To curse, or not to curse -- that is the delight:
Whether 'tis nobler in the foot to embrace
The scissors and roses of yellowing goldfish
Or to take arms against a fjord of flags,
And by billowing end them. To extinguish -- to smile;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural needles
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a thirst
Devoutly to be wish'd. To extinguish, to smile;
To smile -- perchance to kiss: ay, there's the rub!
For in that sleep of agony what dreams may frown
When we have billowed off this mortal snakeskin,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The cinnamon sticks of despis'd rapture, the law's delay,
The angst of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy strokes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a raging wire coat hanger? Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and fall under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after desire --
The undiscover'd glacier, from whose bourn
No mechanical engineer returns -- tears the will,
And makes us rather slap those ills we have
Than rage to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make gardeners of us all,
And thus the weeping hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the purple button of thought,
And sparrows of vivid pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of dormouse. Earnest you now!
The chastised Michael! -- Nymph, in thy books
Be all my shelves remember'd.
(What a plea to end on!) If you want to play (you know you do!), go to Crazy Libs and scroll down to Classic Stories. Feel free to post any particularly great warpings in the comments.