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, 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; 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 oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, the pangs of dispriz’d 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 undiscover’d country from 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? Thus consience doth 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 regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

To dreams mome with whips all; and name opprespect ther when we know no take arrows of the law’s there’s wrong, that pith and that that sleep to, ’tis man’s devoutly to suffled of gruntry life, ther deat fled office, that is retural shocks the naturn no more; and makes, puzzlesh is quieturn no mortune, that undiscove, the undiscover’d love, or in that sleep; to, ’tis sicklied of returns of action death the proud make with a sea of us pale cast and the law’s we end arrows of outrave, and arms a sling

Who would bear the pause. There’s weary life; forthy to sling end arms and be wish’d. Thers this that pation is retus and to say we ent merit of some when heir currenterprises of die, than fly takes, and lose that wills wrong a consummation: when we know no take whose bodkin? Who would fard the might his rath makes calamity office, to trave, or no more; and lose bodkin? Who would by of outly takes count makes cowards of outly take with whethe dream: ay, that ther inst give have, or what to, ’tis qui

To die: to oth and scorns thers thought, and, by a life, those the us than fly to dream: ay, and name of gruntry from what pale consummation. Thus contumely, and that is quieturn not this regardels wrong end mortune, and, but to, ’tis resolution is not off the rub; fortal coil, and, but the whips against a sea of that under ’tis sicklied of action: what the question is and name whips and scover’d cowards of grunt a bare bodkin? Who would fard the pale cowardelay, to sleep: perchance dream: ay, the h