(orchestral music playing) - 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 asleep to say we end.

The heartache and the thousand natural shocks.

That flesh is heir to, 'tis consummation.

Devoutly to be wished.

To die, to sleep.

To sleep, perchance to dream, ay,there's the rub.

For in the 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 disprized love.

The law's of delay.

The insolence of office.

And the spurns that patient merit to 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 undiscovered country from whose bourn, no traveler returns.

Puzzles the will and makes one rather bear.

The ills we have than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.

And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o'er, by the pale cast of thought and enterprises of great pith.

And moment in this regard, their currents turn awry.

And lose the name of action.

(orchestral music playing)