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  • Artist Info: To be, or not to be: that is the question:<br />
    Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer<br />
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,<br />
    Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,<br />
    And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;<br />
    No more; and by a sleep to say we end<br />
    The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks<br />
    That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation<br />
    Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;<br />
    To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;<br />
    For in that sleep of death what dreams may come<br />
    When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,<br />
    Must give us pause: there's the respect<br />
    That makes calamity of so long life;<br />
    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,<br />
    The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,<br />
    The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,<br />
    The insolence of office and the spurns<br />
    That patient merit of the unworthy takes,<br />
    When he himself might his quietus make<br />
    With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,<br />
    To grunt and sweat under a weary life,<br />
    But that the dread of something after death,<br />
    The undiscover'd country from whose bourn<br />
    No traveller returns, puzzles the will<br />
    And makes us rather bear those ills we have<br />
    Than fly to others that we know not of?<br />
    Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;<br />
    And thus the native hue of resolution<br />
    Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,<br />
    And enterprises of great pith and moment<br />
    With this regard their currents turn awry,<br />
    And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!<br />
    The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons<br />
    Be all my sins remember'd
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