Sanders: (At the ramparts; in the shadows; a windy night–)
To be or not to be—that is the question!
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to take arms
against a Hillary of troubles, or, by opposing, end them!
To die, to sleep….
Life’s but a walking shadow—a poor player
that struts and frets his moment upon the stage
and then is heard no more.
It is a tale told by an idiot: full of sound and fury,
To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream!
Aye, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death
what dreams may come when we have shuffled off
this mortal coil, must give us pause.
If it were done when ‘tis done, ‘tis better it were done quickly!
Seen, but unseen. Noted, but un-noted.
Is this a dagger which I see before me—
the handle towards my hand?
Come, let me clutch thee!
I played my part, and now am ready to depart.
Blow winds and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout!
All my pretty ones? Did you say all?
Noble youths who lent their ears
(not to mention time and money)—
am I to shuffle off to Buffalo, unfriend them?
Have I been out-Trumped?
(He doth bestride the narrow world like a Collosus!)
Out-Foxed by one “extremely careless”?
Oh, what Ailes me now? What Ailes us all?
But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East–and Jill Stein is the sun!
Oh, I am fortune’s fool!
The time is out of joint! O cursed spite
that ever I was born to set it right!