACT I.

SCENE I. _Camp at Cambridge._

_Enter WARREN, PUTNAM, and GARDINER._

WARREN.

Why thus, brave Putnam, shall we still encamp
Inactive here; and with this gentle flood,
By Cambridge murmuring, mix briny tears?
Salt tears of grief by many a parent shed,
For sons detain'd, and tender innocents
In yon fair City, famishing for bread;
For not fond mothers or their weeping babes--
Can move the hard heart of relentless Gage.
Perfidious man! Who pledg'd his oath so late,
And word of honour to those patriots
Yet in his power, that yielding him their arms,
They should receive permission to depart,
And join once more their valiant countrymen;
But now detains as hostages these men,
In low damp dungeons, and in gaols chain'd down
While grief and famine on their vitals prey.
Say, noble Putnam, shall we hear of this,
And let our idle swords rust in the sheath,
While slaves of Royal Power impeach our worth
As vain, and call our patience cowardice?

PUTNAM.

Not less, bold Warren, have I felt the pangs
Of woe severe in this calamity:
And could I with my life redeem the times,
The richest blood that circles round my heart,
Should hastily be shed. But what avails
The genuine flame and vigour of the soul,
When nature's self, and all the strength of art,
Opposes every effort in our power