Hamlet's Soliloquy
Act III, scene 1
Ophelia is on stage but unnoticed by Hamlet,as he enters.
To be, or not to be,1 that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles2And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep.No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die: to sleep.To sleep? Perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub;3For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,When we have shuffled off4 this mortal coil,5Must give us pause.6 There's the respect7That makes calamity of so long life;8For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,9The pangs of dispriz'd10 love, the law's delay,The insolence of office,11 and the spurns12That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,13When he himself might his quietus14 makeWith a bare bodkin?15 Who would fardels16 bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscover'd country from whose bourn17No traveller returns,18 puzzles19 the will,And makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience20 does make cowards of us all,And thus the native hue21 of resolutionIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast22 of thought,And enterprises of great pitch and moment23With this regard7 their currents24 turn awry,And lose the name of action.—Soft you now!The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons25Be all my sins remember'd.