To vaccinate or not, that is the question, Whether ’tis better for a man to suffer The painful pangs and lasting marks of smallpox Or to bare arms before the surgeon’s lancet, And, by being vaccinated, end them. Yes, To feel the tiny point, and say we end The chance of many a thousand awful scars That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished.――Ah! soft you now, The Vaccinator! Sir, upon thy rounds Be my poor arms remembered! _Punch_, May 28, 1881. ――――:o:―――― CLEAN LINEN! _Or, The Housewife’s Soliloquy._ To wash, or not wash?――that is the question! Whether ’tis nobler on th’ whole person to suffer The grime and lankness of the long-worn garment, Or to take soap against a siege of stain-spots, And by stout scrubbing, end them. To wash――to scrub No more; and by that toil to say, we end The mud-splash, and the thousand various soils Which linen catches――’tis a consummation With both fists to be strove for! To wash, to dry, To dry, perchance in frost――ay there’s the rub! For in that chance of frost what coals must burn, When we have soused, and wet a whole month’s cloaths, Must make us pause!――There’s the respect That makes a muslin gown be worn so long:―― For who would bear the dingy-looking tail, The crumpled ruff, the chair-press’d, crease-mark’d shawl; Dance-dusted turban, or, trod Turkish robe; The oft’ turned petticoat, kerchief and hose Which tho’ well-coak’d within the shoe――will peep; When she herself might mend appearances By a soap-lather:――Who’d white bonnets wear That took the goblin of a foul-cloathes bag? But that the dread of price per chaldron charg’d, (That bill by coal man drawn, from whose sum total Abatement ne’er was made) puzzles the choice, And makes us rather bear be-grim’d nankeens Than fly too rashly to the measur’d purse! ――――Thus saving does make slovens of us all, And thus the native hue of milk-white Irish Is sicklied o’er by three days perspiration, And smug-tied neckcloths of great length and wideness In this regard are turned all ways awry, And lose the name of cravat! From _Fugitive Verse and Prose_, by John Peter Roberdeau. Chichester, 1803. ――――:o:―――― SOME PARODIES ON THE MARRIAGE QUESTION. THE BACHELOR’S SOLILOQUY. _In Imitation of a celebrated Speech._