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,... The Stratford Shakspere, ed. by C. Knight - Page 47by William Shakespeare - 1856Full view
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William Shakespeare - 1903 - 287 pages
...flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, — to sleep, — To sleep I perchance to dream ! ay, there 's the rub ; For in...— Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remember'd. Ophelia. Good my lord, How does your honour for this many a day ? Hamlet. I humbly thank you ; well,...