To be, or not to be,—that is the question:— 65 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 70 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:—ay, there’s the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 75 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there’s the respect That makes calamity
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