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William Shakespeare

bro? [test]

To bro, or not to bro, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous friendship, Or to take arms against a sea of bros, And by opposing end them? To friend, to bro, No more; and by a bro, to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That bro-hood is heir to: 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To friend, to bro; To bro, perchance to bond; ay, there's the rub, For in that bond of friendship, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes bro-hood of so long life; For who would bear the whips and scorns of bros, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of unrequited friendship, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a barefaced diss? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a bro-life weary, But that the dread of something after bro-life, The undiscovered country from whose bourn No bro returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus bro-conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of bro-hood Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great bro-pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. Soft you now!