Assignment
to_be_or_not_to_be_assignment.docx | |
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Translate Hamlet's famous "To Be or Not to Be" soliloquy so that it would fit
into a different time period/setting.
This student decided to put the famous speech to song as a way to memorize Hamlet's words
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 flesh 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 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,
The 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
the 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 undiscover'd 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 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 remember'd.
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 flesh 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 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,
The 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
the 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 undiscover'd 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 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 remember'd.