Howe Monologue from The Battle of Bunkers-Hill

From The Battle of Bunkers-Hill by H. H. (Hugh Henry) Brackenridge

male · defiant · 1:19 min

Curse on the fortune, of Britannia's arms, That plays the jilt with us. Shall these few men Beat back the flower, and best half of our troops, While on our side, so many ships of war, And floating batt'ries, from the mystic tide, Shake all the hill, and sweep its ridgy top? O Gods! no time can blot its memory out. We've men enough, upon the field today, To bury, this small handful, with the dust Our march excites--back to the charge--close ranks, And drive these wizards from th' enchanted ground. The reinforcement, which bold Clinton heads, Gives such superiority of strength, That let each man of us but cast a stone, We cover this small hill, with these few foes, And over head, erect a pyramid, The smoke, you see, enwraps us in its shade, On, then, my countrymen, and try once more, To change the fortune, of the inglorious day.

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