Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
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
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