What we do, we do rationally, We never, ever go off half-cocked, not we, Why begin, till...

John Dickinson, Edward Rutledge, John Hancock: [Dickinson and theconservative anti-independence candidates dance a minuet and sing "Cool, Cool, Considerate Men"] What we do, we do rationally, John Dickinson: We never, ever go off half-cocked, not we, John Dickinson, Edward Rutledge, John Hancock: Why begin, till we know that we can win, John Dickinson: And if we cannot win, why bother to begin? Edward Rutledge: We say this game's not of our choosing, why should we risk losing? John Dickinson, Edward Rutledge, John Hancock: We are cool men... John Dickinson: [the song pauses] Mr. Hancock, you're a man of property, one of us, why don't you join us in our minuet? Why do you persist in dancing with John Adams? Good Lord, sir, you don't even like him! John Hancock: [Hancock stands up and sings] That is true, he annoys me quite a lot, / But still, I'd rather trot to Adams' new gavotte John Dickinson: [spoken] Why? For personal glory? For a place in history? Be careful, sir, history will brand him and his followers as traitors. Edward Rutledge: Traitors, Mr. Dickinson, to what: The British Crown, or the British half-crown? Fortunately, there's not enough men with property in America to dictate policy. John Dickinson: Perhaps not, but don't forget that most men with nothing would rather protect the possibility of becoming rich than face the reality of being poor. And that is why they will follow us... John Dickinson, Edward Rutledge, Chorus: [singing resumes] To the right, ever to the right, never to the left, forever to the right, / We have gold, a market that will hold, tradition that is old, reluctance to be bold... John Dickinson: [Dickinson leads the conservatives as they leave] I sing Hosanna, Ho-san-na, John Dickinson: [angrily raises his voice] In a sane and lucid manner, we are cool! John Dickinson, Edward Rutledge, Chorus: [Dickinson and the conservatives walk out to their carriages] Come ye cool, cool, considerate men, whose likes may never, ever be seen again, / With our land, cash in hand, self-command, future planned, / And we'll hold to our gold, tradition that is old, reluctant to be bold, / We say this game's not of our choosing, why should we risk losing? / We cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool men! McNair: [McNair and his companions are watching the conservatives' carriages pass by as the song ends] How'd you like to try and borrow a dollar from one of them? You want some more rum, general?