To be or not to be, that is the question.
Whether it’s better to let my mind suffer from the battles of wealth;
Or to fight against tons of troubles and by stopping end them.
To die, to sleep, never again;
To die shall be the end of the hurt and the painful blows
that we are destined to receive, it is our fate.
Faithfully to be wished.
To die, to sleep;
To sleep, with chance to dream. Yes, that is my goal:
Within our silent sleeping these dreams may come,
may we have moved this normal life,
must give us a moment for our respect.
That makes silence of our ending life.
For whom would bear the suffering of time,
this force feels wrong, the proud man’s insult,
The pains of dispraised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
that is given to the unworthy soul,
when these things might be broken with a single blade, who would take on this sorrow,
to groan and emit under a pathetic life,
but that the fear of life after death,
the mystical country that is cut off,
where no messenger returns, and questions the mind
and makes us want to bear the life we have
than go to others in the unknown,
our mind makes all of us to be dastards,
and this given mind pressing answer
is disguised with the cover of thought,
and plans of death and moment
with this thought their existents turn away,
and lose the train of thought.
Clam down, my beautiful lady Ophelia is coming. The Fair, remember all of my sins in your prayer.