I suppose it depends on where you happen to be attending Shakespeare in the park. I went to a performance of Hamlet once in Georgia. It was a tad bit different.
To hang around, or not hang around--that there be the question:
Whether it be better in the brain to suffer
The sling shots and arrows of dumb luck
Or grab a shotgun against a sea of troubles
And by fight’em, end’em. To die, ain’t gonna be sleeping--
No more--and by a sleep I mean you be grave yard dead so’s there won't be
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is kin to. ‘It be an end
Devoutly to be wished fer. To die, to sleep--
To sleep—perhaps even to dream, there's the heap,
For in that there sleep of death what dreams might come along
When we have shambled off this here foggy bottom,
It’s gotta give ya pause. There's the re-spect
That makes cattywampus of such a long life.
For who would tote the whoopin’s of time,
The slave driver’s wrong, the proud man's insult,
The pain of unrequited love, the law's delay,
The contempt of office, and the snub
The worst people take of the best part of the hog,
When he might as well make his final blow
With a naked Arkansas toothpick? Who would bear such a burden,
To grunt and sweat like a pig under such a weary life,
But that ya’ll be a dreading of something after death,
The undiscovered country, from whose thicket
No traveller returns, puzzles Will and all his kin,
And makes us tote those ills we have
Rather than run to others that got ills we know nothing about?
Your conscience does make cowards of us all,
And causes you to make up your mind,
A chore of great importance and moment
With this regard their thoughts turn all crooked
And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
O fair Daisy Mae! -- Goddess, in adderation
That all my sins remembered.