Monologue of Hamlet, de William Shakespeare

Le défi n°142 des CROQUEURS DE MOTS, avec lénaïg, nous plonge dans "une étrange atmosphère" ou (et?) "un monde à l'envers". 

Pas de panique ! Ceux qui, comme moi, ne maîtrisent pas l'anglais ! J'ai mis en ligne la traduction de Victor Hugo dans l'article suivant

Monologue of Hamlet (English)

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether it's nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

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; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There’s the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, 

The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death, 

The undiscover’d country from whose bourn

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,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action. Soft you now!

The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remember’d.

William Shakespeare, 1599 - 1601

Eugène Delacroix, Hamlet et Horatio au cimetière