41 lines
No EOL
1.5 KiB
Markdown
41 lines
No EOL
1.5 KiB
Markdown
---
|
|
title: To be
|
|
subtitle: ... or not to be?
|
|
date: 2015-02-13
|
|
---
|
|
|
|
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--
|
|
No more--and by a sleep to say we end
|
|
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
|
|
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
|
|
Devoutly to be wished. 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 life.
|
|
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, and the spurns
|
|
That patient merit of th' 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 traveller 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 enterprise of great pitch and moment
|
|
With this regard their currents turn awry
|
|
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
|
|
The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons
|
|
Be all my sins remembered. |