And so by tramping end them. To stitch and sweat,
No more, and by a tramp to say we end
The head-ache, and the thousand cramps and pains
We cross-legg’d folks are heirs to; ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To walk, to take a trip,
To rove at large—perchance to beg one’s bread!
Aye, there’s the rub——
For by this strolling trade what want may come,
When we have shifted from a constant place,
Must give us pain. There’s the respect that keeps