Whether ’tis nobler in the mind
To bear a patient drubbing by the French
Or take up arms against old Louis
And by opposing end him
And exterminate the Bourbons?
To fight—to beat—no more;
And by our beating end a thousand ills
Which we were born to.
’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
To fight—to beat—perchance to be beat