To be or not to be: is that the question?
Whether ''tis nobler in the heart to suffer
The pangs and revenge of outrageous destiny,
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 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,
The oppressor''s wrong, the proud man''s contumely,
The thorns of disprized love, the law''s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
And thus the native hue of life''s timely love
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.
More reviews about the Amleth