WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

PRINCE OF DENMARK

             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 and

             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: 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…