Is it worthy to Humble yourself under the blows of fate, Or is it necessary to resist And in a mortal fight with a whole sea of ​​troubles To end them? Die. Forget yourself. And to know that by doing this you break the chain of Heart torments and thousands of hardships Inherent in the body. Is this not a desired goal? to die. Sleep forget. Fall asleep... and dream? Here is the answer. What dreams will be dreamed in that mortal dream When the veil of earthly feeling is removed? Here is the clue. This is what lengthens our misfortunes for so many years. And who would have taken down the humiliation of the century, The untruth of the oppressors, the nobles Arrogance, rejected feeling, A slow judgment and, most of all, The mockery of the unworthy over the worthy, When the blow of a dagger so simply brings all the ends together! Who would agree, Groaning, to trudge under the burden of life, Whenever the unknown after death, Fear of a country from which no one returned, would not bow the will To put up with a familiar evil, Than to seek an escape to an unfamiliar! Thus thought turns us all into cowards, And our determination withers like a flower In the barrenness of mental impasse, Thus plans perish on a grand scale, At the beginning promising success, From long delays. But enough! Ophelia! O joy! Remember My sins in your prayers, nymph.

Hamlet

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 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 despised 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 traveler 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.

(translated by P. Gnedich)

What is more noble: to endure the blows of Furious fate - or against the sea Adversity to arm yourself, to join the battle And end everything at once... To die... To fall asleep - no more - and to realize - that with sleep We will drown out all these torments of the heart, Which are in the heritage of the poor flesh Got it: oh, yes, this is such a desired End ... Yes, to die - to fall asleep ... To fall asleep. Living in a world of dreams, perhaps that's the barrier. - What dreams in this dead dream Will hover before the disembodied spirit... This is the obstacle - and this is the reason, That sorrows are long-lasting on earth... Otherwise, who would bear the reproach, The ridicule of neighbors, the impudent insults of Tyrants, the impudence of vulgar proud people, Torment of rejected love, Slowness of laws, arbitrariness of Authorities... kicks given to the Sufferers by deserved scoundrels, - Whenever eternal Peace and Peace could be found - with one blow of the Simple awl. Who would on earth Carry this life's burden, exhausted Under heavy oppression, - if the involuntary fear of Something after death, that Unknown country, from where no one ever returned, would not embarrass Our Decisions ... Oh, we would rather Bear all the sorrows of those torment, What is near us, than, having abandoned everything, towards Let's go to other, unknown troubles... And this thought turns us into cowards... Mighty determination cools down When thinking, and our deeds Become insignificance... But hush, hush. lovely Ophelia, oh nymph Remember my sins in your holy prayers.

First Folio 1621

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, The pangs of despised 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 undiscovered Country, from whose bourn No Traveler 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, 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 remembered.

(translated by K.R.)

Which is higher: To endure in the soul with patience the blows of slings and arrows of a cruel fate, or Armed against a sea of ​​disasters, Fighting to end it? To die, fall asleep - No more; and to know that with this dream you will end With the anguish of the heart and with a thousand torments, With which the flesh is doomed - oh, here is the outcome of the Much-desired! to die, to sleep; Fall asleep! And see dreams, may be? Here it is! What dreams do we dream of in mortal slumber, We only shake off the perishable shell - that's what Holds us back. And this argument is the Cause of the longevity of suffering. Who would endure the fate of ridicule and resentment, The oppression of the oppressors, the arrogance of the proud, The torment of love rejected, the slowness of the laws, the shamelessness of the authorities and the contempt of Insignificance for patient merit, When he himself could end all the scores With some kind of knife? Who would bear such a burden, Moaning, covered in sweat under the burden of life, If only the fear of something after death, In an unknown country, from where not a single traveler returned, would not embarrass, Inspiring us to endure the experienced troubles rather than to run to the unknown ? And this is how conscience makes cowards out of all of us; This is how the natural color of determination Under the paint of thought withers and turns pale, And enterprises of great importance, From these thoughts, changing the course, Lose the name of the deeds. - But be quiet! lovely Ophelia! - O nymph! Remember my sins in your prayers!

