To wed, or not to wed—that is the question;
Whether ’tis happier in the mind to stifle
The heats and tumults of outrageous passion,
Or with some prudent fair in solemn contract
Of matrimony join. To have—to hold—
No more—and by that ‘have’ to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand love-sick pangs
Of celibacy—t’were a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. In nuptial band
To join till death dissolves—ay, there’s the rub;
For in that space what dull remorse may come,
When we have taken our solemn leave of liberty,
Must give us pause. There’s this respect
That slacks our speed in suing for a change:
Else, who would bear the scorns and sneers which bachelors
When aged feel—the pains and fluttering fevers
Which each new face must give a roving fancy,
When he might rid himself at once of all
By a bare Yes. Who would with patience bear
To fret and linger out a single life, 
But that the dread of something untried,
Some hazard in a state from whose strict bond
Death only can release, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather choose those ills we have
Than fly to others which we fancy greater?
This last reflection makes us slow and weary,
Filling the dubious mind with dreadful thoughts
Of curtain-lectures, jealousies, and cares
Extravagantly great, entailed on wedlock
Which to avoid, the lover checks his passion,
And, miserable, dies a bachelor.
The end