For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,The insolence of office, andthe spurnsThat patient merit of th’ unworthy takes,When he himself might hisquietus makeWith a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,to grunt and sweat under aweary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscovered country from whose bournNo traveler returns, puzzlesthe will
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles.
And, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep—No more—and by a sleep to say we endThe heartache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to—’tis a consummationDevoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep.
Must give us pause. There’s the respectWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeTo sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub,That makes calamity of so long life.
Works Cited:"To be or not to be? That is the question" (Ham.3.1.62)."To die, to sleep-no more" (Ham.3.1.66-70)."Must give us pause. There's the respect" (Ham.3.1.74)
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