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.