To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would fardels bear, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane,
But that the fear of something after death
Murders the innocent sleep,
Great nature's second course,
And makes us rather sling the arrows of outrageous fortune
Than fly to others that we know not of.
There's the respect must give us pause:
Wake Duncan with thy knocking! I would thou couldst;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The law's delay, and the quietus which his pangs might take,
In the dead waste and middle of the night, when churchyards yawn
In customary suits of solemn black,
But that the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveler returns,Breathes forth contagion on the world,
And thus the native hue of resolution, like the poor cat i' the adage,
Is sicklied o'er with care,
And all the clouds that lowered o'er our housetops,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.
But soft you, the fair Ophelia:
Ope not thy ponderous and marble jaws,
But get thee to a nunnery -- go!
The following content were assignments in our grade 12 summer school class of 1998. For those of you who think that these compositions were written by idiots, the summmer school course was not a make-up course. It was for first-time students. Just one last thing, if you happen to have to written a parody of Hamlet's soliloquy, please send it to me via e-mail. It would be a great contribution to this site. If you need to write one up for school, then I would advise you not to plagiarize any of these parodies. You found this site, chances are that your teacher will find it too.
The Slacker's Soliloquy
To slack, or not to slack, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The zeros and low marks of outrageous assignments,
Or to take pens against a sea of compositions,
And by opposing, finish them. To work; to accomplish,
No more, and by accomplishment to say we end
The workload, and the thousand essays
That students are heirs to; 'tis a dream
Devoutly to be wish'd. To work, to accomplish;
To accomplish; perchance to succeed; ay, there's the rub;
For in that accomplishment of work what mark may come,
When we have submitted this completed piece,
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long a school career.
By: Enoch Tung
The Worker's (perhaps Teacher?) Soliloquy
To work, or not to work, that is the question:
Whether it is better to stay at home with the television,
Munching on chips and gulping on root beer,
Or continue with the ever troublesome job,
An by opposing, get fired. To eat, to watch,
No more, and by working hard, we will earn that
Pleasing, satisfying, all-good paycheck
That will be spent in less than a week
Devoutly to all of the personal needs and wants.
To eat, to watch;
To watch; the minutes ticking before racing out of the house; ay, I am late;
Many insolent words from the Boss, not to be delayed again,
For who could endure the yells and screams of the little rascals,
The numerous demands from co-workers,
Aches and pains of marking hundreds of papers, cross and swoosh?
And that desperate grumble in my stomach, will finally met,
When the tasks have been completed, only one place left to go,
Which is my sweet home, where dinner will be waiting, television will be on.
With this tremendous day finally over,
Another will soon arrive.
By: Mike Miu
The Stock Broker's Soliloquy
To buy or not to buy, that is the decision;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The ups and downs of the unpredictable stock market,
Or to take arms against a sea of merciless profiteers
And by getting the inside news, become a millionaire.
To relax; to sleep, no way,
And by no sleep we mean to swallow up all
The caffeine pills, and follow the trend of the market
That will go up or down a thousand points
By the end of the day.
‘Tis due to our ambition
That we find ourselves in such headaches.
To relax, to sleep;
To sleep; perchance to lower blood pressure;
Ay, there’s the bell,
For in this dreadful and golden time comes to a finish,
When we have complete the handling of our stocks,
Must give us a final balance; there’s the result
That makes us go to heaven or to hell.
By: Kenneth Choi
Brazil’s Soliloquy
To win, or not to win, that is the question;
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The agony and disenchantment of unthinkable defeat,
Or to shoot the ball against an impenetrable wall of defenders,
And by opposing be left scoreless and humiliated. To play, to shoot;
No more, and by to shoot we mean to score and win
The final game, and the World Cup trophy
That is our natural right; ‘tis a victory
Devoutly to be wish’d. To play, to shoot;
To shoot; perchance to miss; ay, there’s the save;
For in attempting to shoot that winning goal, we are stopped,
When overzealous players and imposing crossbars,
Must make us miss; there’s the tension
That causes heartbreaks in this agonizing tournament:
For who would bear the passes and headers of eleven men,
The millionaire Denilson’s dodging with the ball, the great Ronaldo’s runs,
The wild temper of Edmundo, the timely passes of Bebeto,
The free-kicks of Roberto Carlos, and the sloppy goals allowed by Taffarel,
When he could leave the game and entertain himself,
Watching the Spice Girls live on television? who would want to bear the burden,
To follow the games so intensely,
But that the dread of something after the World Cup,
That terrible calm, from whose boredom
None return for four long years,
And makes us bear the losses that we have
Rather than attempt to foresee those we know not of?
Thus soccer does make fanatics of us all,
And thus the popularity of the sport
Is diminished by titan Brazil’s defeat,
And tournaments of great promise and excitement
With this defeat, their hopes are dulled,
Soon turned to despair.
By: Alan Fernandes
The Eater's Soliloquy
To eat, or not to eat, that is the quandary,
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The hunger and temptation of food savoury and fine,
Or to grab it and devour it all
And by such a confrontation will get soul satisfied but body bloated. To try, to tast;
No more; and by a taste we mean to pick up
The knives and forks, and begin the serious business that may last
six hours, until the last morsel of dessert and last drop of cappuccino disappear,
‘Tis a salute to culmination
That we have hoped for in a long long time.
To try, to taste;
To taste perchance to get all twenty dishes;
Aye, there's the problem of a thousand years,
And to that joyful exercise, there comes a sobering end,
When we receive the bill from the waiter,
And the insolence of the weighing scale the next morning
Plus the insulting arrogance of the waistline.
