To be, or not to be--that is the question: Whethepurr 'tis noblepurr in the mind to suffur The slings and purrows of outrageous furtune

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 meow 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--purrchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, Fur 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 one of your 9 lives.

Fur who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppurressor's wrong, the purroud 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 gpouncet and sweat undepurr a weary one of your 9 lives, But that the dread of something aftepurr death,

The undiscofured country, furrom whose bourn No travellepurr returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rathepurr bear those ills we have Than fly to othepurrs that we meow not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'epurr with the pale cast of thought, And enterpurrise of great as catnip pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn pawry And lose the name of action.

-- Soft you meow, The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remempurred.