_Enter_ HAMLET (advances thoughtfully to front, and produces a bottle, labelled “Old Tom.”) To drink, or not to drink? That is the question. Whether ’tis better to let cares infest one, And put up with misfortunes, such as are A wicious mother and a poison’d Pa,―― Or, with this pocket pistol to my brain, Plunge in Blue Ruin the Blue Devil’s train! To drink――to feel with each successive “go” Some pang depart, till Hope alone doth glow, As in Pandora’s reticule――the plan Looks a good opening for a nice young man! So easy too――to drink, to sleep, to dream―― There’s more in that though than at first doth seem; For I have heard the restless toper knows (When he has shuffled off his bed the clothes) Nocturnal horrors! _Spirits_, floor’d by day, Rise up in vengeance, and assert their sway:―― Some grin like gurgoyles; like night-mares infest His sleep, and chaff him; some upon his breast Dance endless Polkas; some fan fever’s flame,―― Vex him with thirst, and of his thirst make game; Bring Schweppe’s ic’d waters to his dreaming gaze―― Just to his mouth the claret cup they raise―― And while, like Tantalus, he may not sip, Cool lumps of “Wenham” bob against his lip! ――――I will _not_ drink! No bottle imp shall make Of me a _Sponge_, and then a _Tipsy Cake_. Yet I’ve a deed to do, and need to prime, Like a mild lover at the “popping” time; Like cockney fox-hunter of lily heart, Who needs the jumping-powder ere he start; Like the dread toothache’s victim, ere he try The artist who can _draw on ivory_; Like waking men who find, that over-night They’ve lost a sum, ’tis not convenient quite To pay; or those by whose bed-side doth stand The punctual Second, pistol-case in hand! Like――Soft, she comes, I must feign mad a-while; If the cook flirts, the goose is sure to spile. From _Hamlet Travestie_, a clever Burlesque in two acts, written by a son of the late Serjeant Talfourd, and published by J. Vincent, of Oxford, in 1849. ――――:o:―――― To dun, or not to dun? That is the question! Whether ’tis better that the purse should suffer For lack of cash, by baneful emptiness, Or by a gentle _dun_ to fill it up? To dun――to be denied――denied with “_call again_;” Ah! there’s the rub! for in that “_call again_” What evils come――what disappointment sore―― Chagrin and woe; what time is wasted? What shoes are worn, in consequence, Must give us pain. ’Tis this that makes so many debts not worth collecting; ’Tis this which sickens business to despair, And keeps from honest labour its reward! While thus in language of complaint we speak, We dont forget our many many friends; To them our gratitude we owe, To them our gratitude we freely pay; Buoyed by their kindness, still our bark shall sail, Enjoy the pleasing calm―― Nor dread the boist’rous gale. _The Mirror_, July 19, 1823. ――――:o:――――