A Poem by William Panderspeare - Dedicated to chitty

To pander or not to pander, that is the question.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The upvotes and downvotes of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of whales,

And by downvoting end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural downvotes

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to downvote: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what downvotes may come

When we have shuffled off this immutable blockchain,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the upvotes and downvotes of whales,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's downvote,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the downvotes

That patient merit of the unworthy upvotes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would downvote whale,

To grunt and sweat under a weary post,

But that the dread of downvotes after death,

The undiscover'd whale from whose bourn

No panderer returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those downvotes we have

Than pander to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make panderers of us all;

And thus the native hue of pandering

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of upvotes,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their upvotes turn awry,

And lose the name of action.--Pander you now!

The fair Minnow! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my pandering remember'd!”