I’m

[shemthepenman]

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.