consciences,
Must fail in battle, and receive that death,
Which, in high vengeance, we prepare for them.
Let then each spirit, to the height, would up,
Shew noble vigour, and full force this day.
For on the merit, of our swords, is plac'd,
The virgin honour, and true character,
Of this whole Continent: and one short hour,
May give complexion, to the whole event,
Fixing the judgment whether as base slaves,
We serve these masters, or more nobly live,
Free as the breeze, that on the hill-top, plays,
With these sweet fields, and tenements, our own.
O fellow soldiers, let this battle speak,
Dire disappointment, to the insulting foe,
Who claim our fair possessions, and set down,
These cultur'd-farms, and bowry-hills, and plains,
As the rich prize, of certain victory.
Shall we, the sons of MASSACHUSETTS-BAY,
NEW HAMPSHIRE, and CONNECTICUT; shall we
Fall back, dishonour'd, from our native plains,
Mix with the savages, and roam for food,
On western mountains, or the desert shores,
Of Canada's cold lakes? or state more vile,
Sit down, in humble vassalage, content
To till the ground for these proud conquerors?
No, fellow soldiers, let us rise this day,
Emancipate, from such ignoble choice.
And should the battle ravish our sweet lives,
Late time shall give, an ample monument,
And bid her worthies, emulate our fame.

SCENE III. _Boston._

_The British Army being repuls'd, SHERWIN is dispatch'd to GENERAL
GAGE, for assistance._

_SHERWIN, GAGE, BURGOYNE, and CLINTON._

SHERWIN.

Our men advancing, have receiv'd dire loss,
In this encounter, and the case demands,
In swift crisis, of extremity,
A thousand men to reinforce the war.

GAGE.

Do as you please, Burgoyne, in this affair,
I'll hide myself in some deep vault beneath.

[_Exit._

BURGOYNE.

'Tis yours, brave Clinton, to command, these men.
Embark them speedily. I see our troops,
Stand on the margin of the ebbing flood
(The flood affrighted, at the scene it views),
And fear, once more, to climb the desp'rate hill,
Whence the bold rebel, show'rs destruction down. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

WARREN.

_Mortally wounded, falling on his right knee, covering his breast with
his right hand, and supporting himself with his firelock in his
left._

A deadly ball hath limited my life,
And now to God, I offer up my soul.
But O my Countrymen, let not the cause,
The sacred