HAMLET 
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 
heartache 
and 
the 
thousand 
natural 
shocks 
That 
flesh 
is 
heir 
to 
'Tis 
a 
consummation 
Devoutly 
to 
be 
wished 
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 
shuffled 
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 
despised 
love 
the 
law's 
delay 
The 
insolence 
of 
office 
and 
the 
spurns 
That 
patient 
merit 
of 
th' 
unworthy 
takes 
When 
he 
himself 
might 
his 
quietus 
make 
With 
a 
bare 
bodkin? 
Who 
would 
fardels 
bear 
To 
grunt 
and 
sweat 
under 
a 
weary 
life 
But 
that 
the 
dread 
of 
something 
after 
death 
The 
undiscovered 
country 
from 
whose 
bourn 
No 
traveller 
returns 
puzzles 
the 
will 
And 
makes 
us 
rather 
bear 
those 
ills 
we 
have 
Than 
fly 
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 
enterprise 
of 
great 
pitch 
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 
remembered 
