A Soliloquy on Technology

To tweet or not to tweet, that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them? To post—to reply— No more; and by a post to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To post, to reply— To link—perchance to like—ay, there's the rub! For in that posting of replies 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 time, The oppressor's wrongs, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised 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 tweet? Who would these fardels bear? To grunt and sweat under a weary life But that the dread of something after death – The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveler 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 cowards of us all; And thus our soliloquy must end with silence.