To be, or not to be, that is a question:
生存还是死亡，这是一个值得考虑的问题:

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
默然忍受命运暴虐的毒箭,或是挺身反抗人世无涯的苦难,这两种行为,那种更为高尚?

And by opposing end them. To die — to sleep,
死了；睡着了；什么都完了。

No more; and by a sleep to say we end,The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
要是在这一场睡眠之中，我们心头的创痛都可以从此消失,

That flesh is heir to, 'Tis a consummation
那正是我们求之不得的结局。

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep, perchance to dream — ay, there's the rub:
死了,睡着了;而醒着了也许还会做梦。嗯,阻碍就在这儿:

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.
当我们摆脱了这一具朽腐的皮囊以后，在那死的睡眠里究竟将要做些什么梦,那不能不使我们踌躇顾虑,人们甘心久困于患难之中。

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,Th' 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 th' unworthy takes,
谁愿意忍受人世的鞭挞和讥嘲、压迫者的凌辱、傲慢者的冷眼、被轻蔑的爱情的惨痛、正义的延宕、官吏的专横和德高望重者遭小人的辱骂,

When he himself might his quietus make,With a bare bodkin?
倘若有可能用出鞘的短剑了此一生?

Who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
谁愿意忍辱负重,在烦劳的生命的压迫下呻吟流汗，

But that the dread of something after death,
倘不是因为惧怕不可知的死后世界，

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?
是对那从来不曾有一个旅人回来过的神秘之国的惧怕,迷惑了我们的意志,使我们宁愿忍受目前的折磨,不敢向我们所不知道的痛苦飞去?

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 picth and moment,With this regard their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action.
重重的顾虑使我们全变成了懦夫,决心的赤热的光彩,被审慎的思维盖上了一层灰色,伟大的事业在这一种考虑之下,也会逆流而退,失去了行动的意义。