Those cravings and the thousand rav’nous wants
That flesh is heir to—’tis an occupation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To eat;—to stuff;—
To gorge, perchance be sick! aye, there’s the rub;
For in that yearning state what pangs may come,
In easing me of superfluities,
Must make me pause:—’tis this alone
That bids me curb my longing appetite;
Else should I tamely bear fell hunger’s cries,
My stomach’s wrongs, my bowels’ piercing shrieks,