《十样锦》博年

3、第 3 章 Ent

　　Enter Hamlet.
　　Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question：
　　Whether'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
　　The 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 end
　　The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
　　That fesh is heir to！'Tis a consummation
　　Devoutly to be wish'd. To die to sleep.
　　To sleep, perchance to dream：ay, there's the rub，
　　For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come，
　　When we have shuffed off this mortal coil，
　　Must give us pause. There's the respect
　　That makes calamity of so long life：
　　For who would bear the whips and scorns of time，
　　Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely，
　　The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay，
　　The insolence of offce, and the spurns
　　That patient merit of th'unworthy takes，
　　When he himself might his quietus make，
　　With a bare bodkin?Who would these fardels bear，
　　To grunt and sweat under a weary life，
　　But that the dread of something after death，The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
　　No traveller returns, puzzles 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 hue of resolution，
　　Is sicklied o'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 orisons
　　Be all my sins rememb'red.