T'be, or not t'be, that's d'question:
Whether 'tis nobler in d'mind t'suffer
D'slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or t'take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them: t'die, t'sleep
N'more; and by a sleep, t'say we end
D'heart-ache, and d'thousand natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly t'be wished. T'die, t'sleep,
T'sleep, perchance t'Dream; aye, there's d'rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we've shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause.