An Englshman's view of tipping

by William Shakespeare c. 1600. One of his lesser known works but it%26#39;s no more confusing than trying to work out what to tip nowadays.

To tip, or not to tip: that is the question:

Whether %26#39;tis nobler in the mind to tip

The slings and arrows of outrageous tips,

Or to take arms against a sea of tips,

And by opposing end them? To die: to tip;

No more; and by a sleep to say we tip

The heart-ache and the thousand natural tips

That flesh is heir to, %26#39;tis a consummation

Devoutly to be tipped. To die, to tip;

To tip: perchance to tip: ay, there%26#39;s the rub;

For in that sleep of death what tips may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there%26#39;s the tip

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the tips and scorns of time,

The oppressor%26#39;s wrong, the proud man%26#39;s contumely,

The pangs of despised tips, the law%26#39;s delay,

The insolence of tips and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy tips,

When he himself might his tips make

With a bare tip? who would tip bear,

To tip and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after tip,

The undiscover%26#39;d country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those tips we have

Than tip to others that we know not of?

Thus tips does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of tips

Is sicklied o%26#39;er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great tips and moment

With this regard their tips turn awry,

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

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my tips remember%26#39;d.