bles,
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 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,
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 the dread of something after death
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler 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 pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turns awry
And lose the name of action!"_

Ophelia at the suggestion of her father and the other conspirators, comes
in at this juncture and sounds Hamlet as to plighted love and gives back
the gifts he gave her.

Hamlet pretending to madness still talks double and asks Ophelia if she be
honest, fair and beautiful.

She says: "Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?"

Hamlet replies: "Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner transform
honesty from what it is to a bawd, than the force of honesty can translate
beauty into his likeness; this was sometime a paradox, but now the time
gives it proof. I did love you once."

Ophelia says: "Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so."

And then the fickle Hamlet says: "I loved you not," and with supercilious
advice, exclaims:

_"Get thee to a nunnery!
Why would'st thou be a breeder of sinners?
I am myself indifferent honest;
But yet I could accuse me of such things
That it were better my mother had not borne me.
I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious;
With more offenses at my back
Than I have thoughts to put the