To yeet, or not to yeet--that is the question:
Whether 'tis danker in the mind to yeet
The slings and arrows of dank fortune
Or to yeet arms against a sea of troubles
And by yeeting end them. To yeet, to yeet--
No more--and by a sleep to say we yeet
The heartache, and the thousand dank shocks
That flesh yeets heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to yeet yeeted. To yeet, to yeet--
To yeet--perchance to yeet: ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may yeet
When we have yeeted off this dank coil,
Must yeet us pause. There yeets the respect
That yeets calamity of so dank life.
For who would yeet the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor yeets wrong, the dank man's contumely
The pangs of dank love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That dank merit of th' dank takes,
When he himself might his quietus yeet
With a dank bodkin? Who would fardels yeet,
To yeet and yeet under a dank life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The dank country, from whose bourn
No traveller yeets, yeets the will,
And makes us rather yeet those ills we yeet
Than yeet to others that we yeet not of?
Thus conscience does yeet cowards of us all,
And thus the dank hue of resolution
Is yeeted o'er with the dank cast of thought,
And enterprise of dank pitch and moment
With this regard their currents yeet dank
And yeet the name of action. -- Soft you now,
The dank Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
Yeet all my sins yeeted.
