To drink, or not to drink, that is the question; Whether ’tis nobler for a man to suffer The desperate longings of outrageous thirst, Or take up the bottle against a sea of troubles, And by drinking, end them? To drink――to Stagger――no more, and by a fall to say we get Headache, and the thousand natural shocks Which the drunkard is heir to.――’Tis a Consummation devoutly to be dreaded! To fall――to sleep perchance――and waken In the station-house! Aye! there’s the rub! For in that drunken scene what falls, what Bruises, what fines from the Mayor may come When we have shuffled off the Jailer Should well be pondered.―― There’s the cause that makes the drunkard’s So short a life. For who would bear The jeers and scorns of men; the employer’s Wrong; the sober men’s contumely; the pang Of rejected love; the uncertainty of office; And the spurns that patient sobriety to inebriates Gives, when he himself might his life prolong By taking “the pledge?” Who would then “Mint Juleps” drink, to reel and totter Into a dirty gutter? When the dread of something After one gets home, puzzles the will, And makes us rather throw the spirits That we have away! than fly To a wife’s angry spirits we know _too well of_. Thus whisky does make drunkards of us all Who lack the native hue of resolution; And man’s nose is sicklied o’er with the red cast Of drink! and all his limbs Their motions turn awry, And lose their power of――Equilibrium. _American Paper._ ――――:o:―――― To drink, or not to drink? That is the question. Whether ’tis nobler inwardly to suffer The pangs and twitchings of uneasy stomach, Or to take brandy-toddy ’gainst the colic, And by imbibing, end it? To drink――to sleep―― To snore; and, by a snooze, to say we end The headache, and the morning’s parching thirst, That drinking’s heir to;――’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish’d. To drink――to pay―― To pay the waiter’s bill? Ay, there’s the rub; For in that snipe-like bill a stop may come, When we would shuffle off our mortal score, Must give us pause. There’s the respect That makes sobriety of so long date; For who could bear to hear the glasses ring In concert clear――the chairman’s ready toast, The pops of out-drawn corks――the “hip hurrah!” The eloquence of claret――and the songs Which often through the noisy revel break, When a man might his quietus make With a full bottle? Who would sober be, Or sip weak coffee through the livelong night; But that the dread of being laid upon That stretcher by policemen borne, on which The reveller reclines,――puzzles me much, And makes me rather tipple gingerbeer, Than fly to brandy, or to Hodge’s gin, Thus poverty doth make us Temp’rance men. X. X. TEETOTALLER. _Punch_, October 30, 1841. ――――:o:――――