To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis better in this life to suffer The petty trials of unmarried life Or add one more unto a list of troubles, And thus by marriage end them? To wed, to sleep No more; or, if to sleep, to say we end The yearnings and the sentimental fudge Young flesh is heir to――’tis a consummation Too blessed to be true. To love, to wed―― What then? Perchance repent; ay, there’s the rub. For in the meekest maid what changes come When we have wriggled on the golden coil, Must give us pause. There’s reason good That makes so many choose a single life―― For who could bear to give up his quiet pipe, The close society of bosom friends, The interchange of bright congenial thoughts, Which sparkle like the glasses on the board, For squalling children and a shrewish wife, While he can cook a herring, or a steak, And ply a bodkin. None would ever dare To grunt and growl at lovely maidenhood! But there’s a something after marriage vows―― The trap where foxes lose their tails, and then Advise their fellows that its much the best―― Which makes us rather bear the ills we have Than marry troops of others with a wife―― For woman breeched makes cowards of us all. And, somehow, all our boasted resolution Gets sicklied o’er with the pale cast of fear; And enterprises, which we might have held In great regard, must then be put aside, Because, forsooth, “I’m married!” WILLIAM H. EDMUNDS. ―――――――― OPHELIA (_aside_) Perhaps he will! Perhaps he won’t! Who knows? (_pensively_) How hard it is to make the men propose! (_Sighs and sits down away from Hamlet._) HAMLET―― To pop, or not to pop the fatal question. Can any husband give me a suggestion? Whether ’tis nobler to endure the woes Of stockings holey at the heels and toes, Of lonely evenings, solitary mutton, And ragged shirt-fronts innocent of button, Or to take arms against the ills of life, Swallow the necessary pill――a wife, Give up tobacco, latch-keys and late hours, And take an interest in cows and flowers, Adopt a country life, and, if you can, Become a nice domestic married man. The prospect’s tempting. Shall I? Yes, here goes. Ophelia, I’ve determined to propose. From _Hamlet, or, not such a fool as he looks_; by the Author of “The Light Green.” W. METCALFE & SON, Trinity Street, Cambridge, 1882. ――――:o:―――― THE BARD’S SOLILOQUY