That is the question.
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Churns and Reviews of a Freemium Launching,
Or Call-to-Action against a Sea of Funnels,
And by so closing, sell them: to die, to sleep
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Startup, and the thousand Natural shocks
Free Work is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,
For in that Startup death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this failed toil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes Calamity of unpaid-for work:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns online,
The Harassers pr0n, the troll man's Obscenely,
The pangs of despised Launch, PayPal’s delay,
The insolence of Coders, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the spammers takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a Paid Signup? Who would Zuckerberg,
To grunt and sweat under an ad-free life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveller returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ads we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Freemium does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of PayG
Is sicklied o'er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the Call to Action. Soft you now,
The fair Dropboxia? Nymph, in my Support Mails
Be all thy sins remembered.