@Namelesa
To sex, or not to sex, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sex
The slings and arrows of outrageous sex,
Or to take arms against a sea of sex
And by opposing sex them. To not sex —to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The sex and the thousand natural shocks
That sex is heir to: 'tis a not sex
Devoutly to be wish'd. To not sex, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the not sex:
For in that sleep of no sex what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this sex,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long sex.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of sex,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd sex, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his not sex make
With a bare bodkin? Who would sex bear,
To grunt and sweat under a sexy sex,
But that the dread of something after not sex,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller sexes, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those sexes we have
Than fly to others that we know not sex?
Thus sex 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 sex.