Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

I enjoy listening to the beat and rhythm of rap songs and here is my latest rap song that was inspired by Shakespeare!

To Be or Not to Be (Remix)

Yo, to be or not to be — that’s the test,
Do I choke on the silence or bang on my chest?
Take the slings, the arrows, fate’s cold rain,
Or draw my blade and cut through the pain?

To die, to sleep — yeah, that’s the scheme,
Kill the noise, fade out, drift in a dream.
No heartbreak shocks, no grief on repeat,
Just quiet in the dark — that eternal beat.

But yo — to dream, that’s where it twists,
What if death’s just nightmares, shadows in mist?
Step past the veil, body drops to dust,
Next act could burn, so we fear, we trust.

That’s the stall, the glitch, the delay in the code,
We drag these chains, we carry the load.
Who eats the fists of tyrants each day,
The bully’s smirk, the boss’s sway,

The heartbreak verdict, the law’s slow crawl,
When one sharp blade could erase it all?
Still we grind, still we sweat, still we live,
Cause death’s got a lock, no return, no give.

That undiscovered country, no maps, no guide,
So we clutch this life, fear on the side.
And courage slips, ambition dies,
Big dreams fade under cautious skies.

Mind kills the fire, soul backs away,
Action drowns in doubt’s replay.
To be or not to be — that’s the track,
Answer me, world — you give it back?

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“To be, or not to be, that is the question”
BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

(from Hamlet, spoken by Hamlet)

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,

Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,

The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th’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 undiscovere’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?

Thus conscience doth 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