To wed, or not to wed; that is the question;
   Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
   The bills and house rent of a wedded fortune,
   Or to say "nit" when she proposes,
   And by declining cut her. To wed; to smoke
   No more; And have a wife at home to mend
   The holes in socks and shirts
   And underwear and so forth. 'Tis a consummation
   Devoutly to be wished. To wed for life;
  To wed; perchance to fight; ay, there's the rub;
  For in that married life what fights may come,
  When we have honeymooning ceased
  Must give us pause; there's the respect
  That makes the joy of single life.
  For who would bear her mother's scornful tongue,
  Canned goods for tea, the dying furnace fire;
  The pangs of sleepless nights when baby cries;
  The pain of barking shins upon a chair and
  Closing waists that button down the back,
  When he himself might all these troubles shirk
  With a bare refusal? Who would bundles bear,
  And grunt and sweat under a shopping load?
  Who would samples match; buy rats for hair,
  Cart cheese and crackers home to serve at night
  For lunch to feed your friends; play pedro
  After tea; sing rag time songs, amusing
  Friendly neighbors. Buy garden tools
  To lend unto the same. Stay home at nights
  In smoking coat and slippers and slink to bed
  At ten o'clock to save the light bills?
  Thus duty does make cowards of us all,
  And thus the native hue of matrimony
  Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of chores;
  And thus the gloss of marriage fades away,
  And loses its attraction.
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