Punting on the River!

 

To punt, or not to punt, aye that is the question

Whether ‘tis nobler in mind to suffer

The twists and turns of a river’s design

Or to take direction against the tide

And by opposing it, to punt, to ride

No more—and by a punt to say a float

The depths, and the thousand natural strokes

That a boat is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To punt, to ride

To ride, perchance to sail, aye, there’s the rub

For in that sail of a punt, what ride may come

When we have glided off this river

Must give us pause. There’s the respect

That makes an adventure of so long a life.

For who would bear the currents and tides of the sea

Th’ ebb’s wrong, the strong punter struggles

The ride of the river, the tide’s destiny

The labor of the job and the spurns

That patient merit of th’ punter takes

When he himself might his quietus make

With a paddle, a stick? Who would a boat bear,

To toil and sweat under a shining sun,

But that energy of something after a punt

The undiscovered port, from whose bourn

No traveller returns empty-stomached, puzzles the will,

And makes us agreeable to bear those labors we have

But question to fly to other ports that we know not of.

Thus conscience does make punters of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is brightened with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprise of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And ride the river in the name of action. -- Soft you now,

The fair Punter! -- Joyful, in thy boater

Be all my punts remembered.

The boat's a float,

ej

Learning to punt on the river

Somewhere under the Magdalen bridge