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 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,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes