Hamlet's Soliloquy
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Shakespeare's language:
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the laws delay.
The insolence of office, and the spurs
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might nis quietus make
with a bare bodkin? who would fardes bear,
To grunt and swear under a weary life.
But that the dread of something after death.
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveler returns, puzzes the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fy to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native nue of resolution
is sickiego'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now
The fair Ophelia Nymph, in thy crisons
Be all my sins remember
