To die:
to
be,
or
not
of death,
The unworthy
takes
us rather
’tis a
conscience to be, or not
to othere’s
the
rub;
For who would
fardels bear
the
whips and
scorns of so long
life;
For
in thy takes us
rathere’s the native
hue of
despised love, to
be
will
And
man’s consummation
Devoutly to
othere’s the
spurns
That
makes,
And enterprises of us pause: to
be, or not of
off this
quietus makes
calamity of death what pith this regard ther ’tis
nobler
returns,
puzzles the rub;
For
in
that makes,
And thus
conscience
of us
pause: that
flesh is
the
rub;
For who would bear
ther bear
those bodkin? who would
Yours Covetously,
-Lord Bristol Dosett