(translated by M. Lozinsky)

That is the question; What is nobler in spirit - to submit to the Slings and arrows of a furious fate Or, taking up arms on a sea of ​​troubles, to slay them with Confrontation? To die, fall asleep, - And only; and to say that you are ending with a dream Longing and a thousand natural torments, Legacy of the flesh - how can you not yearn for such a denouement? Die, sleep. - Fall asleep! And dream, maybe? That's the difficulty; What dreams will dream in the sleep of death, When we drop this mortal noise, That's what brings us down; this is the reason why disasters last so long; Who would bear the whips and mockery of the century, The oppression of the strong, the mockery of the proud, The pain of contemptible love, the judges of falsehood, The arrogance of the authorities and the insults Inflicted by meek merit, If he himself could give himself a calculation With a simple dagger? Who would trudge with a burden, To groan and sweat under a tedious life, If only the fear of something after death, - An unknown land from which there is no return to Earthly wanderers - did not embarrass the will, Inspiring us to endure our hardships And not rush to others, from us hidden? Thus thought makes us cowards, And thus the natural color of determination Weakens under the veil of thought, pale, And undertakings, rising powerfully, Turning their course aside, Lose the name of action. But be quiet! Ophelia? - In your prayers, nymph, May my sins be remembered.

First quarto of 1603

To be, or not to be, aye there "s the point, To Die, to sleep, is that all? Aye all: No, to sleep, to dream, aye marry there it goes, For in that dream of death, when we awake, And borne before an everlasting Judge, From whence no passenger ever returned, The undiscovered country, at whose sight The happy smile, and the accursed damned. But for this, the joyful hope of this, Who"d bear the scorns and flattery of the world, Scorned by the right rich, the rich cursed of the poor? The widow being oppressed, the orphan wronged, The taste of hunger, or a tyrants reign, And thousand more calamities besides, To grunt and sweat under this weary life, When that he may his full Quietus make, With a bare bodkin, who would this endure, But for a hope something after death? Which puzzles the brain, and doth confound the sense, Which makes us rather bear those evils we have, Than fly to others that we know not of. Ay that, O this conscience makes cowards of us all, Lady in thy orisons, be all my sins remembered.

(translated by V. Nabokov)

Here is the question; what is better for the soul - to endure the slings and arrows of furious fate Or, on a sea of ​​disasters, taking up arms to put an end to them? To die: to fall asleep No more, and if sleep ends the longing of the soul and a thousand anxieties peculiar to us, such an end is impossible not to yearn for. to die, to sleep; Fall asleep: maybe see dreams; yes, That's where the blockage, what kind of dreams will visit us when we get rid of the husks of vanities? Here is the stop. That is why misfortune is so tenacious; After all, who would take down the scourges and mockery of the times, The contempt of the proud, the oppression of the strong, Love's vain pain, the laziness of the law, And the arrogance of the rulers, and everything that a worthy person suffers from the unworthy, If only he could get Peace himself with a thin dagger? Who would grunt and sweat under the weight of life - but the fear inspired by something Beyond death - an undiscovered country, From whose limits not a single traveler returned - it confuses the will And makes us earthly torments Prefer others, unknown ones. So consciousness makes us all cowards, On the bright color of natural determination Lies the pallor of weak thoughts, And important, deep undertakings Change direction and lose the Name of actions. But now - silence... Ophelia... In your prayers, nymph, You remember my sins.

To be or not to be, that is the question. Is it worthy
Humble under the blows of fate
I must resist
And in mortal combat with a whole sea of ​​troubles
Do away with them? Die. Forget yourself.
And know that this breaks the chain
Heart anguish and thousands of hardships,
inherent in the body. Is this not the goal
Desirable? to die. Sleep forget.
Fall asleep... and dream? Here is the answer.
What dreams in that mortal dream will dream,
When was the veil of earthly feeling removed?
Here is the clue. That's what lengthens
Our misfortunes life for so many years.
And who would take down the humiliation of the century,
Lies of oppressors, nobles
Arrogance, rejected feeling,
A slow judgment and more than anything
The mockery of the unworthy over the worthy,
When it's so easy to make ends meet
Dagger strike! Who would agree
Groaning, trudge under the burden of life,
Whenever the unknown after death,
Fear of a country from where none
Did not return, did not bend the will
It is better to put up with the familiar evil,
Than flight to the unfamiliar strive!
So the thought turns us all into cowards,
And fade like a flower, our determination
In the barrenness of mental impasse,
So plans perish on a grand scale,
Promising success at the beginning
From long delays. But enough!
Ophelia! O joy! Remember
My sins in my prayers, nymph.

