To be or not to be:
that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the
mind to suffer the slings
and arrows of outrageous
fortune, or to take arms
against a sea of toubles,
and by opposing end them?
To die: to sleep; No more;
and by a sleep to say
we end the heart-ache and
the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to,
'tis a consummation
devoutly to be wish'd.
To die; to sleep: perchance to dream:
Ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death
what dreams may come when
we have shuffled off this
mortal coil, must give us pause:
there's the respect that makes
calamity of so long a life;
for who would bear the whips
and scorns of time, the
proud man's contumely, 27 00;00:01:12,000 --> 00:01:15,000 the insolence of office
the law's delay,
the pangs of desprised love,
when he himself might his
own quietus make with a bare bodkin?
Who would fardels bear, to
grunt and sweat under a weary
life, were it not the dread
of something after death, the
undiscover'd country to whose
bourn no traveller returns, puzzles
the will and makes us rather
bear those ills we have than
fly to others that we know not of?
And thus conscience does make
cowards of us all;
and thus the native hue
of resolution 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 name of action.