You, sir, are a model of a man fresh from Natur's mould.

A true-born child of this free hemisphere; verdant as the mountains of our land; bright and flowin' as our mineral Licks; unspiled by fashion as air our boundless perearers.

Rough you may be; so air our Barrs.

Wild you may be; so air our Buffalers.

But, sir, you air a Child of Freedom, and your proud answer to the Tyrant is, that your bright home is in the Settin' Sun.
And, sir, if any man denies this fact, though it be the British Lion himself, I defy him.