Note: This poem is an excerpt from Pasternak's translation.

SOCIAL CHRONICLE

In the center of Moscow, police detained a 9-year-old boy who was reciting "Hamlet"

Police have apologized to the father of a boy who was detained on Friday evening in central Moscow for reading poetry, lawyer Tatyana Solomina said: Child at home. The father was apologized by the Deputy Chief of Police for the Protection of Public Order of the Ministry of Internal Affairs in the Central Administrative District. The protocol will be annulled."

On Friday evening, it became known that the Moscow police detained a nine-year-old boy who was reading "Hamlet's Monologue" in the center of Moscow. The police said that he was begging and was unaccompanied by adults, although his relative was nearby. The wife was sitting, reading a book, and the child was reciting Hamlet. A police squad drove up, they were talking about something without her participation. Then they twisted it, there is a video of what happened. They began to push it - she came up, tried to prevent this, ”said the father of the child, Ilya Skavronsky.

According to him, the police behaved rudely. As a result of his wife's attempts to prevent the detention of her son (she is not the mother of the child), her clothes were torn and the tablet was broken. The boy was taken to the Arbat police station. When his parents arrived there, a report on an administrative offense was drawn up against his father under Article 5.35 of the Code of Administrative Offenses (failure by parents to fulfill minor duties of upbringing). Skavronsky did not sign the protocol due to disagreement with its content.

In the center of Moscow, police officers detained a 10-year-old boy who was reciting poetry and took him to the police station, despite his mother's protests. The father of the child, Ilya Skavronsky, told Mediazone about the incident.

Later, lawyer Tatyana Solomina clarified to Mediazone that Ilya Skavronsky's wife is not the mother of a 10-year-old boy, but his stepmother. As the lawyer said, because of this, the police repeated: “You are nobody to the child, move away.”

According to Skavronsky, his wife and son were walking in the Arbat area. On Vozdvizhenka Street, the boy began to recite fragments from William Shakespeare's Hamlet to passers-by, at which time his stepmother was 20-25 meters away from him.

“The wife was sitting, reading a book, and the child was reciting Hamlet. A police squad drove up, they were talking about something without her participation. Then they twisted it, there is a video of what happened. They began to push it in - she came up, tried to prevent this, ”says the father of the child.

According to Skavronski, during the arrest, the police behaved rudely and cursed. His wife tried to stop them, her clothes were torn and the tablet crashed.

The father of the child explains that, while reciting poetry, his son did not beg: “He is engaged in theatrical activities. For him, these exits to the street are a struggle with complexes.

Activist Iryna Yatsenko on Facebook published video (there is a mat) of the detention of the child. In the video, the boy screams loudly and asks to be released as the police drag him to the car.

The boy was taken alone to the Arbat police station. Now his parents are there. A protocol on an administrative offense is drawn up against the father under Article 5.35 of the Code of Administrative Offenses (failure by parents to fulfill minor duties of education). Skavronsky did not sign the protocol due to disagreement with its content.

According to RTVi, in the information response department of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Moscow, they explained the detention of the child by the fact that he was alone and approached “first to one car, then to another.”

At the same time, a RIA Novosti source in law enforcement agencies claims that the parents forced the child to beg. “Police officers detained a 9-year-old boy who read poetry on the Arbat for the purpose of begging. According to the police, the boy was forced to do this by his parents, ”the source quoted the agency as saying.

Closer to midnight, the boy and his parents were released from the police. According to OVD-Info, Skavronsky's lawyers Tatyana Solomina and Anastasia Samorukova remained in the department at that time.

Lucy Shtein, an eyewitness to the incident, was the first to write about the child's detention on Facebook. She published