To see, or not to see, that is the question.
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind
To suffer the shrieks and sighs
Of Outrageous Leftists,
Or to take a stand against a sea of morons
And, by opposing, enrage them. To try to do
No more and by not doing, say we end
The uproar and the thousand OCCUPATIONS
Democracy is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To cry, to weep,
Perchance to grovel. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that groveling, what thoughts may come,
When we have sloughed the Constitution off,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long a tenure:
For who could bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressive wrong, the angry man’s outrage,
The pangs of deprived rights, the law’s dismay,
The impotence in office and the spurning
Of the patently unworthy,
When he himself might make an end
With naked capitulation. Who wants to hold a post
And work and strain under a tiring load,
Except that the fear of what comes next,
The unacknowledged tendency, from which
No RINO ever returns, confuses the mind,
And makes us rather give in to those ills we have
Than turn to others we only half believe in.
Thus politeness does make cowards of us all
And thus the feeling of what is right
Is coated over with superficial thought.
And ideas of great intensity and weight
In this respect no longer have their urgency,
And lose their impetus. Gently now,
Fair Leftist kindness, in your prayers
May all my sins be remembered.
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