By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurl'd, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.
The British are coming. One if by land, two if by sea.
If you grew up in Boston, you actually grew up thinking that Patriots' Day is a major American holiday, sort of like the other Fourth of July.
You know what? I didn't mess up about Paul Revere... In a shout-out, gotcha type of question that was asked of me, I answered candidly. And I know my American history.
The British are coming, the British are coming! Mr. President! We need the National Guard! We need as many men as you can spare because we are killing the Patriots! So call the dogs off! Send the National Guard, please! They need emergency help! Please! Help!
The last person to get across that town in under three hours was yelling "The British are coming! The British are coming!"
In Medford, I awaked the Captain of the Minute Men; & after that, I alarmed almost every house, till I got to Lexington.
Boston - wrinkled, spindly-legged, depleted of nearly all her spiritual and cutaneous oils, provincial, self-esteeming - has gone on spending and spending her inflated bills of pure reputation, decade after decade.
Listen my children and you shall hear, Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere
To her British lover about to climb in bed with 80-something Mae: She said that she hoped soon to be able to say what Paul Revere said - 'The British are coming'. This was the last one-liner Mae ever uttered on film.
I do not speak with any fondness but the language of coolest history, when I say that Boston commands attention as the town whichwas appointed in the destiny of nations to lead the civilization of North America.
If Paul Revere were on his ride today, he would be tweeting.
One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm For the country folk to be up and to arm.
