Scripscrapologia or, Collins's Doggerel Dish Of All Sorts. Consisting of Songs Adapted to familiar Tunes, And which may be sung without the Chaunterpipe of an Italian Warbler, or the ravishing Accompaniments of Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee. Particularly those which have been most applauded in the author's once popular performance, call'd, The Brush. The Gallimaufry garnished with a variety of comic tales, quaint epigrams, whimsical epitaphs, &c. &c. [by John Collins] |
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TO BE OR NOT TO BE.
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TO BE OR NOT TO BE.
A Vocal Paraphrase on Hamlet's Soliloquy.
In Shakspere's all-enlight'nig school,
Where wit and wisdom equal shine,
Where genius spurns at fett'ring rule,
And, tow'ring, soars to heights divine;
The Royal Hamlet, wrapt in thought,
On freedom's pow'r, and fate's decree,
The Question, with importance fraught,
He states, “To be, or not to be be.”
Where wit and wisdom equal shine,
Where genius spurns at fett'ring rule,
And, tow'ring, soars to heights divine;
The Royal Hamlet, wrapt in thought,
On freedom's pow'r, and fate's decree,
The Question, with importance fraught,
He states, “To be, or not to be be.”
Now pond'ring if the noble mind,
Shou'd tamely suffer fortune's frown,
Or treat her as a mistress kind,
Whose smiles our tend'rest wishes crown;
Or, when in dire and troublous siege,
Strong ills assail, like hostile foes,
'Twere best to take up arms in rage,
Her slings and arrows to oppose.
Shou'd tamely suffer fortune's frown,
Or treat her as a mistress kind,
Whose smiles our tend'rest wishes crown;
Or, when in dire and troublous siege,
Strong ills assail, like hostile foes,
'Twere best to take up arms in rage,
Her slings and arrows to oppose.
Revolving then, What 'tis to die,
He says, ‘to sleep,’ and nothing more;
And if from tears it clears each eye,
And eases hearts that ach'd before;
Ending at once each cank'ring grief,
To which devoted flesh is heir,
That sleep which brings such sweet relief,
Will soon be yours, ye sons of care!
He says, ‘to sleep,’ and nothing more;
And if from tears it clears each eye,
And eases hearts that ach'd before;
Ending at once each cank'ring grief,
To which devoted flesh is heir,
That sleep which brings such sweet relief,
Will soon be yours, ye sons of care!
To sleep;—But then, perchance, to dream;
‘Ay, there's the rub,’ dark doubt replies;
For whips, and stings, and fire, and flame,
And widows' moans, and orphans' cries,
Oppression's yoke, pride's rankling gall,
Love's pangs despis'd, and law's delay,
A bodkin's point might end them all,
But for that Dream, which bars the way!
‘Ay, there's the rub,’ dark doubt replies;
For whips, and stings, and fire, and flame,
And widows' moans, and orphans' cries,
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Love's pangs despis'd, and law's delay,
A bodkin's point might end them all,
But for that Dream, which bars the way!
Then, till we quit this mortal coil,
To reach that undiscover'd bourne,
Where terminates all human toil,
And whence no trav'ller can return;
Let smiling hope expand the breast,
And all from doubt and dread be free;
Since Jove has order'd for the best,
Whate'er's To Be or Not To Be.
To reach that undiscover'd bourne,
Where terminates all human toil,
And whence no trav'ller can return;
Let smiling hope expand the breast,
And all from doubt and dread be free;
Since Jove has order'd for the best,
Whate'er's To Be or Not To Be.
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