‘This the great enterprise of the great feasts
Or to suffer the mental torture of the
Unrequited love of the tongue?
By: John Lam
To hate or not to hate
To hate or not to hate; that is the question;
Whether it is nobler to hold our words in
At the person that boils our blood
Or just let it all go
And by opposing they will win. To calm down; to relax;
No more; and by not relaxing, I mean to fight
Losing my energy when she bothers not to move.
Losing my voice when she bothers not to listen
My breath wasted at an ignorant person
Due to the fact that she wants to win.
To calm down, to relax;
To relax: Perchance to catch my breath
and think carefully in a plot that I may win
Aye, there's the ring.
And to that desperately needed break there comes a time to think.
When I have yelled and screamed my lungs out
She must gave in and there is my reward
That makes my losing my voice worth it.
By: Amelia Handoyo
The Boozer's Soliloquy
To pee, or not to pee -that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and sparkles of outrageous urine
Or to hurry up towards the neatest flowerbeds
And by unloading burn them. To urinate, (i.e.)to pee,
No more; and by a pee to say we end
The bladderache and the thousand natural shocks
That alcohol is responsible for. 'Tis a bodily function
Devoutly to be wished. To urinate, to pee.
To pee -perchance to be seen. Ay, there's the rub!
For in that that piss of death what neighbours may come
Must give us haste.
There's the respect
That makes street-shots of so short life.
For who would bear the screams and shouts of wives.
The husband's wrong, the proud man's despise,
The pangs of incensed dogs, the dustman's delay,
When he himself might his piss make
In barely a moment??
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is gilded over with the bright cast of thought,
And boozers of great piss and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And leave the place of action.
By Fernando Hernández from Argentina
Yeh!! More
The Glutton's Soliloquy
To eat or not to eat- that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of tormenting hunger
Or to take forks against platyters full of food,
And by eating empty them. To taste- to eat-
No more; and by eating to say we give away with
The bellyache, the twisting guts and the shrinking stomach
That hunger inflicts on us. 'Tis a fulfillment
Faithfully to be desired. To tase- to eat.
To eat - perchance to bloat: ay, there's the hitch!
For in that meal of doom what waistlines may come
When we have looked in the mirror,
Shall frighten us. There's the inches
That make a disgrace of so good a meal.
For who would bear the giggles andjokes of peers,
The fat man's compassion, the slim man's arrogance,
The stares of passing strangers, the childrens' mocking,
The insolent grin of the scale, and the several attempts
That putting on one's largest pants takes,
When he himself hardlyn his weight eliminates
With dieting and daily exercise? Who would so much indignity bear,
For the temporary pleasure of a meal,
But that the dread of something after lunch-
The awful bloating, from whose grip
Only the strongest break free- torments the will,
And makes us rather suffer the craving
Than ills we do not yet experience?
Thus that small voice within does make philosophers of us all,
And thus the regular hungry fellow
Is submerged with thoughts about his nutritional habits,
And initiatives of great courage and endurance
Are born in an anxious brain
And take the place of a scrumptious chocolate dessert.
By Mariam Fofana
The Traveller's Soliloquy
To fly or not to fly: that is the question
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous airlines
Or to take the car against a sea of bad drivers
And by driving, avoid plane crashes? To fly, to soar,
No more: and by drive to say we end
The head-ache and thousand natural shocks
That flying in hear to, 'tis a result
Devoutly to be wish'd. To drive, to carpool;
To drive, perchance to use cruse control. Aye, here's the rub:
for in that drive what problems may come
When we have overdriven this mortal mortor,
Must give us pause. There's our '76 Pinto
That makes calamity of so short drives.
But who would bear themselves to flight and scorn their cars.
The air controllers wrong and the plane falls down.
the hate of despised pilots, the plane's delay,
The insolence of ticket takers, and the spurns
The patient receive from the unworthy stewards,
When he might quietly make a request
With a bare glass. Who would these airlines bear,
Who grunt and sweat for a weary seat.
But rejoyce the missing of dreadful airline food
The undiscovered meat, from whose bourn
No tastebuds returns, puzzles the passengers,
And makes us rather bear those hungers we have
Than to eat the food we know not of?
Thus purple food makes cowards of us all;
Is slicked over with the pale cast of clue.
And insides have great pitch and movement
With this regard their stomaches turn awry,
And lose their lunch. Woe you now,
The fair pepto bismo, cure in thy carry-on.
Be all thy pills remembered.
By David Stevenson
The Diplomat's Soliloquy
To buy, or not to buy (a computer) - that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The sweat and toil of outrageous officework
Or to take arms against a sea of cables
And by downloading end them. To start, to click -
No more - and by a click to say we end
The headache and the thousand nasty mocks
That office is heir to. 'Tis a consumption
Devoutly to be wished. To start, to click -
To click - perchance to save. Ay, there's the tab.
For in that system error what help may come
When we have shuffled off this modem coil
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long work.
For who would bear the trips with jet lag of time,
The predecessor's wrong, the chairman's contumely,
The pangs of revised drafts, the meeting's delay,
The infinity of papers, and the yawns
That palooka speaker to th'unworthy gives,
When he himself might his silence break
With a bare e-mail? Who would binders bear,
To grunt and sweat with a dreary file,
But that the dread of saving afterwards,
The undiscovered directory, from whose disk
No document returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear the format we have
Than try the others that we know not of?
Thus computer does make cowards of us all;
And thus the function key of execution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And processing units of great byte and memory
With this regard their users go awry
And miss their password in action.
By Ryuhei Hosoya