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Hamlet's Soliloquy

Act III, scene 1
 
Ophelia is on stage but unnoticed by Hamlet,
as he enters.
 
To be, or not to be,1 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 troubles2
And by opposing end them. To die: to sleep.
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die: to sleep.
To sleep? Perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub;3
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off4 this mortal coil,5
Must give us pause.6 There's the respect7
That makes calamity of so long life;8
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,9
The pangs of dispriz'd10 love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office,11 and the spurns12
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,13
When he himself might his quietus14 make
With a bare bodkin?15 Who would fardels16 bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn17
No traveller returns,18 puzzles19 the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience20 does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue21 of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast22 of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment23
With this regard7 their currents24 turn awry,
And lose the name of action.—Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons25
Be all my sins remember'd.
 
  • 1. To live or die. This is the lowest point that Hamlet's melancholy reaches. In the suspense with which he awaits the outcome of his test, he loses the glad assurance with which he closed Act II (the day before), and allows himself to wonder how any sensitive person can consent to endure the humiliations of life. He argues, however, in general terms, not in terms of his own situation.
  • 2. Many commentators have felt that this line contains a badly mixed metaphor and consequently have suggested various unnecessary emendations. The phrase 'sea of troubles,' in the sense of a 'mass of troubles,' however, occurs elsewhere in Elizabethan literature. Cf. Greene's Mamillia, ed. Grosart, vol. II., p. 18— "hauing himself escaped the sea of trouble and care," and Dekker's The Wonder of a Kingdome, ed. 1873, vol IV., p. 230—
    .
    I never heard mongst all your Romane spirits,
    That any held so bravely up his head,
    In such a sea of troubles (that come rouling
    One on anothers necke) as Lotti doth.
    .
    [You must realize that a few of the words here use Elizabethan spellings. These are not typos.]
  • 3. Obstacle
  • 4. Sloughed off
  • 5. Turmoil of mortal life
  • 6. Cause us to hesitate
  • 7. a. b. Consideration
  • 8. Makes affliction (i.e., the afflicted person) live so long.
  • 9. Scorn
  • 10. Held in contempt. The Quarto reads "despiz'd."
  • 11. People holding official position
  • 12. Insults
  • 13. The miseries specified in the five lines ending here are more those of man in general than of the Prince of Denmark.
  • 14. Release from life
  • 15. This may mean 'a mere pin' or 'an unsheathed dagger.' The former is more forceful.
  • 16. Burdens
  • 17. Boundary
  • 18. The ghost is ignored. In this soliloquy Hamlet's mind is curiously stripped of the religious ideas and implications which usually mark it.
  • 19. Frustrates
  • 20. The ability to think
  • 21. Healthy complexion
  • 22. Tinge
  • 23. Elevation and importance
  • 24. Courses
  • 25. Prayers
Перевод

El Soliloquio de Hamlet

Acto III, escena 1
 
Ofelia está en el escenario, pero desapercibida por Hamlet,
mientras este entra.
 
Ser o no ser, esa es la cuestión.
¿Cuál es más digna acción del ánimo,
Sufrir los tiros penetrantes de la fortuna injusta,
U oponer los brazos a este torrente de calamidades,
Y ponerles fin al oponérseles? Morir es dormir.
¿No más? ¿Y por un sueño, diremos que se acabaron
Las aflicciones y los dolores sin número,
Patrimonio de nuestra débil naturaleza?... Este es un término
Que deberíamos solicitar con ansia. Morir es dormir...
¿Dormir? Tal vez soñar. Sí, y ved aquí el obstáculo,
Porque el considerar que sueños podrán ocurrir en el silencio del sepulcro
Cuando hayamos abandonado este despojo mortal,
Es razón poderosa para detenernos. Esta es la consideración
Que hace nuestra infelicidad tan larga.
¿Porque quién aguantaría los implacables azotes del tiempo,
La violencia de los tiranos, el desprecio de los soberbios
Las angustias de un mal pagado amor, la lentitud de los tribunales,
La insolencia de los empleados y los insultos
Ese paciente mérito que reciben los indignos
Cuando el que esto sufre, pudiera procurar su quietud
Con sólo un puñal? ¿Quién podría tolerar tanto agobio,
Sudando, gimiendo bajo el peso de una vida molesta
Si no fuese por el temor a que hay algo después de la muerte,
Aquel país desconocido de cuyos límites
Ningún caminante retorna, nos desconcierta,
Y nos hace sufrir los males que tenemos;
Antes que ir a buscar otros que no conocemos?
Así que la conciencia sí nos hace a todos cobardes,
Y así color natural del valor
Se debilita con los barnices pálidos del pensamiento,
Y las empresas de mayor importancia
Por esta sola consideración cambian de dirección,
Y no ejecutan y se reducen a designios vanos.
La hermosa Ofelia! Graciosa niña, en tus oraciones
Espero sean recordados mis defectos
 
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