Tuesday, May 14, 2013


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 troubles,
Anci by opposing end them. To die: to sleep:
No more: and by a sleep to say we end
The pangs of despised love. the law's delay.
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes.
 When he himself might his quietus make
 With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear.
To grunt and sweat under a weary life.
But that the dread of something after death.
 The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
 Than fly to others that we know not of?
 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 pith and moment
 With this regarq their currents turn awry,
 And lose the name of action.


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