Hamlet, at his computer. Enter Polonius:
Polonius: What friends thou hast, add them fast, Lord Hamlet.
Hamlet: Polonius advises us to link our souls with hoopla,
When twice this same moon updates us,
But still to me she hath not chatted.
Polonius: Light lord, thy status in disconnect must be,
Causing you this dark and dour distress.
Hamlet: Fish not, sir; I fear she hath deleted me.
What post supports this knotted matter?
False light quickly fades, casting us in dark shadows.
Let the clouds betide, let the rains come
So thick and dark not the bark of the ark stays dry.
Polonius: Despair not, care not, Lord, care less than not.
Some new compeer will soon light your night
With comely links and notes bright.
Light be your aim, Lord, light your audience,
And this will give light to thee.
Hamlet: Nay, sir. In this book of faces there is but one for me,
And I am trapped in this light box like a wench in a nunnery.
End
The Coming of the Toads 
Halogen Symphonius .
Oh, the Jewel in the Lotus, the Flash Bulb in the Void, the Candle in the Pit.
That is to say : Hark the Hamlet dagger stings .
Is this a poem I hear around me,
its sound toward my ear?
Come let me read thee.
I read thee not yet hear thee still?
“To be, or not to be ; that is the bare bodkin
That makes calamity of so long life ;
For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,
But that the fear of something after death
Murders the innocent sleep,
Great nature’s second course,
And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune
Than fly to others that we know not of.
There’s the respect must give us pause :
Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou couldst ;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The law’s delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,
In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn
In customary suits of solemn black,
But that the undiscovered, country from whose bourne no traveler returns,
Breathes forth contagion on the world,
And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i’ the adage,
Is sicklied o’er with care,
And all the clouds that lowered o’er our housetops,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. But soft you, the fair Ophelia :
Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,
But get thee to a nunnery go I
Well, the old man he liked that speech, and he mighty soon got it so he could do it first rate. It seemed like he was just born for it ; and when he had his hand in and was excited, it was perfectly lovely the way he would rip and tear and rair up behind when he was getting it off.”
Hamlet’s Soliloquy, Chapter XXI, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Okay, I loved this!!!