To suffer Fortune's slings and darts,
Or seas of troubles brave.
To die; to sleep! perchance, to dream!—
Ay, there's the rub!—when we
Have shuffled off this mortal coil!—
To be, or not to be!
"Ah! who would bear Time's whips and scorns,
The pangs of disprized love;
When he might his quietus make
By one bare bodkin's shove?