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Alas, poor Mew Mew! You knew them, Jacksprite^2: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: she hath borne you on their back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in your imagination it is! you gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that they to kissed they know not how oft. Where be their gibes now? their gambols? their songs? their flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock their own grinning? quite friend-fallen? To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take strife against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep, No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub: For in that sleep of death in bubbles incomprehensible, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 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 pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th'unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action. A name so 'ncompassing, it covets response. But shall we begin to question what that name means. For what is in a name, doth it contest the very nature of this endless sleep. Entroponic desires lead to one place after all, So then, why shall we do things in contention of the end? Could it be for the unending desire to move forward, Nigh, the existence of null and void makes life more desirable. For if we dread too long on such topics, we feel a depression, To which no being of life, liberty, and the persuit of happiness can stand. A dozen score and seven years ago, an idea was incubated from war and peril, Shall that idea be stained and obfuscated remains a point of discussion, however, Many can agree that original idea still is persuable. So, shall we do some life liberty and persuit of happinessing?
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