To be, or not to be: that is the question:<br>Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer <br>The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, <br>Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, <br>And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep: <br>No more; and by a sleep to say we end <br>The heartache and the thousand natural shocks <br>That flesh is heir to,--'t is a consummation <br>Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; <br>To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub: <br>For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, <br>When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, <br>Must give us pause: there's the respect <br>That makes calamity of so long life; <br>For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, <br>The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, <br>The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, <br>The insolence of office and the spurns <br>That patient merit of the unworthy takes, <br>When he himself might his quietus make <br>With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, <br>To grunt and sweat under a weary life, <br>But that the dread of something after death, <br>The undiscover'd country from whose bourn <br>No traveller returns, puzzles the will <br>And makes us rather bear those ills we have <br>Than fly to others that we know not of? <br>Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; <br>And thus the native hue of resolution <br>Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, <br>And enterprises of great pith and moment <br>With this regard their currents turn awry, <br>And lose the name of action.