Hamlet Siloque part C

The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have
And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others we know not of?
Than fly to others we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution
And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought,
Is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought, And enterprise of great pitch and moment
And enterprise of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry
With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action— Soft you now,
And lose the name of action— Soft you now, The fair Ophelia! — Nymph in thy orison’s
The fair Ophelia—Nymph in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered!

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