My dear Mowgley’s Soliloquy:
To pee, or not to pee, that is the question:
Whether 'tis better in the room to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Sruthi,
Or to take Toys against a Sea of troubles,
And by proposing end them: to lie, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That bushy hair too? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Ay, there's the tub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal spoil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so monk life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of Ma’am,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud Dog’s untimely, [urge]
The pangs of despised move, the Nature’s relay, [frequent]
The insolence of ‘ruffies’, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,When I myself might Quietly make
With a bare food urn? Who would fortell dear?
To grunt and sweat under a hairy life,
But that the dread of something after passing,
The undiscovered territory, from kennels
No true pet reruns, Puzzles the spill,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than run to others that we know not of.
Thus kidney sense does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
am sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of soiled pitch and moment,
Whether 'tis better in the room to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Sruthi,
Or to take Toys against a Sea of troubles,
And by proposing end them: to lie, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That bushy hair too? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Ay, there's the tub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal spoil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so monk life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of Ma’am,
The Oppressor's wrong, the proud Dog’s untimely, [urge]
The pangs of despised move, the Nature’s relay, [frequent]
The insolence of ‘ruffies’, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,When I myself might Quietly make
With a bare food urn? Who would fortell dear?
To grunt and sweat under a hairy life,
But that the dread of something after passing,
The undiscovered territory, from kennels
No true pet reruns, Puzzles the spill,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than run to others that we know not of.
Thus kidney sense does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
am sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of soiled pitch and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And get the blame as reaction. Soft you now,
The fair Sruthilaya, understand my umpteen reasons
Be all my funs remembered.:
And get the blame as reaction. Soft you now,
The fair Sruthilaya, understand my umpteen reasons
Be all my funs remembered.:
