Or to take arms against a troupe of Frenchmen,
And by opposing, smash them? To shout—to row—
No more; and, by a row, to say we end
This Monte Christo, which so strangely shocks
The blush I’m heir to;—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To shout; to row;—
To row! and go to Quod?—ay, there’s the rub
For if that be the case, what fine may come
Next day, for kicking up this great turmoil,
Must give us pause; there’s the respect