Emulating Hamlet

HAMLET III.i.64-98

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 a sleep to say 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, 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,

Th’ 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 th’ unworthy takes,

When 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 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 turn awry

And lose the name of action.



© Folger Shakespeare Library 2007
By Colleen Myers

To snooze or not to snooze – that is the question:
Whether ’tis easier to rise on time
And face the harsh light of early day,
Or to stay huddled under the quilt,
And, by hiding, avoid the rays.
To rise, to hit the snooze button—
No more – and by rising to say I face
The early-morning preparations for the events
That each day holds—
’Tis a situation
I do not wish to face.
To snooze, to sleep—
To sleep, perhaps too long. Ay, there’s the problem,
For in oversleeping what events may come about
When we are hiding from the alarm’s harsh call
Must make us stop and think.
That’s the idea
That makes disaster of sleeping in.
For who really wants to face the 6 a.m. sun,
The first period’s quiz,
The morning person’s obnoxious cheeriness,
The disappointment in decaffeinated coffee,
The dance class’s early rehearsals,
The overly chipper song of the early bird,
And the cold looks
That early-risers send in my late-sleeping direction,
When they too may sleep in
On weekends free from tribulations?
Who would heed the alarm’s early call,
To squint and yawn through the first hours of the day,
But that the horror that something may be missed while dozing,
The unknown events that have occurred which
The gossips discuss
While we stand in a confused daze,
Wishing we had risen on time
Instead of seeking those futile thirty minutes?
Thus the chance of missing out does make early risers of us all,
And thus the bliss of sleeping in
Is tainted by eye-opening thoughts of lost news,
And peaceful moments of dreams and sleep
With this regard their paths are cut short
And lose the dark in favor of the harsh light.