HAMLET CUT

HAMLET
To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we endFor in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,That patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeBut that the dread of something after death,The undiscover'd country from whose bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the willAnd makes us rather bear those ills Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;With this regard their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action. The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisonsBe all my sins remember'd.