To be, or not to be, the prince proposed
To no-one, or the universe at large.
But still, the cosmos seemed quite ill-disposed
To answer that great question and take charge,

Lifting the burden from his anguished frame
To give this troubled mind some small surcease
From constant question, constant nagging blame,
That ate his tired mind like some disease;

Like cancer, creeping through a body wracked
By weakness of the mind, the flesh, the soul,
Sucks spirit from a mind that always lacked
The hard resilience to grasp control.

Shall I take arms against this troubled sea?
My sins shall be remembered presently.