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Hey, guys, it's Mike Rowe. This is the way I heard it, the only podcast for the Curious Mind with a short attention span, except not today. Today, it's occasionally that thing I do from time to time when I don't have the time to actually write an original mystery to satisfy your boundless curiosity, but instead rely upon something that somebody else wrote that lines up serendipitously with the occasion in question, which today, of course, is the occasion of our independence, not July 4th.

That's just a date. It's Independence Day. And I wanted to I wanted to read you something, something that many of you have probably heard before. Maybe not the whole thing, something that I've been familiar with the speech for most of my life, but didn't really take the time to read from start to finish until this week. And when I did, I was kind of blown away by it. You know, the author and, you know, the last seven words, give me liberty or give me death as as sayings go, as hashtags go, that would have been one of the best of all time.

Maybe, maybe the best. And I would go so far as to say this is one of the best speeches ever written, except that it wasn't Patrick Henry did not write this speech. We don't know what the exact text was. His remarks at St. John's Church in 1775 were cobbled together after the fact by those in attendance who were quite understandably blown away by his performance. And that's what it was. It was not merely a speech. It was a tour de force, an acting performance.

If there if there ever was one, there was a minister there who watched the proceedings and later described Patrick Henry as, quote, having an unearthly fire burning in his eye as he spoke.

He also said excitement began to play more and more upon his features as he spoke the tendons in his neck, standing out white and rigid like whip cords. Part of the reason that I wanted to read this, aside from the occasion and aside from the fact that he did it without notes, is because I just don't think anybody else in Congress or in the Senate today. Could approach a performance like this, we just don't we just don't talk this way, we just don't present ourselves this way politically.

There was a guy on hand, along with Thomas Jefferson and George Washington named Edward Carrington. He was a colonel and he watched through an open window and he was so moved. When Patrick Henry finished, he turned and said, this guy Carrington did. He said, let me be buried in this spot. And when he died, decades later, his widow honored his request. The point is, it's not just the last seven words, it's the entire speech.

And I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall back then to watch it.

They say that when when the speech ended, when he actually said, give me liberty or give me death, he was he was shouting, right. He was screaming. Spittle was flying from his his mouth. And he picked up a letter opener and pretended to stab himself in the chest.

So heartfelt was this performance. Anyway, that's what convinced me that it would be fun to read and maybe even. Maybe even important to hear. Our country is struggling, obviously, and Independence Day for a lot of people means a lot of different things all of a sudden, and I understand it, Patrick Henry is a is another complicated figure, problematic by today's standards.

Fascinating guy. 18 kids. He had. 18 kids, like 100 grandchildren, they say today that his descendants, no more than 100000. Which I guess would make him more of a father of our country than Washington, but but that, of course, is not the problem. The problem is he held slaves, 67 of them, when he died, in fact.

And also interesting, he opposed the Constitution. He thought it was far too restrictive. But in opposing it, we actually wound up getting something called the Bill of Rights.

So it was a different time. And we can look back through the lens of history, I suppose, and conclude any number of things. But one thing is for sure, on the twenty third of March 1775, Patrick Henry saw some things that most everyone else did not and he did not hold his tongue. He sat there in the third pew listening to his countrymen talk about how war with Britain would be a disaster and a mistake, and when he could take no longer, he stood up and he turned to the crowd and he started talking.

And this is what he said. The way I heard it anyway were more to the point, the way I read it. No man thinks more highly than do I have the patriotism as well as the abilities of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the house, but different men often see the same subject in different lights. And therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen. If I am entertaining, as I do opinions of a character of very opposite to theirs, speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve.

This is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of awful moments to our country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. Only in this way can we hope to arrive at the truth and fulfill our great responsibility, which we hold to God and country. Should I keep my opinions to myself at such a time for fear of giving offense?

I'd be guilty of treason toward my country and toward the majesty of heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings. Mr. President, it is natural for man to indulge in the illusions of hope, we are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth and listen to the song of that siren until she transforms us into beasts. But is this the part of wise men engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Or are we disposed to be among those who having eyes see not and having ears hear not the things which so concern their temporal salvation?

For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, to know the worst and to provide for it. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided and that is the lamp of experience. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to Solís themselves.

Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir. It will prove a snare to your feet sulpher. Not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land, our fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation. Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love?

Let us not deceive ourselves. These are the implements of war and subjugation. The last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, what means this martial array, if not to force us into submission?

Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies?

No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us. They can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us. Those chains which the British ministry have been so long forging at what have we to oppose them.

Shall we try argument?

Gentlemen, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? No, nothing. We have held the subject up in every light, but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find? Not already exhausted, I beseech you, sir. Let us not deceive ourselves. We have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on.

We have petitioned. We have remonstrated. We have supplicate and we have prostrated ourselves before the throne. And we have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Well. Our petitions have been slated, a remonstrances have produced nothing but more violence and more insult, our supplications have been disregarded and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. It is in vain. I tell you in vain that after all these things, we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation.

Gentlemen, there is no longer any room for hope if we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending. If we mean not basically to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged and which we have pledged ourselves to never abandon until that glorious object of our contest had been obtained, then we must fight. I repeat it, sir. We must fight an appeal to arms, to the God of hosts is all that is left us.

They tell us, sir. They tell us we are weak, unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies have bound us hand and foot?

Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature has placed in our power. Millions of people armed in the holy cause of liberty in such a country as that which we possess are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. There is a just God, sir, who presides over the destinies of nations and who will raise up friends to fight with us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone.

It is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. Even if we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery, our chains are forged there. Clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevitable. And I say let it come. I repeat it, sir. Let it come.

It is vain to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen, cry. Peace, peace. But there is no peace. The war is actually begun. The next gale that sweeps down from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms. Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery for bitted?

Almighty God, I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death.