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The Unionists Soliloquy (with apologies to the tortured Dane)

To strike, or not to strike--that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The cuts and redundancies of unbridled capitalism
Or to take voice against a sea of financiers,
And by opposing end them. To strike, to voice--
No more! --and by that voice to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand unnatural shocks
Work is heir to. It is a realisation
Eagerly to be sought. To strike, to shout--
To scream--perchance to dream: oh, there is the agony!
For in that show of strength what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this management coil, 
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes meaning of such short life.
For who would bear the servitude of life,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's abuse,
The pangs of denied passion, the laws delay,
The insolence of office, and rejection of worthy labours,
When they might end it all with incisive action.
Who would bear these burdens,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
Except that worry of what may come next-
The imagined country, from whose pension
No employee returns- confuses the will,
And makes us rather suffer the ills we know,
Than seek possibilities we know not?
Thus prevarication makes cowards of us all,
And the raw temper of commitment
Is clouded with a pale cast of comfort,
And enterprises of strength and moment
With this thought are turned to fear,
And lose the name of action.- Soft you now!
The fair Kesteven!- Baroness, in your prayers
Are all our failings remembered.