Monologue of an anxious German:

To freeze or not to freeze
that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous Putin,
Or to take gas against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: to heat, to sleep
No more; and by not sleeping, to say we end
The headache, and the thousand natural shocks
That Russia is heir to? 'Tis a non-consummation
Devoutly to be wished.

To heat, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to freeze; aye, there's the rub,
For in that freeze of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off the gas furnace,
Must give us cold. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:

For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of Putin,
The Oppressor's, the proud man's Contumely,
The pangs of dispised Cold, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Gazprom, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When we ourselves Quietus make
With a bare gas pipe? Who would Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary pipe,
But that the dread of something after gas,
The undiscovered North Stream II, from whose bourn
Nothing returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those colds we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus diligence does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native heat of Resolution
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Dream,
And solar enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents do not flow,
And lose the name of Action.

Soft you now,
The fair Angela? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all our sins remember'd.