To exist or not to exist: that is the question: Whether it is nobler to suffer The slings and arrows of an unbearable situation, Or to declare against a sea of troubles, And by fighting back, end them. To die, to sleep: That is all; and with sleep we end The heartaches and the thousand natural miseries That as humans we are subjected to, as our final end To be sought. To die, to sleep; To sleep: maybe there will be dreams: oh, there lies the problem For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shed our mortal body, Must make us stop and think: there’s the consideration That causes us to live a long life filled with calamity: For who would tolerate the harsh experiences that time brings, The injustice of the oppressor, the pride man’s scorn, The pains of rejected love, the delays of the law, The insolence of authority That happen to those who don’t deserve them. When he himself might end it all, With a naked blade? Who would bear any burdens, To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But if it was not for the dread of the afterlife, The unknown region from which No traveller ever returns, will puzzle the mind, And makes us rather to endure the troubles we have Than fly to new, undefined troubles? In this way, thinking makes cowards of us all; And thus the natural colour of resolution Becomes sickly with the pale look of thought, And enterprises of great significance At this point their currents turn away, And become inactive. Hey now! The fair Ophelia! Lady, in your prayers Ask forgiveness for my sins.
