The taste of hunger, or a tyrant's reign,
And thousand more calamities besides,
When that he may his full quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would this endure,
But for a hope of something after death,
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourne
No passenger has e'er return'd? Ay that
Puzzles the brain and doth confound the sense;
Which makes us rather bear the ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.