Hamlet Speaks…

To go to work, or not to go to work: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The arrowing snowballs of outrageous hoodies,
Or to take arms against a field of snowmen,
And by opposing end them? To fall: to slip;
No more; and by a slip to say we rend
The body-ache and the thousand natural knocks
That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be unwish’d. To lie, to slip;
To flip: perchance to bounce: ay, there’s the bump;
For in that slip of breath what sounds may come
When we have shuffled this mortal iPod,
Bust? it’s on pause: there’s the defect
That makes calamity of so long a playlist;
For who would bear the whipping scorns of rhyme,
The politico’s wrong, the loud man’s contumely,
The fangs of despised love, the law is clay,
The insolence of offence and the spurs
That impatient demerits the unworthy fakes,
When he himself might his diet make
With a greasy kebab? who would inflation bear,
The brunt and sweat under an overtaxed life,
But that the dread of something after pay day,
The abyss of recession from whose shores
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And rakes us rather dear, the bills we have,
Rather than fight bothers that we know of?
Thus insouciance does make cowards of us all;
And thus the masked hue of resolution
Is corrupted o’er with the impaled mast of thought,
And endeavours of great pith and momentum
With this disregard their currents burn Stygian,
And lose the blame of sanction. – Softly now!
A rare love! On a plinth, etched orisons,
Be all our sins remember’d.

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