The aches and pangs of disordered nature,
Or to take baths against a sea of troubles
And by so doing end them? To strip—to sweat,
No more; and, by a roast, to say we end
The headache, and a thousand natural ills
That flesh is heir to,—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To strip,—to sweat:—
To sweat! and be shampooed:—aye, there’s the rub;
For in that heat such evils may remove
We need not shuffle off this mortal coil,