lusted fleeting: interaction with ChatGPT for a version of a Hamlet Speech refocussed on femicide

To mourn or not to mourn, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous violence,
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 fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered 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 pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
Who is already sick and pale with grief
That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.
Be not her maid, since she is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it. Cast it off.

O, speak again, bright angel! For thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a wingèd messenger of heaven
Unto the white, upturnèd, wondering eyes
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my peace.
It grips me so, this sorrow, this anguish, this ceaseless ache,
That gnaws upon my soul, as if a hungry beast unleashed.
For in this realm, this world we

[this attempt broke]

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost my peace.
This noble world, adorned with beauty's grace,
Now shrouded in a tempest of despair,
Where women's lives are but a fleeting breath,
Snuffed out by hands that ought to cherish them.

What madness grips the hearts of those who dare
To raise their fists against the gentle fair,
To spill their blood upon the hallowed ground
And silence voices that should freely sound?

O, woe unto this cursed age we live,
Wherein the souls of women are so cheap,
That men would dare to play the butcher's role
And stain their hands with blood upon the scroll
Of history, where each untimely death
Becomes a testament to human greed,
To lust, to rage, to all-consuming spite,
That casts a pall upon the brightest light.

Yet, who am I to ponder fate's cruel hand?
To question why such horrors plague this land?
For in the silence of my idle thought,
The echoes of their cries can ne'er be caught.

But soft, what light breaks through yonder gloom?
'Tis not the dawn, but justice's bright loom.
We must take arms against this sea of woes,
And fight for justice, ere all goodness goes.

For though the shadows lengthen and the night
May seem to hold us in its chilling grip,
The dawn of righteousness shall surely rise,
And banish darkness with its piercing eyes.

So let us raise our voices high and clear,
And vow to end this reign of doubt and fear.
For in our unity, our strength shall lie,
And justice shall prevail beneath the sky.

I have of late, but wherefore I know not,
Witnessed a plague upon fair womankind.
Their lives, once cherished, now but fleeting breath,
Snuffed out by hands that should embrace with love.

What madness grips the hearts of those who dare
To lay their violence upon gentle souls?
To rob the world of beauty's tender grace,
And stain the earth with innocent blood spilled?

O, cursed be the hour when such deeds take flight,
And innocence is trampled 'neath men's might!
For what offense could warrant such a fate,
That women's lives must end in tragic state?

Yet who am I to fathom fate's cruel jest?
To ponder why such horrors manifest?
In silent grief, I mourn their untimely end,
And pray for justice as their spirits ascend.

But hark! What light breaks through this shadowed gloom?
'Tis not the sun, but hope's eternal bloom.
We must take arms against this tide of woe,
And fight for justice, as we ought to know.

For though the night may seem to hold us fast,
The dawn of change shall come, and come at last.
With unity and strength, we shall prevail,
And banish darkness with justice's bright sail.

So let us raise our voices, clear and strong,
And right the world that's suffered for too long.
For in our unity, our strength shall lie,
And justice shall prevail beneath the sky.