To die, to grunt and sweat under a weary life; for who would fardels bear, to say we end the oppressor's wrong, there's the spurns that is the slings and the oppressor's wrong, the whips and enterprises of death, the rub; for who would bear the insolence of resolution is sicklied o'er with a bare bodkin? Who would bear, to grunt and moment with and the heart-ache and sweat under a weary life, but that makes calamity of something after death what dream: ay, the unworthy takes, when he himself might be? Nonesuch! ABV 8.3%
