The Scottish King

When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

If the assassination
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch
With his surcease success; that but his blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time
We'ld jump the life to come.

Still it cried 'Sleep no more!' to all the house
'Glamis hath murder's sleep, and therefore Cawdor
Shall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.'

Then comes my fit again: I had else been perfect
Whole as the marble, founded as the rock
As broad and general as the casing air
But now I am cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, bound in
To saucy doubts and fears

What is that noise?
It is the cry of women, my good lord
O, full of scorpions is my mind, dear wife!
I have almost forgot the taste of fears
Wherefore was that cry?
The queen, my lord, is dead

She should have died hereafter
There would have been a time for such a word
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
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