HURRY, Translate it to modern english 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 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,

Read the excerpt from act 3, scene 1, of julius caesar. servant. thus, brutus, did my master bid me kneel. thus did mark antony bid me fall down, and, being prostrate, thus he bade me say. "brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest. caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving. say i love brutus, and i honour him. say i feared caesar, honoured him, and loved him. if brutus will vouchsafe that antony may safely come to him and be resolved how caesar hath deserved to lie in death, mark antony shall not love caesar dead so well as brutus living, but will follow the fortunes and affairs of noble brutus thorough the hazards of this untrod state with all true faith.” so says my master antony

Select the contred text in the passage which sentence in this excerpt from john galsworthy's narrative essay "gone" reflects his view that there is no afterlife? an old woman and mrs. herd's sister were in the sitting-room, they showed us to the crazy, narrow stairway. though we lived distant but four hundred yards of a crows flight, we had never seen mrs. herd before, for that is the way of things in this land of minding one's own business a slight dark girlish-looking woman, almost quite refined away, and with those eyes of the dying, where the spirit is coming through, as it only does when it knows that al is over except just the passing. she lay in a double bed with clean white sheets. a white-washed room, so low that the ceiling almost touched our heads, some flowers in a bow, the small lattice window open. though it was hot in there, it was better far than the rooms of most families in towns, living on a wage of twice as much, for here was no sign of defeat in decency or cleanliness. in her face, as in poor herd's, was that same strange minging of resigned despair and almost eager appeal, so terrible to disappoint. yet, trying not to disappoint it, one felt guilty of treachery: what was the good, the kindness in making this poor bird flutter still with hope against the bars, when fast prison had so surely closed in round her? but what else could we do? we could not give her those glib assurances that naive souls make so easily to others concerning their after state. and the night was so beautiful, so utterly glamourously beautiful, with its star-flowers, and its silence and its trees clothed in moonlight. all was tranquil as a dream of sleep. but it was long before our hearts wandering with poor herd, would let us remember that she had slipped away into so beautiful a dream

"ten from the sea to the sand he walks,to look in the soil, but not in the box''!