To be—or not to
be!—that is the question.—
Whether ’tis nobler
in the mind, to suffer
The stings and arrows of outrageous
fortune;
Or to take arms against a
siege of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them?—To
die—to sleep—
No more;—and, by
a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, 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—aye, 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 a life
For, who would bear the whips
and scorns o’ th’ time,
Th’ oppressor’s
wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despis’d
love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and
the spurns
That patient merit of the
unworthy takes;
When he himself might his
quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who
would fardels bear,
To groan and sweat under a
weary life;
But that the dread of something
after death
(That undiscover’d country,
from whose bourne
No traveller returns) puzzles
the will;
And makes us rather bear those
ills we have,
Than fly to others that we
know not of;
Thus conscience does make
cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of
resolution
Is sicklied o’er with
the pale cast of thought;
And enterprizes of great pith
and moment,
With this regard, their currents
turn away,
And lose the name of action.
SELECT PASSAGES FROM DRAMATIC WRITERS, EXPRESSIVE OF THE PRINCIPAL EMOTIONS AND PASSIONS.
JOY.
Then is Orestes blest!
My griefs are fled!
Fled like a dream! Methinks
I tread in air!—
Surprising happiness! unlook’d
for joy!
Never let love despair!
The prize is mine!—
Be smooth, ye seas! and, ye
propitious winds,
Blow from Epirus to the Spartan
coast!
GRIEF.
I’ll go; and in the
anguish of my heart—–
Weep o’er my child—If
he must die, my life
Is wrapt in his; I shall not
long survive.
’Tis for his sake that
I have suffer’d life;
Groan’d in captivity;
and outliv’d Hector.—
Yes, my Astyanax! we’ll
go together;
Together—to the
realms of night we’ll go.
PITY.
Hadst thou but seen, as I
did, how, at last,
Thy beauties, Belvidera, like
a wretch
That’s doom’d
to banishment, came weeping forth,
Whilst two young virgins,
on whose arms she lean’d,
Kindly look’d up, and
at her grief grew sad!
E’en the lewd rabble,
that were gather’d round
To see the sight, stood mute
when they beheld her,
Govern’d their roaring
throats—and grumbled pity.