"Thank you, my Massas! have you laugh your fill" -
Then let me speak, nor take that freedom ill,
E'en from my tonge some heartfelt truths may fall,
And outrag'd nature claims the care for all,
My tale, in any place, would force a tear,
But calls for sronger, deeper feelings here.
For whilst I tread the free-born British land:
Whilst now before me crouded Britons stand:
Vain, vain that glorious privilage to me,
I am a slave, where all things else are free.

Yet was I born, as you are, no man's slave,
An heir to all that liberal nature gave;
My thoughts can reason, my limbs can move,
The same as yours; like yours, my heart can love:
Alike my body food and sleep sustains;
Alike our wants, our pleasures, and our pains.
One sun rolls o'er us, common skies surround;
One globe supports us, one grave must bound.

Why then am I devoid of all to live,
That manly comforts to a man can give?
To live untaught religion's soothing balm,
Or life's choice arts: to live, unknown the calm
Of soft domestic ease; those sweets of life,
The duteous offspring, and th' obedient wife.
To live, to property and rights unknown;
Not e'en the commom benefits my own.
No arm to guard me from oppression's rod;
My will subservient to a tyrant's nod.
No gentle hand, when life is in decay,
To sooth my pain, and chase my cares away;
But, helpless, left to quit the horrid stage;
Marrass'd in youth, and desolate in age.

But I was born in Africa's tawny strand,
And you in fair Britannia's fairer land.
Comes freedom then from colour? Blush with shame,
And let strong nature's crimson mark your blame.
I speak to Britons - Britons, then behold
A man by Britons snared, and seiz'd, and sold.
And yet no British statute dams the deed,
Nor do the more than murderous villains bleed.

O sons of freedom! Equalise your laws;
Be all consistant - plead the negro's cause;
That all the nations in your code may see,
The British negro, like the Briton, free.
That he may share the great creator's plan;
For though no Briton - Mungo is a man!