| 1 |
tony |
45 |
To be or not to be-that is the question: |
| 2 |
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Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer |
| 3 |
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The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, |
| 4 |
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Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, |
| 5 |
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And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep- |
| 6 |
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No more-and by a sleep to say we end |
| 7 |
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The heartache and the thousand natural shocks |
| 8 |
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That flesh is heir to-'tis a consummation |
| 9 |
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Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep- |
| 10 |
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To sleep, perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub, |
| 11 |
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For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, |
| 12 |
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When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, |
| 13 |
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Must give us pause. There's the respect |
| 14 |
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That makes calamity of so long life. |
| 15 |
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For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, |
| 16 |
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Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, |
| 17 |
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The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, |
| 18 |
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The insolence of office, and the spurns |
| 19 |
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That patient merit of the unworthy takes, |
| 20 |
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When he himself might his quietus make |
| 21 |
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With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, |
| 22 |
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To grunt and sweat under a weary life, |
| 23 |
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But that the dread of something after death, |
| 24 |
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The undiscovered country from whose bourn |
| 25 |
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No traveler returns, puzzles the will |
| 26 |
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And makes us rather bear those ills we have |
| 27 |
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Than fly to others that we know not of? |
| 28 |
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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, |
| 29 |
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And thus the native hue of resolution |
| 30 |
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Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, |
| 31 |
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And enterprises of great pitch and moment, |
| 32 |
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With this regard their currents turn awry, |
| 33 |
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And lose the name of action.-Soft you now, |
| 34 |
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The fair Ophelia.-Nymph, in thy orisons |
| 35 |
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Be all my sins remembered |
