To pee, or not to pee: that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the urethra to suffer
The pains and urges of an enormous bladder
Or to hold your horses
And by your stamina, wallow in pain
To wee-wee, to whiz, once and for all
And by urination to say we end
The sting, and the thousand natural sparkles
That flesh is heir to, ‘tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To wee.
To tinkle, to drain the lizard: ay, there’s the rub!
For in that lengthy process what catharsis may come
When we have relieved ourselves,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That bears rationalization to gentlemen or ladies
Waiting in the restroom line.
For who would bear the pressure and temptation,
The pangs of despis’d cramp, the lowered toilet seat,
And the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy take
When he himself might a yellow snow-cone make
With his bare bodkin?
Who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat on the toilet seat,
But that the dread of a public potty,
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather ill
To think of recent users, we know not of.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with desire
And toilets of great size and porcelain
Are filled, ‘til their currents swirl around
And away, and lose the name of action