To Crab or not to Crab, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the sea to suffer
The claws and pincers of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of enemies,
And by opposing, win? To eat, to feast,
No more; and by a feast, to say we end
The hunger and the thousand tasty bites
That shellfish is heir to—'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished! To eat, to feast;
To feast, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that feast of Crab what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal shell,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the pinches and the nips of time,
The oppressor's pinch, the proud crab's contumely,
The pangs of despised meat, the law's delay,
The insolence of seaweed, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his stomach make
With a simple pinch? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary kitchen light,
But that the dread of something after feast,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No crab returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus Crab Champions 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.—Soft you now!
The fair Crab Champions! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

To Crab or not to Crab, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the sea to suffer The claws and pincers of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of enemies, And by opposing, win? To eat, to feast, No more; and by a feast, to say we end The hunger and the thousand tasty bites That shellfish is heir to—'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished! To eat, to feast; To feast, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub: For in that feast of Crab what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal shell, Must give us pause—there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the pinches and the nips of time, The oppressor's pinch, the proud crab's contumely, The pangs of despised meat, the law's delay, The insolence of seaweed, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his stomach make With a simple pinch? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary kitchen light, But that the dread of something after feast, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No crab returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus Crab Champions 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.—Soft you now! The fair Crab Champions! Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered.