Tomorrow and tomorrow
and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty
pace from day to day
To the last syllable
of recorded time
And all our yesterdays
have lighted fools
The way to dusty death
Out out brief candle
Life's but a walking shadow
a poor player
That struts and frets
his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more
It is a tale
Told by an idiot
full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing