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 wish'd
to die to sleep
to sleep perchance to dream I miss 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 respect that makes calamity of
so long life for who would bear the
whips and scorns of time the oppressors
wrong the proud man's contumely the
pangs of despised love the laws 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 fardels bear to grunt and
sweat under a weary life but that the
dread of something after death the
undiscover'd country from whose Bourn no
traveler returns puzzles the will and
makes us rather bear those ills we have
and fly to others that we know not all
thus conscience does make cowards of us
all and thus the native hue of
resolution is sicklied or with a pale
cast of thought and enterprises of great
pitch and a moment with this regard
their currents turn awry and lose the
name of action
[Music]