To play, or not to play: that is not the question.
But whether 'tis nobler to play games that suffer
The cards and dice of outrageous fortune,
Or to take a stand against games of luck,
And by not playing, end them? To dice is to weep;
The heart-ache of a thousand natural sixes
rolled by my opponents, when, despite more careful planning
I have rolled only ones. To dice makes me sleep;
For chance has wrecked my dreams: oh look! Another "one";
For in that roll of dice what pride may come
For having killed my last battalion,
Through no fault of your own: where's the respect
For winning such an unbalanced game;
For who would bear the losses, and even gains,
The useless card fatally drawn, the fist turned over wrong,
The enemy dying by an ivory cube, or spinner stuck,
The insolence of crowing over a victory,
Poorly played, yet still the unworthy takes,
When would have lost if only random chance
Would have played fairly? Who could ever bear,
To sweat and struggle through strategic thought,
When the dread of knowing all will come to naught,
By losing through a careless toss of bone?
I'd rather play solitaire, or solve puzzles if I will;
I'd rather bear the ills of knowing loss
By playing 'gainst a more strategic foe.
Thus rolling dice make cowards of us all;
When we fear to strive and win resolution
By working hard by theory and by thought,
And victories hard won, strategies planned
regardless of how some minor elements turn awry,
Or lose to my own unworthy actions.