Hamlet's+Soliloquy

HAMLET: 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 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 <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> The insolence of office, and the spurns <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> When he himself might his quietus make <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> To grunt and sweat under a weary life, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> But that the dread of something after death, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> The undiscovered country, from whose bourn <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> No traveller returns, puzzles the will, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> And makes us rather bear those ills we have <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> Than fly to others that we know not of? <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> And thus the native hue of resolution <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> And enterprise of great pitch and moment <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> With this regard their currents turn awry <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now, <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;"> Be all my sins remembered.

<span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;">HAMLET: <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;">The question is: is it better to be alive or dead? Is it nobler to put up with all the nasty things that luck throws your way, or to fight against all those troubles by simply putting an end to them once and for all? Dying, sleeping—that’s all dying is—a sleep that ends all the heartache and shocks that life on earth gives us—that’s an achievement to wish for. To die, to sleep—to sleep, maybe to dream. Ah, but there’s the catch: in death’s sleep who knows what kind of dreams might come, after we’ve put the noise and commotion of life behind us. That’s certainly something to worry about. That’s the consideration that makes us stretch out our sufferings so long. After all, who would put up with all life’s humiliations—the abuse from superiors, the insults of arrogant men, the pangs of unrequited love, the inefficiency of the legal system, the rudeness of people in office, and the mistreatment good people have to take from bad—when you could simply take out your knife and call it quits? Who would choose to grunt and sweat through an exhausting life, unless they were afraid of something dreadful after death, the undiscovered country from which no visitor returns, which we wonder about without getting any answers from and which makes us stick to the evils we know rather than rush off to seek the ones we don’t? Fear of death makes us all cowards, and our natural boldness becomes weak with too much thinking. Actions that should be carried out at once get misdirected, and stop being actions at all. But shh, here comes the beautiful Ophelia. Pretty lady, please remember me when you pray.
 * <span style="font-family: Georgia,serif; font-size: 12px;">SparkNotes Translation: **