To beest, 'r not to be--that is the questioneth:
wheth'r 'tis nobl'r in the mind to suff'r
the slings and arrows of outrageous f'rtune
or to taketh arms 'gainst a flote of troubles
and by opposing endeth those folk. To kicketh the bucket, to sleep--
nay m're--and by a catch but a wink to sayeth we endeth
the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
yond flesh is heir to. 'tis a consummation
devoutly to beest did wish. To kicketh the bucket, to sleep--
to sleep--p'rchance to dreameth: ay, th're's the rubbeth,
f'r in yond catch but a wink of death what dreams may cometh
at which hour we has't shuffl'd off this m'rtal coileth,
wilt giveth us pauseth. Th're's the respect
yond maketh calamity of so longeth life.
f'r who is't wouldst beareth the whips and sc'rns of timeth,
th' oppress'r's wrong, the fustian sir's contumely
the pangs of despis'd loveth, the law's delayeth,
the insolence of office, and the spurns
yond patient m'rit of th' unw'rthy doth take,
at which hour that gent himself might his quietus maketh
with a bareth bodkin? who is't wouldst fardels beareth,
to grunt and did sweat und'r a weary life,
but yond the dread of something aft'r death,
the undiscov'r'd state, from whose bourn
nay travell'r returns, puzzles the shall,
and maketh us rath'r beareth those ills we has't
than flyeth to oth'rs yond we knoweth not of?
thus conscience doest maketh cowards of us all,
and thus the native hue of resolution
is sickli'd o''r with the whey-face did cast of bethought,
and ent'rprise of most wondrous pitch and moment
with this regard their currents turneth awry
and loseth the nameth of action. -- soft thee anon,
the fair ophelia! -- nymph, in thy 'risons
beest all mine own sins rememb'r'd.
