To be or not to be
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, And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep; And by opposing end them: to dye, to sleep No more; and by a sleep, to say we end The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks That Flesh is heir too? 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To dye to sleep, To sleep, perchance to Dream; I, 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 life: For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time, The Oppressor's wrong, the poor mans contumely, 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 these