Or, whether it begets a kind of quaintness,
Which some would say was nothing but a faintness;
To smoke—to drink and then to go to bed;
To find a pillow for an aching head;
To snore—perchance to dream! and half your senses scare
With visionary demons or nightmare;
To wake, in perspiration nicely dished,
’Tis a consummation hardly to be wished;
For who would bear the kicks, cuffs, and abuse
Of this base world, when he might cook his goose