To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity
of so long life; For who would
fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane, But that the fear
of something after death Murders the
innocent sleep, Great nature's
second course, And makes us rather
sling the arrows of outrageous fortune Than fly to others
that we know not of. There's the respect
must give us pause: Wake Duncan with
thy knocking! I would thou couldst; For who would bear
the whips and scorns of time,
