Poem

Soliloquy from Hamlet

By Shakespeare

To be, or not to be, 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 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 wished. 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, [poor]
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay, [disprized]
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 undiscovered 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 pitch and moment, [pith]
With this regard their Currents turn awry, [away]
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia? Nymph, in thy Orisons
Be all my sins remembered.

Analysis:

Shakespeare carefully hones his language to illustrate the movements of Hamlet's mind in this famous speech.

Hamlet’s soliloquy begins with what must be the most famous line in the English canon: “To be or not to be.” For the character at that moment, it is an important question, literally one of “life and death”, but the general terms in which it is phrased gives it a resonance that reaches out past Hamlet. Hamlet poses the question on the most metaphysical level – not “shall I kill myself?”, nor “can I live like this?” but “to be or not to be”. It is existence itself that is up for debate in this speech.

The form of words guarantees that Hamlet’s question will be interpreted on a general level: the line uses one of the most basic verbs in the language, one without which English itself would surely be impossible to speak. The verb is then phrased in the infinitive, “to be”, rather than attaching it to any specific noun or pronoun (not even Hamlet’s own “I”). Balancing it on the other side of “or” is the simplest possible opposition, the same verb with a one syllable prefix: “not”.

Again, at the risk of labouring the point, “to be” is not opposed by “suicide”, “death” or “non-existence” but its simple grammatical opposite. Shakespeare boils down the issue to its simplest and most abstract form, until it almost doesn’t make sense – it would be interesting to know how many people who recognise the phrase “to be or not to be” could explain what it means. Shakespeare avoids any imagery, any particular reference that could narrow the question’s application, which is surely one reason why the phrase has resounded throughout our literate culture.

Having made this deliberately stark declaration, bare of imagery or ornament, Shakespeare then has Hamlet produce sudden flood of images. The “slings and arrows” of fortune, the “arms” to be employed against a “sea of troubles”, the “sleep of death, the “whips and scorns” of time, the “undiscovered country” of the afterlife. Indeed some of these images jar against each other: how exactly is one meant to “take up arms” (to employ weapons) against a “sea of troubles”?

The contrast with the bare elegance of the first line is striking, but this is not simply Shakespeare being careless or overwriting the speech. The rush of imagery shows Hamlet attempting to wrestle with the eternal question he has raised, and their number demonstrates that he cannot easily get a grip on the problem – he cannot find an analogy with which to work through to a solution that has the clarity and purity of the question itself.

Drama

Story of Shakuntala

In Hindu mythology Shakuntala is considered to be the mother of Emperor Bharata and the wife of Dushyanta who was the founder of the Paurav vansha (Paurav Dynasty). Shakuntala was born of Vishvamitra and Menaka. Rishi Kanva found her in the forest surrounded and protected by birds (Shakunton in Sanskrit), so she was named Shakuntala.

Once, while out on a hunt with his army, Dushyanta passed through a forest full of bilv, ark, khadir, kapith, dahv etc. trees. The forest undulated with interspered rocky hillocks and extended over several yojanas and there was no trace of any man. It was full of wildlife.

Dushyanta, along with his powerful army, happened to pass through extensive desert after which he reached a good forest. This forest was full of ashramas (hermitages) and there were fruit-bearing trees but no xerophytic trees. Here Dushyanta came across the ashrama of Rishi Kanva, the son of Kashyapa Rishi. It was surrounded by the Malini River.

Menaka had come at the behest of the King of the Gods Indra to distract the great sage Vishvamitra from his deep meditations. She succeeded in distracting him, and sired a child by him. Vishwamitra, angered by the loss of the virtue gained through his many hard years of strict ascetism, distanced himself from the child and mother to return to his work. Realizing that she could not leave the child with him, and having to return to the heavenly realms, Menaka left Shakuntala, just after birth, on the banks of the Malini River on the peaks of the Himalayas. As stated above, Rishi Kanva found the newly born girl in the forest surrounded and protected by birds and thus named her Shakuntala. According to a source Titwala, a small town near Kalyan in Maharashtra, is considered to be the site of the hermitage where Shakuntala was born.

Dushyanta, pursuing a male deer wounded by his arrow into the ashrama, saw Shakuntala nursing the deer, her pet, and fell in love with her. He profusely begged her forgiveness for harming the deer and spent some time at the ashrama. They fell in love and Dushyanta married Shakuntala there in the ashrama. Having to leave after some time due to unrest in the capital city, Dushyanta gave Shakuntala a royal ring as a sign of their love, promising her that he would return for her.

Shakuntala spent much time dreaming of her new husband and was often distracted by her daydreams. One day, a powerful rishi, Durvasa, came to the ashram but, lost in her thoughts about Dushyanta, Shakuntala failed to greet him properly. Incensed by this slight, the rishi cursed Shakuntala, saying that the person she was dreaming of would forget about her altogether. As he departed in a rage, one of Shakuntala's friends quickly explained to him the reason for her friend's distraction. The rishi, realizing that his extreme wrath was not warranted, modified his curse saying that the person who had forgotten Shakuntala would remember everything again if she showed him a personal token that had been given to her.

Time passed, and Shakuntala, wondering why Dushyanta did not return for her, finally set out for the capital city with her father and some of her companions. On the way, they had to cross a river by a canoe ferry and, seduced by the deep blue waters of the river, Shakuntala ran her fingers through the water. Her ring slipped off her finger without her realizing it.

Arriving at Dushyanta's court, Shakuntala was hurt and surprised when her husband did not recognize her, nor recollected anything about her. Humiliated, Shakuntala returned to the forests and, collecting her son, settled in a wild part of the forest by herself. Here she spent her days as Bharat, her son, grew older. Surrounded only by wild animals, Bharat grew to be a strong youth and made a sport of opening the mouths of tigers and lions and counting their teeth!

         Meanwhile, a fisherman was surprised to find a royal ring in the belly of a fish he had caught. Recognizing the royal seal, he took the ring to the palace and, upon seeing his ring, Dushyanta's memories of his lovely bride came rushing back to him. He immediately set out to find her and, arriving at her father's ashram, discovered that she was no longer there. He continued deeper into the forest to find his wife and came upon a surprising scene in the forest: a young boy had pried open the mouth of a lion and was busy counting its teeth! The king greeted the boy, amazed by his boldness and strength, and asked his name. He was surprised when the boy answered that he was Bharata, the son of King Dushyanta. The boy took him to Shakuntala, and thus the family was reunited.

In the Mahabharata, a slightly different version of this tale is told, where Dushyanta's failure to recognise Shakuntala is in fact a ploy to have his subjects accept her as his true wife, since he had feared rumors might otherwise have arisen as to the propriety of the marriage.