请问哪位高手能帮我翻译这一段，翻译得好的话会追加分的！谢谢．

Hamlet soliloquy classic right to be or not to be interpreted to make the life look at the desolation and resentful. He thought of living by the mercy of fate and powerlessness, what dignity? What is the point of living? So to be or not to be. that is the question. Whether it's nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageo us fortune. or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by op posing end them. Well, if dead, to die, to sleep, no more, the end of the story. we end the heartache and the thousand natural sh ocks that flesh is heir to. can end in the physical world to be subjected to the suffering of 10 million species, which of course is the dream of things 'Métis a consummation devoutly to be wished. However, ? other hand, to die, to sleep, like a dead sleep, and sleep to dream, to sleep, perchance to dream. This (obstruction) would come. This is because, in the resting place of death, we will do what dream? Are dreams? Whether it is the same as in real life is full of pain? Reflecting on this, we can not help stop the death of the thought that a good choice. (For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come when we have shuffled off th is mortal coil must give us pause.) Yes, We may or disaster and suffering in this world of a continuation, otherwise, with a knife in the end of this life can be brought to them suffering calm the situation, Who is willing to put up with things to the lashing and deride and other various unfair it (for who would b ear the whips and scorns of time when he himself m ight quietus make with a bare bodkin?) Who is willing to heavy pain hardships of life under the groaning weight of sweat? (Who would fardels bear these to grunt and sweat under a weary life?) However, We will happen after death of what we make of fear or hesitation. We prefer to live with makes all the suffering and injustice, (the dread of something after the death puzzles will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have, than fly to others we know not of) rather than dutifully orientation that I They do not know the world -- death, because it is one they will be impossible to return to the country. (The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn no traveler returns) Following this line of thought, We no longer dare to eventually make death act. Therefore, the Hamlet of deepening it, and by the thought of life and death issues, transition to a "reflection and determination" and "act" of the relationship between, he said, This is precisely the kind of thinking and our concerns have become cowards (thus conscience does ma ke cowards of us all), therefore, the will and determination to have it as the fiery red color (full of hope, energy and passion) was thinking and worry coverage on the floor of the pale sick (and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought), it could have caused a great change in their cause before the track the abortion (and enterprises of great pith and moment on this regard their currents turn awry and lose th e name of action.) . Concerns stifled our actions could have stifled the better, with great success

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 heartache, 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 these 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 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 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.