...that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous expenses,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To sell: to float;
No more; and by a sale to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That boat owners are heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To swallow the anchor, to sell;
To sell: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that boat-less sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this floating 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 waves,
The oppressor's slip fees, the proud man's yard bills,
The pangs of scratched gel coat, the law's stupid rules,
The insolence of the USCG and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a Yachtworld listing? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a dirty bottom,
But that the dread of something after selling the boat,
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.
