We will bestow our selues; reade on this booke,
That show of such an exercise may cullour
Your lonelinesse: we are oft to blame in this,
'Tis too much proou'd, that with deutions visage
And pious action, we doe fugar ore
King
How smart a lash that speech doth
giue
give
my conscience,
The harlots cheeke beautied with plastring art,
Is more not
oughly
ugly
to the thing that helps it,
Then
Than
is my deede to my most
painted
pained
word:
O
heauy
heavie
burthen
burden
Enter Hamlet.
Pol
I heare him comming,
with-draw
withdraw
my Lord.
exit
Ham
To be, or not to be,
that is
that is
I there's
the
question
question
point
,
Whether tis nobler in the
minde
mind
to suffer
The
slings
flings
and
arrowes
arrows
of outragious fortune,
Or to take
Armes
armes
against a
sea
of troubles,
And by opposing, end them, to
die
dye
to sleepe
No more, and by a sleepe, to say we end
The
hart-ake
heart-ake
, and the thousand
natural
naturall
shocks
shockes
The flesh is heire to; tis a consumatien
Deuoutly
Devoutly
to be wisht to
die
dye
die
To
sleepe
sleep
, perchance to dreame, I there's the rub,
For
in that
inthat
in that
sleepe
sleep
of death what dreames may come
When we
haue
have
shuffled off this mortall coyle
Must
giue
give
us
pause
pause
, there's the
respect
respect
That makes
calamitie
calamity
of so long life:
For who would beare the whips and scornes of time,
Th'
oppressors
oppreffors
wrong, the
proude
proud
proude mans contumely,
The pangs of
despiz'd
despised
loue
love
,the
lawes
Lawes
delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurnes
That patient
merrit
merit
of th'
vnworthy
unworthy
takes,
When
as
he himselfe might his
quietas
Quietus
make
With a bare bodkin; who would fardels beare,
To grunt and sweat under a
wearie
weary
life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The
vndiscouer‘d
country
Countrey
,from whose borne
To Die, to sleepe, to dreame, I mary there it goes
For inthat deame of death, when wee awake,
And borne before an auerlasting Iudge,
From whence no passenger euer returnd,
The vndiscouered country, at whose sight
The happy smile, and the accursed damn'd,
But for this, the ioyfull hope of this
Who'd beare the scorens and flattery of the world,
Scroned by the right rich, the rich curssed of te poore?