DOTLAN EveMaps

u'To be, or not to be, that is the question,
Whether tis nobler in the minde to \u017fuffer
The \u017flings and arrowes of outragious fortune,
Or to take Armes again\u017ft a \u017fea of troubles,
And by oppo\u017fing, end them, to die to \u017fleepe
No more, and by a \u017fleepe, to \u017fay we end
The hart-ake, and the thou\u017fand naturall \u017fhocks
That fle\u017fh is heire to; tis a con\u017fumation
Deuoutly to be wi\u017fht to die to \u017fleepe,
To \u017fleepe, perchance to dreame, I there\'s the rub,
For in that \u017fleepe of death what dreames may come
When we haue \u017fhuffled off this mortall coyle
Mu\u017ft giue vs pau\u017fe, there\'s the re\u017fpect
That makes calamitie of \u017fo long life:
For who would beare the whips and \u017fcorns of time,
Th\'oppre\u017f\u017fors wrong, the proude mans contumly,
The pangs of de\u017fpiz\'d loue, the lawes delay,
The in\u017folence of office, and the \u017fpurnes
That patient merrit of the\'vnworthy takes,
When he him\u017felfe might his quietas make
With a bare bodkin; who would fardels beare,
To grunt and \u017fweat vnder a wearie life,
But that the dread of \u017fomething after death,
The vndi\u017fcouer\'d country, from whose borne
No trauiler returnes, puzzels the will,
And makes vs rather beare tho\u017fe ills we haue,
Then flie to others we know not of.
Thus con\u017fcience dooes make cowards,
And thus the natiue hiew of re\u017folution
Is \u017fickled ore with the pale ca\u017ft of thought,
And enterpri\u017fes of great pitch and moment,
With this regard theyr currents turne awry,
And loose the name of action.'