Hamlet and the Holdouts

To pay or not to pay, that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous buzzards

Or to take arms against a sea of holdouts,

And by opposing end them. To die--to sleep--

No more; and by a sleep to say we end 

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consumation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die--to sleep.

To sleep--perhance to dream: ay, there's the rub!

For in that sleep od death 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 the buzzards,

Th' holdout's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despis'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 these fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of the holdouts and buzzards--

The undiscovered off shore financial paradise

From which 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 does make all of us doubt,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment