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Talking To Myself Text Excerpt Act III Scene I PDF

Hamlet contemplates whether it is nobler to endure life's hardships or to take one's own life. He considers that death would end all pain and troubles, but is unsure of what may come after. The unknown of what exists after death gives him pause and makes him accept the difficulties of this life rather than face the uncertainties of what comes next.

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Elliot Ruiz
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65 views1 page

Talking To Myself Text Excerpt Act III Scene I PDF

Hamlet contemplates whether it is nobler to endure life's hardships or to take one's own life. He considers that death would end all pain and troubles, but is unsure of what may come after. The unknown of what exists after death gives him pause and makes him accept the difficulties of this life rather than face the uncertainties of what comes next.

Uploaded by

Elliot Ruiz
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
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Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Hamlet's Soliloquy, Act III, Scene i

To be, or not to be: that is the question: 55


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 end 60
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 65
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: // there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 71
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 grunt and sweat under a weary life, 75
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of? // 80
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 enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry, 85
And lose the name of action.

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